The alarm bell rings through the packhouse like a scream.
Wolves are shouting, running through the halls, grabbing weapons, stripping off clothes before shifting. The air is thick with panic and raw energy. I can feel it in my chest — the pull of my wolf, the instinct to fight.
Jax turns to me, his golden eyes blazing. “Sage, stay here.”
“What? No—”
He grabs my shoulders, his grip firm. “I mean it. You’re their target. If they get to you, it’s over. We’ll handle this.”
I shake my head, heart pounding. “You can’t handle it alone, Jax. You saw how many there were—”
“I don’t care. You’re not risking yourself.”
He doesn’t wait for me to argue again. He runs, his body twisting and shifting mid-stride, fur bursting across his skin until the huge black wolf — my mate — lands on four paws a
