The scent of approaching death reached Akira before the alarms.
She stood in the conference room, one hand pressed to her swollen belly where the triplets had gone suddenly still. Their movement always reflected her emotional state, and right now her wolf was screaming warnings that transcended human language. The air carried metallic undertones—gun oil, tactical gear, the particular chemical signature of men trained to kill without question.
Outside, morning mist clung to the mountain slopes like ghostly fingers, but it couldn't hide the darkness moving through the trees. Black-clad figures emerged from treelines like ravens materializing from shadow, their movements coordinated with the precision of apex predators. Professional soldiers advancing with purpose that spoke of extensive pl
