JAYNAYAH

The hallway outside erupted. Wood splintered with the force of a cannon blast, and the heavy oak door, still bolted shut, was torn off its hinges. It flew inward, crashing against the opposite wall, missing Michael by inches.

Mace filled the doorway.

He was terrifying. He was magnificent.

He was fully shifted now, a massive timber wolf with fur matted in blood—none of it his own—and eyes burning like molten gold. His jaws were slick with crimson, his chest heaving like a bellows. He scanned the room in a heartbeat, his predatory gaze snapping from the dead guards on the floor to Michael pressed against the wall.

A low,...