RIKA
My fingers were trembling. Actually f*****g trembling as I stared at the red mark on Sloane's cheek. The imprint of someone's hand was clear as day—five fingers, a palm, the whole damn thing branded on her soft skin like a claim.
But it wasn't a claim. It was violence. And the bastard who'd done it was lying unconscious on her driveway.
I wanted to kill him. I wanted to shift right there and rip his throat out with my teeth. Let my wolf taste his blood, feel his life drain away. It would be so easy. So satisfying.
But I couldn't. Because Sloane was looking at me with those wide, terrified eyes, and she needed me to be calm. I needed to be the steady one.
The bond had snapped into place the night she'd stayed at the mansion. I'd felt it the moment I saw her crying in the hallway,
