The door slammed behind me with a heavy thud that did nothing to silence the roar inside my chest.
My wolf was clawing at my ribs, demanding blood, demanding I turn around and drag Sienna somewhere deep underground where no one could touch her. Not the architects. Not the Coven. Not even the ghosts of our parents.
But I couldn’t.
Not when the eastern ridge was lighting up like a war zone.
I shifted mid-stride, bones cracking and reforming as fur rippled over my skin. The indigo markings Sienna had painted on my chest burned hotter, feeding power into every muscle. Owen surged forward, hungry and vicious, but even he was split—half of him focused on the fight ahead, the other half tethered to the bond pulling us back toward her.
Sienna.
Her presence pulsed through the bond—steady but
