Going down on my back in my own riptide

Dea had tried to hide the curl of her lip as the dual call of Archon and Deathbelle rang out, urging the children to go be by their father's side had been a monumental feat that had hurt more than the call. Once she knew they were out of ear shot, Dea snatched up the skin she lay on and bit into it, shrieking and savaging the spotted pelt in her heartbroken anger. Oh, how she wanted to rip that piebald bitch's heart out, how she wanted to tear Archon's pretty throat out. What good would it do, though? It was her own fault for staying quiet about how she felt. On several occasions she had disappeared on him, but never told him how she felt about him. She had been used as a vessel and nothing more. That thought ripped her apart.

She was heiress to Hell and all its wonders, she was the daughter of the cannibal queen. And, she had been used as though she was a mortal bitch. Dea took her anger out on her den, destroying every little trinket, every single decoration except the pups' sigils. Those she openly screamed at and then left the den. She couldn't leave, not yet. She needed somewhere to go first, the pups would need the protection of a pack, though her knowledge of the other packs was limited. Instead she went to the lake, where this whole bad trip had started. She sat by the water's edge and stared into her reflection, snarling and hating herself even more than she thought possible. Everyone would be at the pack meeting, but not her. She knew what that call meant. And she refused to answer it. Consequences be damned. Slamming her paw down into her reflection, Dea moved away and toward a rock to sun on. There was an unholy fire in her now, and she needed to plan.