The black SUV rumbled steadily up the narrow, winding road that led to the Willow Pack's territory. The trees lining the path grew thicker the closer they got, branches arching like sentinels overhead.
The air was dense with pine and old rain.
Inside the vehicle, the silence was sharp, broken only by the soft, rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Dante’s finger against the armrest.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Marcus’s jaw ticked once before he finally spoke, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“Dante,” he said, calm but clipped. “If you don’t stop tapping your damn finger, I’m going to rip it off and feed it to your wolf.”
Dante froze mid-tap, glancing over with a serious face. “Didn’t realize I was doing it.”
“You only do it when you’re stressed,” Marcus replied. “And I’m already dealing with enough of that with
