Amaris didn’t say anything at first. It was completely understandable that he was upset. His friend had just been shot and he didn’t know how she was doing or even if she would survive.<br/><br/>She followed along at his heels as he walked over to the small cemetery. Her eyes quickly glanced at the headstones, enough to see that all the names engraved thereupon were male names. His words almost didn’t register as more than passing information. Until he mentioned that all the males had been killed by wolves. A small inkling of a thought tickled the back of her brain. She tried to dismiss it but it kept niggling and pestering.<br/><br/>“Tell me how your grandfather died,” she demanded. Her tone was harsh, the one she’d use with the younger members of the pack.<br/><br/>For some reason she found herself hoping like hell the story he would tell wasn’t one that she was already familiar with. She liked this man. He was honest, sincere, and willing to help wolves. He couldn’t be a descendant of her mortal enemy, the one the pack was hunting for. Or could he?