Derek stormed into the main mansion and straight through to his study, his mind a tangle of a hundred warring thoughts.
He was confused and in denial. And beneath both of those, he was furious. The problem was, he didn't quite know who he was furious at.
Was he mad at Uncle Crane for being a professional pain in the backside? Was he mad at Rolf? Himself? Or was he mad at the photographs?
Honestly, his hands were just itching to grab the nearest object—preferably a very expensive one—and hurl it straight through a window to see if the crashing sound would make the noise in his head stop.
He hated losing control.
A soft knock came at the door. But before Derek could roar at whoever it was to go away and choose death elsewhere, the door pushed open slowly, and Nana stepped inside.
She didn't look bothered by the fact that the entire room smelled like a stressed-out Lycan King. She looked at him calmly.
"How are you, son?" she asked, walking in.
