The pup’s voice was small, but the words were a jagged, rehearsed venom—a chilling echo of a mother’s toxic grooming.

Rage, hot and primal, surged through Avery. It was a dual agony: the physical sting of the silver-tipped pin and the soul-deep fury that Charlotte would weaponize a child’s innocence to spread such rot. With a grimace of pain, Avery firmly but gently shoved the little girl away.

The pup tumbled onto the thick rug, her startled silence breaking into a high, grating wail.

"You low-blood bitch!" Charlotte shrieked. Her face contorted into a lupine snarl as she lunged, her claws unsheathing to rake Avery’s face.

But Hudson moved like...