Rowan’s POV
The cabin smelled of smoke, pine, and the sharp tang of blood. Rowan stood near the window, arms crossed, eyes scanning the snow-heavy treeline. Lila crouched on the small rug by the hearth, shaking slightly, her fur matted but no longer slick with fear. Holly hovered near the doorway, hands wrapped tightly around her coat, eyes darting between Rowan and the young wolf.
Rowan’s mind, however, wasn’t entirely on the room. It was outside, in the trees, feeling the snow press against bark and ground and paw. The scent trails he’d fought through earlier had been scattered now, but they hadn’t disappeared. A lingering tail of rogue wolves had escaped—fleeing, but not far. And Rowan’s Alpha instincts prickled: they would return.
Lila’s ears twitched, and Rowan caught the faintest
