The morning air in the Bloodstone packhouse was crisp, sharp with the scent of pine and frost. Normally, dawn brought a certain rhythm—trainings, patrols, and the steady hum of pack life—but today it felt different. Taut. Heavy. Waiting.
Crystal paced the edge of the main hall, Bree’s presence coiling in perfect synch with her steps. Each movement, each soft hiss from her wolf, echoed her own unease.
“Something’s wrong,” she murmured, more to Bree than to anyone else. The wolf’s growl rumbled low in agreement. They’re close. Too close.
Dustin emerged from the shadows of the training grounds, jaw tight, eyes sweeping the forest line beyond the packhouse. Maverick’s presence followed, coiled and ready, muscles tensed like drawn steel.
“We’ve seen the first attempts,” Dustin said, voice l
