Carrie takes a beer from Phil just as you slip into the spot beside her at the bar.
She looks up. "What do you want?"
"Just to talk."
"And why the fuck should I talk to you?"
You shrug. "You don't have to. Just thought it was worth a shot."
She takes a sip of her beer, grimaces, and pushes it away. "What do you want to say?"
Yeah," she mutters, face hard and angry. "You're sorry. I'm sorry. Everyone's sorry. Boo-fucking-hoo. Doesn't change what happened though, does it? And before you say anything, yes, I know, you could have killed me, but didn't. What? You want me to praise you for having the decency to not murder someone. Grow up."
After you chased me out of the city and told me you'd kill me if I returned?" She snorts. "Nothing. I walked until I couldn't walk anymore. Then this other pack found me. I was too weak to do anything much... When I woke up, I stole your friend's line, told them I wasn't with the moon, and they didn't kill me."
"That's good."
"Is it? It feels like I have to play by your wolf rules, or I die. Which, by the way, isn't good. It's fucked up. Why does what happened to me matter to you anyway?"