The first thing Damien noticed when he stepped into the hotel was the suffocating stench of blood. It coated the air, sharp and metallic, burning his senses raw. It didn’t take him long to track his mate—he would always find her, no matter the distance—but every step deepened the fury clawing through his chest.
He knew the blood wasn’t hers; he could tell. Still, the sight of staff and guests strewn across the floor, stun darts protruding grotesquely from limp bodies, shredded the last of his restraint. They were merely collateral in someone else’s war, but the thought that Amelia could have been caught in the crossfire—that her warmth, her pulse, her scent—might have been extinguished in the chaos, sent him rabid. A low growl broke from his chest, vibrating with barely caged violence.
H
