The welcome toast began like every other carefully staged Anderson event—glasses raised, smiles just polished enough to reflect the chandelier light.
Alpha Anderson lifted his cup. “To friendship between packs—"
The howl cut him off.
It wasn't close, but it was wrong—sharp, guttural, the kind that signaled more than a lone wolf. Chairs scraped, guards moved, and the sound rolled over the manor again, this time closer.
From the balcony doors, shadows spilled across the lawn.
---
“Rogues," Marcus barked from his post by the window.
Before the first one cleared the outer wall, Jolene's voice rang out, high and urgent: “Clara!" She said it like an accusation, like the name itself was the cause.
James turned toward her instantly. “What—"
“She was near the fence yesterday," Jolene said,
