“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice trembling as the sharp pounding on the door echoed again.
Ansel was already standing near it, his broad shoulders tense, his body angled in a protective stance. The air around him seemed to thrum with quiet aggression. I hurried to his side, my bare feet brushing against the cold floor.
A low, deep growl rolled from his chest. The sound vibrated through the room, primal and raw, and it sent a jolt of fear through me. My pulse spiked, matching the rhythm of the pounding on the door.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“The scent,” he said, his nostrils flaring slightly. “I recognize it. They found us.”
My stomach dropped. “It’s them,” I breathed. “Nelson’s goons.”
I stepped closer to the door and pressed my eye to the peephole. Four men stood outside, their
