Marco’s POV
“Pick up the damn phone,” I muttered, running a hand through my disheveled hair, frustration rolling through me like a wave.
For the last three hours—or more—I’d been pacing the rocky terrain, tossing boulders, shouting into the wind, even scaring away birds that dared fly too close.
I’d moved farther from the pack’s borders, hoping distance would ease the gnawing tension inside me. It didn’t. Everything I did—every damn thing—felt futile.
If not for sheer self-control, I’d have crushed my phone by now.
Finally, the line to the pack house connected. I pressed the phone tighter against my ear.
“Hello?” I said, breath heavy.
“Alpha Marco?” came a voice on the other end.
“Yes,” I replied quickly. “Who am I speaking with in the pack house?”
“I’m one of the head guards her
