Bertha’s POV
Smoke. That is the first thing to hit me—thick, acrid, and virtually impossible to ignore even when I'm dreaming about being in Friedreich's pack ruling as a luna. It claws its way into my throat and yanks me awake.
In reality, I shoot upright, heart hammering, my senses immediately on high alert. The crackle of flames follows, then the frantic voices of my pack mates outside.
“What the—” I mutter, throwing myself out of bed and stumbling toward the window. My room gives me a perfect view of the ensuing chaos: bright orange and red flickers reflecting off the trees, and people darting back and forth, yelling over one another.
A sinking feeling engulfs me. Fire. Our pack house is on fire.
Ziggy stirs in my mind, snapping to attention. “You’re not going to just stand there
