The scent of blood clung to the air long after the rogues were dead. It soaked into the wooden floorboards, into the walls, into my skin.
Killian stood in the doorway of Luca’s room, still half-shifted, his chest rising and falling with a predator’s measured breath. His silver eyes swept over me, then Luca, then the c*****e behind us.
“They breached the heart of the pack house,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “That means someone inside opened the door for them.”
My heart thudded. “The traitor.”
He nodded once, grim. “And we’ve just run out of time.”
Outside, a howl rose — long, mournful, and laced with warning. Another answered it from the ridge. The chorus of wolves rolled through the night like thunder.
The Blood Moon wasn’t until tomorrow night. But the war had decided to come
