"Fen."
The moment Rowan stepped into the room and spoke his son's name, the shift in the boy's scent hit him immediately—subtle, primal, but unmistakable. Fear. Anger. Hurt. A sour, wounded note that cut through the air and sank deep into Rowan's chest. It made his jaw tighten instinctively.
Fen moved quickly, frantically wiping his tear-streaked face with the back of his sleeve, shoving toys aside as if the clutter were the enemy and not his own emotions. He tried to look composed, pretending he wasn't falling apart from the inside. He didn't want Rowan to see just how badly Audrey's presence had shaken him today. More than that, he didn't want to hear a single word of scolding. Pride, stubborn and unyielding, had always been the foundation of his small wolf-heart. He was far too proud for his age, far too proud to admit weakness—even to his father.
