Tent burst into the bedroom, alert for any hint of danger. Dera was in bed, her fists clasped over the blanket, eyes scrunched shut as she weathered the pain. Pat loomed above her, the surgical-looking implement clutched in his palm. As Dera's eyes flew open to confront Tent's, her fear hit him with the force of a blow, her scent ripe with terror.

His wolf growled, demanding freedom. It needed to eliminate the danger to their mate. But Tent had a problem—he did not see danger. Only Pat.

Pat, the healer.

Pat, the unmated male.

Pat, the man Tent had left in charge with Dera.

Jealousy burned within him, raw...