Mitchell POV
"Get the hell out of my way," I growl, shoving past a guard in the corridor.
My skin burns. The scent of sulphur and old dust still clings to the stone walls of the packhouse, a sickening reminder of the witches. Novalee’s warning rings through my head like a hammer against an anvil. I cannot help you yet, Mitchell. Stand down.
"Alpha Mitchell, wait," the guard mutters, his boots scraping against the floorboards as he tries to keep pace.
"Touch me and I will take your hand off," I snap, not even looking back.
I need Betty. The mate bond screams in my chest, a physical ache that claws at my ribs. Just five minutes. Just a glimpse of her face to quiet the chaos in my skull. But the threat is real, the pack is on high alert, and I am suffocating in my own skin.
I slam my be
