EMMA
The smell of burnt rubber and ozone hung heavy in the air, thick enough to coat the back of my throat. Damien’s hand was still clamped around my windpipe, but his grip had gone slack, his fingers trembling against my skin. The predatory idle of the motorcycle seemed to vibrate through my very bones, a low-frequency warning that told every living thing in the garage to run or die.
Gabriel dismounted. He didn't rush. He moved with a slow, terrifying deliberation, his boots clicking against the concrete like the ticking of a countdown clock. He wasn't shifting—there were no claws, no fur—but the Alpha was screaming through his skin. His eyes weren't just green; they were glowing with a sick, toxic light that seemed to swallow the dim yellow overheads.
"I told you to let her go," Gabri
