The Enforcers stood paralyzed, their silver-cuffed hands hovering as the air in the hall thickened with the scent of an impending storm.

Ewing, sensing the Elder’s heart-rhythm faltering into another erratic beat, barked a command to Trent to guide Tyrone to the inner sanctum. In his fading consciousness, Tyrone’s mind slipped through the cracks of time; he looked at Avery and saw not the granddaughter, but the daughter who had vanished into the mist decades ago.

“Siena, please,” the old wolf whimpered, tears tracing the deep scars on his face. “The fault was mine. Do not let the moon set on your anger. Come back to the den. Stay with...