DANTE'S POV.
The late-morning sun slanted through the pines. My wolf wanted to run, to hunt, but the only thing pounding through my head was her.
Aria.
Her words still scraped like claws.
Defiance in those dark eyes, chin tipped up at me as if I weren’t an alpha. I should have been angry—hell, I was—but the memory burned hotter than anger. It stirred something possessive, reckless. A distraction I couldn’t afford.
Because the rogue scent was real.
I leapt over a fallen log, twigs snapping under my boots as I pushed faster. The smell of smoke and coppery blood rode the warm wind. Too fresh. Too close.
Ahead, sunlight flashed off steel as my warriors came into view. Jace, my head warrior, lifted his head first, shoulders tense.
“Alpha,” he said, bowing his head. “Trail runs straight
