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Noah goes rigid in my arms, and a voice slithers in from the shadows.

“I was wondering how long it would take before you came tearing through the forest like a rabid bitch.”

My blood turns to ice.

I turn slowly, laying eyes upon a man who has ended so many lives with all the careless flippancy of a beast who relishes blood sport purely for the agony it causes. The man who killed my parents.

And he’s smiling.

Samson Blackburn fills the doorway like a nightmare made flesh.

He is tall, lean, and entirely too calm. Far too settled into his own bones for someone who has risen to power through chaos.

Clearly, the Blackburn Alpha hasn’t bothered to shift into his wolf form for tonight’s battle. His black coat is spotless despite the battle raging outside, and his dark eyes are gleaming with the kind of cruelty that doesn’t need fangs to be lethal. He looks older than his years, a result of scarring and countless healed wounds from fights he’s started over the years, but he certainly does not look weak.

No, this is a man who has only grown more dangerous with time.

He lifts a sleek, black gun and levels it straight at Noah.

“No!” I twist, clutching my son to my chest, twisting just enough to shield him with my body.

Samson tilts his head, amused. “Motherly instinct. Yours had it, too.”

“Fuck you,” I spit.

He shifts the barrel slightly. “Let’s not be hasty, gorgeous. I haven’t quite decided what to do yet. Who shall I end first? The princeling…or the unwanted queen? What will hurt the young Alpha more?”

I don't move. My breath is shallow, every muscle locked, ready to shift if I have to, but I know I won’t be fast enough. Not with a gun. Certainly not at this range.

Noah’s heartbeat pounds against my chest, rapid with terror. I can feel the slightly tremble in his shoulders, the soft whimper that he’s trying so hard to hold in. My hand cups the back of his head.

“You don’t need to hurt him,” I say. “He’s a child.”

Samson grins. “Oh, Alina Sinclair…he’s not just a child. He’s a tool. A threat. As are you.”

I inch backward, slowly putting myself between him and my son,forcing him to track me with the barrel. Unfortunately, there isn’t anywhere else for me to go in here. He’s blocking the only exit with his towering form.

“Let him go,” I grit out, voice steady despite the panic surging in my veins. “You want me and Rowan. Here I am, and I’m sure he’ll soon follow. But just let Noah go. Let him go somewhere far away where he’ll never bother you.”

Noah’s sharp intake of breath is the only protest he offers. He’s too afraid to truly understand what I’m suggesting to Samson.

The Blackburn Alpha seems to consider it.

Then, just as fast as flipping a switch, the gun snaps back to my chest.

“Fine,” he says. “You first.”

His finger tightens on the trigger, taking two steps inside the shack.

And the door explodes behind him.

A blur of dark fur and curdled fury bursts through the shattered frame, slamming into Samson like a freight train. The gun clatters across the floor. Samson hits the wall hard, cracking wood underneath. A snarl of rage rips from his throat as claws tear into his shoulder.

Rowan.

His eyes blaze like blue flame in the darkness as he pins Samson to the floor with one paw locked against his throat. Blood stains his mouth. His claws gleam. He looks absolutely feral. Beautiful and terrifying, a storm given form.

Samson looks up at the wolf on top of him and lets out a raspy, mocking laugh.