Dante
The wind was sharp tonight—carrying with it the scent of blood, smoke, and something else I couldn’t quite place.
Something off.
I was patrolling the eastern perimeter of Ashridge on my bike, just outside the forest line. Since Ivy’s warning and Asher’s growing presence around Shirley, I hadn’t slept more than three hours straight. My instincts were on edge. The town was too quiet, like a storm crouching behind every corner.
Then I heard it.
A snarl—deep and guttural—followed by a desperate, sharp cry.
Not prey. Not animal.
Wolf.
I didn’t hesitate. I gunned the throttle and rode toward the sound, my body tensing, shifting. The wolf inside me stirred, clawing against the cage of my skin. I swerved off the gravel path and into the forest, headlights cutting through the trees. J
