At first, when she'd grown certain that yes, yes, this was finally him, her heart had soared. All this time spent searching, running her paws raw and practically starving without a pack's support, was at last worth it. He was alive, she didn't scent blood or infection or illness, in fact, she smelled...
It hit her in waves, each colder than the last. This was a pack. His scent was dominant. Several pregnancies were occurring. What in the fuck was going on?
By the time the ferns gave way to the lair-like entrance, Woya was seething. Her lips pulled back in a gruesome display of anger and disgust as her hackles began to bristle. Without a second thought, she stormed forward, with only one goal in sight: find Hudson, now.