Zayne POV
The drywall splintered behind my head as Vane’s fist missed my temple by an inch. I didn't give him a second chance. I buried my elbow in his solar plexus, the air leaving him in a wheeze that sounded like a punctured tire.
It wasn't a duel; it was a riot in a space designed for tea and conversation. One of the rogues lunged with a lead pipe, but I caught his wrist, the bone snapping under my grip with a sickening pop. I kicked him into the kitchen island, glass shattering and granite chipping as he went down.
"Zayne, stop!" Emma’s scream was shrill, cutting through the red haze of my wolf.
I ignored her. I had Vane pinned against the refrigerator now, my forearm crushed against his throat. His eyes were bulging, his claws raking uselessly against the leather of my sleeves. A
