The west corridor collapses as I tear through it.
My wolf is fully forward. Owen is beyond reason now, throwing himself against the fragile barrier of my control. The bond is fading. Sienna’s golden thread, usually warm and steady in my chest, is unraveling into thin, fraying strands.
I roar and slam my massive black wolf form through a collapsing wall. Marble explodes outward. Two of Savannah’s rogue wolves try to block my path. My jaws close around the first one’s throat and rip. The second barely has time to scream before my claws open his belly.
Sienna.
I can still taste her on my tongue from the desperate moments before the trap sprang. Her scent—herbs, coffee, and that faint sweetness that is only her—clings to my fur even now. But the bond is weakening. Every second it grows fai
