The convoy cut through the night like a blade.
I sat pressed against Damien in the middle SUV, the tactical vest digging into my ribs, the silver knife heavy on my thigh. Outside, pines blurred past under moonlight that felt too sharp, too knowing. Marcus drove in silence, jaw tight. The two wolves in the front seats kept scanning the tree line, rifles low but ready.
Damien hadn’t spoken since Soren’s call. His arm stayed locked around my waist, fingers splayed across my hip like he could anchor me to the seat by sheer will. Blood from the ambush had dried on his fresh shirt, cracking every time he shifted. The bond between us thrummed—hot, restless, feeding me the storm inside his head. He wasn’t just angry. He was unraveling at the edges, the alpha who commanded hundreds now reduced to
