#Chapter 92 Barroom Brawl

Dominic We drove out to the scene of the attack: No Man’s Land. The tavern still looked just the way it did when I first stepped foot in the place, almost a decade ago. It was a rite of passage for young wolves to visit at their coming-of-age. Though as Alpha, the expectations for my good behavior were set higher than my peers. I stayed sober and in control, and vowed to never return. Back then, we didn’t look as kindly on the idea of mixing between Packs socially. Only arranged marriages or tragedy brought outsiders into the fold. Mira took in this information like a sponge, asking a few qualifying questions as we drove. She had never even heard of it, let alone gone in for a night of seedy drinking. “I also never really ‘came-of-age,’ so to speak,” she added. Even since regaining her wolf, she still had moments of longing for the years she had lived without it. The scent of the taproom hit me first: stale beer, salty snack food, and something sour that was a mix bet