My wolf snarled inside me before the words fully left his mouth. The wrongness hit first—the scent of steel, the controlled breathing of a stranger who should not have been able to reach this room. I sat up hard just as the masked figure lunged.
The blade came down in a clean, practiced arc.
I threw myself sideways. The knife tore through the pillow where my head had been and continued, catching the soft flesh of my upper arm. Pain flared hot and sharp. Blood welled through the thin fabric of my nightclothes.
I screamed.
The sound tore out of me and echoed down the corridor. Footsteps exploded outside the door. Voices shouted. Someone slammed against the wood, trying to force it open.
The assassin recovered in an instant and raised the blade for a second strike.
The door burst inward
