Morning came too quietly.
After the rogue attack, Lena expected chaos—sirens of howls, urgent meetings, panic rippling through the pack. Instead, Blackwood Ridge moved with controlled precision. Wolves repaired the perimeter. Guards doubled. No one spoke of fear aloud.
But she felt it.
It clung to the air like smoke.
Dylan stood across the clearing, speaking in low tones with his beta. His posture was rigid, commanding, Alpha in every sense of the word. The golden light in his eyes hadn’t faded since the fight. If anything, it burned brighter.
And every time his gaze flicked toward her, something inside her chest pulled tight.
She hated that pull.
She hated that she felt tethered.
“You’re staring,” came a smooth voice behind her.
Lena turned to find Mara leaning casually against a
