The way she said it wasn't respectful. It wasn't pack. It was hungry. Intimate in a way that made my wolf snarl beneath my skin.

Malcolm's jaw tightened. "Who is this?"

A soft laugh. Warm. Dark. The kind of laugh that belonged in shadows and silk sheets.

"You don't recognize my voice, Malcolm? After everything we shared?" A deliberate pause. "I'm hurt."

My blood turned to ice. Lira's hand froze over her cup. Mom's eyes went sharp as daggers.

Malcolm's grip on the phone turned white-knuckled. "I don't know you."

"Not yet," she purred. "But soon. Very soon." Another laugh, softer this time. "Tell me... is your pretty Luna standing...