My eyes opened the next morning and I was facing Ryder sleeping beside me. I didn't feel any pain on any part in my body, but waking up next to him would've eliminated it for sure. He slept with his outside arm folded beneath his head and the arm nearest me resting on his abdomen, not touching me at all. But still, I slid over to grab his hand and he brushed it off and began to stir. I had frowned in the moment, but in his sleep, he had raised his arm and dropped it to wedge between me and the bed beneath my shoulders in order to pull me into him. My smile was covered with his side but I felt him sigh and wake up.

"Good morning," his groggy voice said that somehow made me smile even more. It was adorable. I rolled into him and his arm fell beneath my back.

"Morning," I returned and felt his hand on my waist, making small circles under my shirt.

"I think I absorbed all your pain last night," he notified with a groan. I frowned and sat up to look down at his closed-eyed self. "True Alpha powers, apparently." Hmm. His eyes opened effortlessly and he gazed over at me. "How do you feel?"

"Confused as to why you're focused taking my injuries for yourself instead of worrying about what happened last night," I replied, avoiding his question about my actual health. That's when he grimaced at me and his hand on my waist dropped to the bed. "Well?"

"'Well' what?" he asked me. "Unless you fell asleep through it all—which I doubt you did—you know what happened and that's it. Nothing else."

"Nothing else," I repeated and then returned to lay on his chest.

"Nothing else," he mocked within a scoff for me not seeming to believe him. He returned to draw small circles on my hip, but then I rose up again.

"Nothing else? Really, Ryder?" I asked and he had smiled to make fun of my insistence on the subject, but then it dropped when I gave him a look. "You just kicked your beta out of your pack—your murdering, best friend beta and you're not at all worried about retaliation or him roaming the streets with the possibility of building his own pack?"

"I stripped him of his titles," he reminded. "Even there was the remote chance of him returning to the pack, he'd be lower than ever, which makes him significantly weaker to say the least. And he isn't going to be running the streets considering I run the streets and he's on the outs with me." I didn't realize how gang-like he made the pack sound. But he seemed to have it under control. I, on the other hand, was weary. "And I have bigger things to worry about than him."

Then, he had risen up, removed his hold on me and sat at the edge of the bed as if contemplating something for a moment before standing. I just sat on the bed as he put his shoes on. When he finished, he sat back down on the bed across from me.

"I need to start helping my mom plan the funeral," he said.

"I know," I wanted to say, but I couldn't find a way to say it in a way that didn't make me seem selfish so I kept my mouth shut.

"You're still welcome at the house," he invited. I nodded and then he finally rolled his eyes. "Look, I know that my dad died, but it's not like I'm moping around covering everything in black drapes, Ashlynn. You don't have to give me space for whatever grieving process you think I'm gonna go through."

But I was. I knew he was going to go through something and he didn't need me around him to worry about. I loved Ryder and I had realized that I loved his family—which included Marc, so I just wanted what was best and at this point, considering I had just gotten through my dad's death, I figured Ryder would want the same.

And then I realized that the lingering concussion in my head had let that thought slip out because Ryder was obnoxiously rolling his eyes and craning his neck back in disbelief.

"You're with me, right?" he asked me. I nodded. "Then that's all I need right now, okay? I need my girlfriend to just be here for me. Please."

"Ryder, you already know I'm gonna be here for you," I began. "I just don't want you to suppress how you feel about this and then let it build up only for you to lash out on someone undeserving."

I saw his tongue trace the inside of his cheek on one side as he looked down and nodded.

"You want me to mourn him?" he asked me after a while.

"I think he deserves something like that."

"Does he deserve some five-step process?" Ryder asked and then I knew he was mocking me. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance seemed reasonable. "Because fine. I've already done that. It's hard to deny the dead body you see lying in a hospital bed with a gash in his heart that only werewolves can see while the doctors keep saying cardiac arrest. What's the second stage? Anger, right? Hell yeah I was angry and I don't think that needs any explaining. But I do think that anger led to the whole bargaining to whichever magical overlord there is wondering why the hell my dad had to die, when I rather just denounce my title in order to get him back. Pretty sure me crying the first night I came here covers the sadness thing I don't want to talk about and, bam, I accepted it as soon as you explained what happened and I recognized my best friend was a dick. There. Five-step grieving process: point, blank, period."

By now, I felt as though I was hurting more than he was. Maybe because I was the emotional output for him or maybe because I couldn't explain how someone could lose their father and not mourn as I did when my dad passed. Either way, no matter how "cool" and "together" Ryder tried to be, I had noticed the emotions build up at each sentence he preached. And then when I saw a tear escape his eye, I had taken him into a hug while he wiped it away before it made an inch down his face. After a moment, he had kissed my head and pulled away only to study my face.

"Like I said, I have more things to worry about than Preston," he managed to say. There was an unspoken moment of understanding that I obliged him with. Then, we both heard a car door shut. Ryder stood up on his side of the bed, but I had gotten up to walk to the window and lift the blinds. I looked down to the street as far as I could and saw Stella's car. Though one door had already closed, Stormy was in the process of closing the passenger side and once she did, she looked up at my window with an unreadable expression. I frowned in confusion before the doorbell frantically rang.

Tell your intrusive friends to go away; I'm sleeping, Andrew thought with a growl, even though Ryder and I were already on our way downstairs to answer the door. Quickly, I opened the front door and saw Stormy and Stella on the doorstep. Stella's eyes met Ryder's before they met mine, but I could still tell she had either had a rough night or been crying. Maybe both since I could smell dried blood and a strange scent on her clothes that actually looked like they'd belong to Stormy instead of her.

"What's going on?" I asked even though Ryder hung on the door frame behind me for me to lean against.

"We have a problem," Stormy said. She reached over and grabbed Stella's arm that was wrapped in a bandage at the forearm. She held it up for our examination, but neither of us registered the answer. Then, she unwrapped the gauze and I felt Ryder immediately shift and nearly stumble over the ridge in the threshold before I could even make out what I was looking at. Stormy's conflicting grey eyes met mine before I looked over at Stella's sad, hazel ones.

"What the hell happened?" Ryder asked in an angry tone while stepping beside me to grab Stella's forearm. I wondered if he was trying to soak up her pain or not, but then he stopped touching her completely.

"He—he just—"

Ryder and I looked at Stormy instead since Stella was obviously still in shock about what happened.

"Preston bit her last night."