Xavier's POV
Sean finds me before dawn, which is never a good sign.
"You need to see this," he says, and something in his voice pulls me fully awake before my feet even hit the floor.
I follow him down to the makeshift command room Green Valley's Gamma set up near the eastern checkpoint — my own men and a handful of Green Valley's border patrol crowded around a table, all of them wearing the same grim expression.
"Third one this month," the Gamma says, sliding a folder toward me. "Small border pack, twelve miles east. Six wolves. All dead."
I flip it open. Wolf-shifted bodies, clean puncture wounds at the throat, drained of enough blood that even shifters — who heal fast, who bleed slow — shouldn't have died from it. I've seen enough battlefield wounds in my life to know exactly what
