Devon paced the small living room of the cabin, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. The sound of Cyrus’s smug voice on the phone still echoed in his mind, taunting him. “Your pack is ours, Devon. If you want them to live, bring Chanel. She’ll know what to do.”
Chanel sat on the edge of the sofa, watching him with a mix of concern and determination. She could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, his wolf barely restrained. Finally, Devon stopped and turned to her, his blue eyes blazing. “We have to go. Now.”
Chanel stood but remained calm. “Devon—”
“No,” he snapped, his voice sharp. “They have my parents. Alan, Vanessa—everyone! They’re hostages in our home, and Cyrus thinks he can just—” He stopped himself, exhaling heavily. What the hell did Cyrus mean by “She’ll know what to
