DAVE
Empire Building
Eight days until my sons arrive, and I wake from another nightmare with my fist through the bedroom wall. The third time this week. Drywall dust coats my knuckles while the blessing heals the cuts instantly, divine power refusing to let me stay damaged even when I deserve the pain. The hole gapes like an accusation—loss of control made manifest in destroyed property.
"Dave?" Kat stirs beside me, thirteen days past the earthquake, her massive belly making every movement an orchestration of effort.
"Just a dream." But through our bond, she feels the truth—visions of the creature rising from Cumberland soil, of Branson's wolves tearing through our pack with traditional savagery, of my father standing over our sons' bodies while explaining why weakness had to be culled
