28-
Mum is already waiting in the drawing room when we bring Zane and Lena inside.
She doesn’t speak. Just projects the vision straight into their minds before they have a moment to react to her grabbing their arms.
The second the image of the tree appears—with their three children hanging motionless in the wind—Lena gasps like she’s been stabbed. Her legs go weak. Zane catches her just in time, arms around her waist.
I step forward, instinct taking over. “Lena, please. Breathe.”
Her wide eyes meet mine, and I reach for her arm gently—barely brushing my fingers over her sleeve—and that’s when it hits me.
A white-hot pulse, deep in my bond.
Caden.
I don’t have to look at him to feel it. The split-second spike of territorial need, rage and panic all crashing through his bloodstream l
