Avery’s wolf howled in silent frustration. Despite the desperate snarl in her soul, her weakened limbs were no match for Stan’s strength. He had scented her vulnerability and struck with the precision of a mountain lion, dragging her to this godforsaken hovel.

When Avery finally processed the gravity of her cage, she looked at Stan with raw, wide-eyed terror. She was a captive of a ghost, a male who existed outside the pack’s laws. Gripped by a primal dread she had never known, her hands instinctively shielded the curve of her stomach, protecting the secret life within.

Stan’s gaze drifted to her midsection, a faint, jagged smile playing on his...