Ethan felt it before the call came.
It started as a sharp pull low in his chest—deep, instinctive, wrong. Not pain. Not fear. Something older. Something that snapped his attention away from the Silvercrest Council chamber mid-argument.
His grip tightened on the arm of the chair.
Daniel Cross noticed instantly.
“Ethan?” his beta murmured under his breath. “What is it?”
The room was still buzzing with council voices—thinly veiled threats, political pressure disguised as concern—but the sound dulled, fading into background noise as the pull intensified. Protective instinct surged through him, hot and violent, like his wolf had slammed against the inside of his ribs.
Amelia.
His jaw clenched.
The bond—quiet for days, restrained by sheer will—had stirred.
Not gently.
Not curiously.
B
