Page 47 of Bad Wolf's Nanny

It curled inside his chest like a truth too raw to say aloud.

But what else could he call it?

Lola, pacing the kitchen barefoot at night with Sam tucked against her shoulder. Lola, explaining dream analysis in shifter mythology to Sam like it were a fairy tale. Lola, blinking up at him from his couch, lips parted in sleep, like she’d finally let herself rest.

He didn’t just care about her.

He waswrappedaround her.

And Sam?

That was beyond language now. Beyond reason.

Dane didn’t know when it happened, whether it was the first time the kid gripped his finger or the night he woke up in apanic and found himself instinctively reaching for the bassinet, but at some point, Sam had becomehis.

His to raise.

His to shield.

His to kill for.

And if Red Teeth, or any other bastard, thought for a second they could bring their war to Dane’s doorstep, they were in for a brutal correction.

Dane straightened, running a hand through his hair, damp still from his earlier shower.

This was the hardest part.

The waiting.

Not the fighting. Not the aftermath. Those were easy. You bled, you healed, you buried the bodies, and you moved on.

But the moments before, when the air thickened with dread, when your gut knew something was coming but the trees still looked empty, that was where madness bred.

He reached for the radio clipped to his belt.

“East sector clear. Looping to the south line.”

A crackle of confirmation came through.

Dane jogged down the incline, his breath visible in the cold air, body tense and ready. Each step fed the fire building inside him.

He wasn’t just angry anymore.

He wasfocused.

This was the cost of having something to lose.

You became lethal.

Not because you loved violence, but because youknewthe violence would come, whether you welcomed it or not. And when it did, you needed to be the one who struck first. Hardest. Final.

His feet hit the bottom of the ridge. He paused briefly, catching the scent of something stale and sharp; old blood, maybe. Not fresh. Could’ve been days old. Could’ve been bait.

Red Teeth played games like that.

He pushed forward anyway.

Twenty minutes later, he regrouped with the others near an old watchpoint. The perimeter was holding, for now. They’d reinforced three blind spots, marked two unfamiliar scents that needed tracking, and rerouted the northeast patrol toward a vulnerable wildlife corridor.