My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 176

Kane

The heavy oak doors of the pack house closing felt like they were sealing a tomb.

The air inside was different from the field—thick, stagnant, and smelling of expensive floor wax and the faint, lingering scent of lilies that Elara insisted on keeping in every vase. It was suffocating. In the South, we called this luxury. Right now, it just felt like a lack of oxygen.

A young male servant, barely out of his teens and still smelling of unwashed fur and nervousness, scurried forward. He didn't look me in the eye. None of them did lately. They just watched the floor and waited for the Alpha to pass like I was a storm front they were hoping would miss their house.

"Alpha," he murmured, reaching for the heavy bag of clubs.

I handed them over without a word. The iron heads clinked together, a sharp, metallic sound that echoed too long in the high-vaulted foyer. I didn't wait for him to bow. I just started up the stairs, my boots thudding against the carpeted risers. Every step felt heavier than the last. My collarbone was itching again—that jagged, raised line of scar tissue where the bond had been torn out a reminder that I was walking around with a hole in my chest that no amount of pack business could fill.

I reached my quarters and shoved the door open. I didn't look at the bed. I didn't look at the nursery plans spread out on the velvet chaise lounge. I went straight for the bathroom, ripping my shirt off as I moved. The buttons popped, one of them skittering across the tile like a lost tooth. I didn't care.

I kicked my boots off, stepped out of my jeans, and turned the heavy brass handles of the shower until the pipes groaned.

I stepped into the spray before it was even warm. The cold water hit my skin like a thousand tiny needles, but I didn't flinch. I needed the shock. I needed something to drown out the voice of Jace in my head telling me I’d fucked up. I needed to wash off the dirt from the field, the smell of the wet field, and the lingering, bitter taste of my own failure.

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