The cabin’s quiet was a lie.
Jack sat in the dark until his muscles went stiff, until Molly’s breathing steadied into the shallow rhythm of half-sleep. But there was nothing calm inside him. Every heartbeat slammed against his ribs, a drumbeat of rage. Every inhale still carried Molly’s voice—he forced me—and the ghost of her recoil when he kissed her.
He hadn’t missed the way her eyes had gone glassy with terror, the way she’d hugged her knees as if to keep herself from shattering apart. Jack had seen broken wolves before. He’d held survivors from other packs who flinched at shadows. But watching Molly’s voice tremble on words Carter had stolen from her—it carved him raw in ways no blade could.
Jace prowled inside him, pacing, snarling, pressing claws to the edges of his skin. We kill
