Chapter 22
— Blood at the Stones
Christa’s P.O.V.
The first howl split the night — Carlos’s, wild and furious.
The sound rolled through the clearing, vibrating through my bones, a warning and a promise. My father’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“So,” he said softly. “The dog comes running after all.”
The treeline erupted. Wolves poured into the clearing — our warriors, Ricardo and Ramiro shifting mid-stride, their hulking forms slamming into the enemy shadows already waiting among the stones. My father had not come alone. His pack — fanatics who still worshipped his name — burst forward, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
And at the front, Carlos.
His wolf was massive, storm-gray and rippling with power. His eyes locked on me first — always me — before snapping
