Calder’s POV
By the time I hit the door, my wolf had already shoved halfway through my skin. Claws cracked from my fingertips. My spine tried to lengthen. My teeth ached with the need to tear something apart.
Something was wrong.
Bad wrong.
“Open it,” my wolf snarled inside me, pacing, frantic. “Now, Calder. Now.”
I didn’t bother with the handle. I shoved the door so hard it slammed into the wall.
The smell punched us in the face.
Blood.
Not the metallic tang of battle. Not a clean wound or a wolf bite.
This was soft, raw, living blood. The kind that should never be spilled.
Rafe shot past me in a blur, and the noise that ripped out of him didn’t belong to a man. It was hollowed-out grief shaped into sound.
Jaxon froze in the doorway, fingers curling like he needed to catch hims
