The sound that dragged Liam from sleep at three in the morning wasn't quite screaming—more a harmonized mewling that meant all three wolf cubs had discovered synchronized hunger pangs.
He woke to find Akira already shifting, her transformation a cascade of silver light that painted their bedroom in lunar shadows. Her dire wolf form emerged with fluid grace, twelve thousand years of existence condensing into muscle and ancient power. Through the mate bond, exhaustion pulsed between them like shared heartbeat—two weeks of triple newborn schedules had carved hollows beneath both their eyes.
"Siniktarnak," she rumbled in the throat-voice dire wolves used for necessary communication. Need rest. Her golden eyes held that soft unfocus of a mother running on instinct alone.
"I'll bring them."
