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“I did too,” he admits. “But then you acted immune to the hex dust I put in that first letter, and I couldn’t figure out why. Seeing Nash with you in the woods the other day reminded me.”

“What a handy coincidence.” She holds his gaze without malice. “And now, here we are.”

He smiles. “Here we are. And where do you stand?”

“I’m all yours now," she says. Her voice is even. Her hands loose at her sides. Her eyes steady on his. “What can I do to help?”

Something moves behind his eyes at that. Satisfaction. Relief. He looks at her for a long moment like he’s double-checking. Then he sweeps his gaze over the rest of us, and his smile broadens.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says. “For starters, you and your pack can kill your alphas for me.”

I nod. That makes sense. I’d do the same if I were him. Get them off the board. It’ll make the transition easier.

Mia doesn’t hesitate. The two words come out clean, agreeable, utterly without inflection. “No problem,” she says.

And then the others echo her words.

Dutch. No problem.

Razor. No problem.

Crow. No problem.

Ramsey looks over at me. “You’ll give me a hand too?”

“Sure.” My response comes easily. “Whatever you need.”

Resistance tears at the edges of that from somewhere deep. Something hot sparks under my ribs—an ember under ash—but the thought slides away before I can catch it. My loyalty to Ramsey is bigger. So, I turn with the others and walk toward the house. Toward Grey and Lexi, who are standing just inside the terrace doors. Who are watching us come to kill them.

20

MIA

Ihave to get outside.

The thought arrives in my head fully formed and entirely reasonable, the same way thoughts always do, except that it isn’t mine. I know it isn’t mine the way I know the difference between a dream and waking. Barely but enough.

Go outside, the thought says again, patient and pleasant. Ramsey is waiting.

On a rush of friendship, I start walking.

My wolf snarls, No.

I stop walking.

Dutch, Razor, and Marcus file past me in the corridor. Crow is a step ahead, all of them unhurried and purposeful and pointed toward the back of the house like I was. Nash follows, barely looking over at me as he goes.

My wolf snarls, Don’t.

The desire to follow them pushes back. It's not unpleasant. That's what's so wrong about it. It doesn't feel like invasion; it feels like wanting, like a craving that makes perfect sense. My feet take two steps forward before I clock what’s happening and stop them.

What the⁠—

Don't fucking do it, my wolf says again, and this time, she’s not loud about it. She’s quiet as a mouse, which is its own alarm.

Someone grabs my arm. I yank, half-panicked, until I see that it’s Grey. “The air vents,” he says so quietly I almost miss it.

His gaze flicks upward. Then he points to his nose. I follow and note the strange, subtle taste of my next inhale. Nash pointed it out before⁠—