The door slammed open with a thunderous c***k that reverberated through the suddenly tense room, the sound a violent punctuation mark in the otherwise still evening.
Kyson stood there, framed by the doorway, his broad shoulders tense beneath the dark fabric of his hooded sweatshirt, his posture radiating a coiled, barely contained energy. His golden eyes, usually flecked with amber amusement, blazed with an intensity that spoke of a wolf struggling against the confines of its human skin.
But it wasn’t pure, unadulterated rage that hit him first, though that was a close second.
It was the sight.
Xander, his younger twin leaning with an infuriating casualness against the doorframe of the en-suite bathroom, his hand—his possessive, entirely too familiar hand—brushing against the damp str
