Chapter 12
"Victor, you’re mistaken, there’s no way," Clara insisted from the driver’s seat. The tension in the car was thick, a suffocating blanket woven from Victor's sheer terror and Clara's stubborn disbelief. After sensing the unmistakable, chilling similarity between the woman Bubba had been talking to at the club and Layla—the woman Victor loathed, whose memory felt like a corrosive poison even years after her execution—they were speeding back toward the pack territory. Victor and Diana sat rigidly in the back seat of Clara’s car.
Victor was more than just shaken; he was viscerally repulsed and desperately fighting a tidal wave of panic. His breath felt ragged in his chest, and his hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists on his thighs. Being a werewolf now was a gift he cher
