Page 179 of Unforgivable

I swallow back the new insults screaming in my head. I center myself on the eyes, watching me. Blue and green and the deepest brown.

They center my world, my focus. "You pitted your friends against me. The leadership," I sneer "of this pack."

Cloe seems to realize at that moment that my murderous rage has died down. It gives her a sense of false safety, of hope.

"All you are is a brute," she mumbles.

I punch her in her left eye. "Like that?" I ask sweetly. "You think you're a better wolf than I am because you wear dresses and makeup and steal mates?"

She hisses. "Daan always thought so. So did his mama."

"Hmm, you're right," I muse.

I look up then. Not for my eyes, but for another, less welcoming, set of eyes. The nasty, hurt female in me wants to see his reaction to his beloved's revelations. I want to look at the other blues. Not as pretty as my Blue-Eyes, quite frankly. I want to see if I can find answers in those duller, washed-out blues. Did Daan already know about Cloe's duplicity and not care? I hope not. Because if he stupidly believed she was sweet and innocent, then this will burn him alive inside.

Those dull blue eyes show everything. Hurt, disgust, longing. I have no idea who he feels any of it for. I don't care.

I search out my eyes. A smile curls my lips. Ezra looks like he's panting from the need to shift and join me. Thjis is... well, not thinking about blood and gore. My goodness, what is wrong with those two? We did not cuddle earlier. We did much more. I couldn't help myself, yet here they are, obviously wanting more.

Blue-eyes look at me with pride. "I love you," he mouths. I say it back to him, and he winks at me.

Cloe whimpers. "You have males. You always had everything. Now you're taking Daan away from me."

Poor, sweet, little Cloe. Losing Daan is the least of her concerns. If she were truly a leader, then she would understand how precariously her life hangs in the balance. She wronged the entire pack, not just me. She's just too self-centered to see the bigger picture.

I start to walk off the field. Murmurs split the air, the pack wondering if this is my mercy. My she-wolf flashes fang, letting everyone know, 'not yet.' It's not over for Cloe.

I find her at the edge crowd. Her mate stands behind her, his hands clasped in front of him, his new tattoos, purple tears, crying down his left cheek, and dripping onto his shoulder to his bleeding heart. It's an exquisite work of art. Beautiful and sad.

She's dark-skinned and tall with light brown eyes, and thick hair braided down her back. Her features are sharp, a pointed chin and nose, and high cheekbones. Curving out gently from her middle is her unborn pup. A male. I'm not sure why I'm surprised to see her strength. I was expecting a smaller, less prideful female.

"Luna," she greets me with respect, but her eyes are wary.

I wonder what she sees when she looks at me? Her mate's betrayal? A rival, the way I always saw Cloe?

"What is your name?" I ask her, wanting to know. I keep my expression calm but try to convey my sorrow in my eyes. Not pity, not for this female. She will own that mountain male standing behind her. She already does, if his eyes are telling the truth when he looks at her.

"Odina," she replies.

"Odina, you have forgiven your male?" I ask her. His shoulders stiffen up behind her. His eyes fall away from her and me to the ground. No, then. He hasn't gained his forgiveness.

I keep her gaze locked with mine. She shrugs one shoulder reluctantly. "It is... hard, Luna." It's not forgiveness, but it's not hatred, either.

It's good enough. These two don't deserve to pay for Cloe and Daan's decisions any more than I did.

"Take your justice," I tell her.

She blinks, confused. Warily her eyes travel over me. I hear the slight shift of my males, wondering if she's going to hit me. I hear the whimpers of Cloe, the soothing sound of her mother whispering that "it will all be over soon."

Abigail Pierson is right. It will be over soon. I nod at Odina and watch the realization come over her.

Light brown eyes slit into a predatory stare as her she-wolf takes over. Odina can't shift in her pregnancy, but damn, can she run.

She races past me, fingers curling and bursting into claws. She screeches like a demon, her voice unable to snarl as her wolf in this form.

Her male catches his breath. I watch him, watch the fear glaze his eyes. His whole world is hurtling toward the center of the field where a dangerous, wounded she-wolf lies with her mother.

I watch his expression, watch his eyes follow his mate. The fear fades, satisfaction, and pride blazing just as a scream of pain and fear cuts through the air, followed by a low death gurgle.

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