Theron sat in a quiet silence, his legs crossed and his heart at an odd peace. The Alpha's large head was on his lap, its dense fur—usually so abrasive and sharp—feeling soft and pliable in his hands.
He stared absently into space, scratching the back of the Alpha's ears as it slept.
Peace.
What an odd feeling. He couldn't remember the last time he experienced such a thing, and he honestly… didn't know if he liked the feeling.
It almost felt artificial.
How could he feel peace? His family was still dead, his revenge hadn't been had—was his Will really so weak?
No… that rage was still there, but it wasn't consuming him like it should have been.
But that made even less sense. He was someone who had failed a Heart Demon Tribulation. He should have been destined for hardship and pain all his life.
So little about his existence made sense.
