Ezra left the cabin the second Declan’s message hit him, and there was no hesitation in him at all, because one moment he was standing in front of me with that hard unreadable look on his face, and the next he was already out the door and striding up the hill toward the packhouse like he was marching straight into a fight he had been expecting his whole life.
I stayed where I was for a moment, standing in the doorway with one hand wrapped around my bruised arm while I watched him go.
The late afternoon light was turning gold across the clearing, and Ezra’s broad shoulders stayed rigid the entire way up the path while the matebond pulsed low and hard beneath my skin, carrying his anger, his focus, and that relentless determination that always rose in him when something threatened the pack
