Derek's POV
The pack house corridor is darker than hell, and I'm crouched here like some kind of f*****g animal. Which, I guess, is exactly what I am. My wolf senses are going crazy, picking up every heartbeat, every breath, every drop of sweat from Martinez's soldiers as they regroup down the hall.
"s**t," I whisper, pressing my back against the wall.
The pack bond is doing this weird thing where it's crystal clear one second, then barely a whisper the next. It's like trying to hear through static. I can feel Thomas's determination from the medical station, but it's fuzzy. Elena's panic is sharp and clear, then gone. Marcus's guilt hits me like a punch to the gut, then fades.
"This is f****d," I mutter.
Through the bond, I feel someone's fear spike. Jenny, maybe. Or Sarah. It's hard
