Elena
Elena’s legs barely carried her back to her room. She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving like she’d run a marathon. Her hands were still shaking, fingers numb and cold despite the heat crawling under her skin.
Yes.
That single word kept echoing in her skull. Her wolf was rising. Everything she’d been feeling, every nightmare that ripped her from sleep, every headache that split her open, every burst of rage that came from nowhere it was all real.
Elena pushed off the door and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Her fingers fumbled over the screen as she pulled up her dad’s number. Hit call. Pressed the phone to her ear so hard it hurt.
It rang. And rang. And rang.
“You’ve reached Miguel Cruz. Leave a message.”
“Dad.” Her voice cracked. “Dad
