Risk; play my game

[Ahren de le Poer]

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indent Even as he sat on the ground, Ahren was in denial. That wasn’t real. He was unstable, he was fucked up, that wasn’t real. The blood on his face had not yet begun to clot, and dripped from his cheek to the snow. His breathing was heavy, labored. Only Jasper’s voice tore him from the quiet surrender of that sweet denial. One hand shot out, grabbed his son’s wrist. Ahren could not stand to be touched in this state. Without a word he let go and found his feet, still staggering, and went to the tree. Wrenching the knife from the bark, the red-eyed male stood still for a minute, staring ahead at the deep wound in the tree coldly.
indent “No one hears about this,” he said lowly. There was a dangerous threat in his tone, a warning.

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