Haisley should thank freakin’ Fate that Nuria shifts slow as molasses, and I beat her wolf across the floor. If Haisley raised a paw to her, I’d rip her head from her spine.

As it is, all I have to do is snap my teeth, and Haisley’s wolf skitters backwards and crawls under a table, mewling for her mother. Cheryl has backed off to huddle beside her mate in human form. No help coming for those quarters.

Dermot’s looking uneasy, but he’s not gonna make a move. Not for a “strictly for heat” mate. Not against certain death.

It takes a second for Nuria’s wolf to catch up to me,...