Raven’s POV
I had learned a long time ago that the most dangerous thing in any room was never the loudest.
The loudest thing was Ronan — all theater and chanting and performance of power. I had been so focused on the noise of him that I’d spent months failing to account for what was moving quietly behind it.
The vehicles at the clearing’s edge didn’t make theater. They just stopped, evenly spaced, eight dark SUVs with engines running and headlights cutting hard white lines through the remaining smoke of the ritual fire. Doors opened. Figures stepped out — not wolves, or not only wolves. The way they moved was wrong for it. Too coordinated. Too contained. None of the fluid looseness of people who carried a second shape inside them.
These were something else.
“Jax,” I said quietly.
“I
