GABRIEL
The concrete jungle of London tasted like rot, exhaust, and the cloying, synthetic perfume of a man who deserved to be gutted.
I was perched on the edge of a soot-stained rooftop in Southwark, my boots hovering over the abyss. The rain was a relentless prickle against my skin, but I didn't feel the cold. All I felt was the pull. The bond was a frayed wire, sparking with Emma’s terror, sending jagged shocks of adrenaline through my nervous system.
Hunt. Tear. Protect. The wolf was a frantic weight in my skull, claws scraping against the inside of my forehead.
"Quiet," I hissed into the dark.
I had been in this godforsaken city for forty-eight hours, tracking Damien Roche like the vermin he was. I had smelled him at her apartment. I had smelled his oily sweat at her office. Eve
