Isabella sat sulking beside Killian in his car. He had stormed into her room early in the morning and ordered her to pack her things—they were leaving immediately. She had argued, insisting she wanted to stay a little longer, but the look he gave her was strange, unreadable, something she couldn’t quite name. He hadn’t bothered to hear her out, only stated that he would be waiting in the car and that she had twenty minutes to pack and be ready.
Now, he drove with a terrifying, calm control, one hand loose on the steering wheel, his jaw set like carved granite.
*
Miles behind them, the Night Howl pack house was falling apart at the seams.
The heavy mahogany doors of the main parlor slammed shut, the sound echoing through the grand hall like a gunshot. Jessica stood in the center of the
