The acrid scent of fear and blood hit me before I even rounded the corner into the alley. My wolf was clawing at my skin, desperate to break free and seek vengeance for our mate. I forced him back, maintaining control by the thinnest of margins.
When I finally saw Seraphina, something inside me broke. She was slumped against the wall, her golden eyes wide with lingering shock, a bruise darkening on her delicate cheekbone. Lyra hovered beside her protectively, while my brother—still half-naked and splattered with blood—stood guard.
"Seraphina," I breathed, crossing to her in three long strides and dropping to my knees.
Her skin was cool to the touch as I gently tilted her face, examining the damage. The bruises on her throat—finger marks where someone had dared to choke her—made my vision go red. My wolf howled for blood, for vengeance, for the tearing of flesh.
"I'm okay," she whispered, her voice raspy from the assault. "The baby's okay."
