I woke up to Christian's arm locked around my waist like a steel trap.
Through our bond, I felt his wolf prowling just beneath his skin—restless, furious, barely contained. The kind of rage that made alpha wolves do very stupid, very violent things.
"You're going to crush my ribs," I muttered into the pillow.
His arm loosened fractionally. "They're still out there. In my pack. Plotting."
I turned to face him, taking in the hard set of his jaw, the silver bleeding into his dark eyes. Christian Knight was terrifying when he was angry—all predatory grace and lethal intent.
"And if you go tearing through the pack house right now, ripping throats out, you'll prove Harold right." I pressed my hand against his chest, feeling his heart hammering. "That you're impulsive. Dangerous.
