Bree’s eyes narrowed slightly when a plate was pushed in front of her. Whilst food was generally a good way of putting Bree at ease it was better when delivered by someone who wasn’t a werewolf. And though the other woman had one up on the born werewolf population by virtue of the scars she’d seen on her back, by wearing them so openly, Bree figured she had no issue with what she had been turned into.
And if she’d had some say in it, perhaps Bree might not have done either. But if wishes were fucking horses, and all that.
She pressed her lips together, lifting her gaze to the other wolf, eyebrow lifting curiously as the plate settled, the scent of food warm and fresh hitting her nose.
“Sure,” she responded, not entirely sure what was going on. Why had she come over? What did she want? If it was a territory thing, Bree would be gone soon as she’d had food.