Lucien didn’t respond.
My heartbeat kicked into overdrive the second we reached the Wolfe estate. The gates were already open—either done so by accident or in anticipation of our arrival, I couldn’t tell. Lucien didn’t stop to announce us. He merely sped up the drive without pause, tires crunching over gravel.
The house loomed ahead, lights on, shadows moving behind the curtains.
I unbuckled my seat belt before Lucien had even fully stopped the car. But before I could reach for the door handle, he snagged my hand.
“They won’t take kindly to me being here.”
“I won’t let them touch you,” I said before throwing open my door. The gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I ran toward the entrance, Lucien close behind. The distance from the car to the front steps was barely more than a few strides, yet it felt insurmountable. Like I was dragging a boulder behind me with every step.
I barely raised my hand to knock when the front door swung open. A tall man in a dark suit stood framed in the doorway, shoulders squared. “He’s not welcome here.”
I didn’t slow. Didn’t flinch.
Instead, I lifted my chin and curled back my lips to expose my fangs. My very sharp, very lethal fangs.
“Move.” I truly didn’t care who I had to kill to reach Thorne’s side.
The man hardly spared me a glance, his eyes all for the vampire behind me.
With a savage growl, I shoved the butler aside, hard enough to make him stumble, then stormed through the door, pulling Lucien with me.
The moment we crossed the threshold, the sound of Thorne’s brothers shouting rose to my ears. They came from deeper in the house, and I instinctively headed in that direction.
“Sit down, goddammit!”
“Thorne, you are bleeding, for crying out loud!”
“I said sit down!”
I burst into the room and skidded to a halt. Cassian was in full wolf form, massive and dark, his hulking body prowling in tight circles. His fur bristled with every shout, his claws clicking against the marble floor. From the looks of his snarling lips and enraged eyes, he was barely keeping it together.
Felix hovered between the couch and a window, hands clenched into fists, his chest heaving. Ricky paced in front of him, his hair wild and his shirt covered in blood—too much blood.
And in the center of it all, with her back to me, was Thorne.
She swayed slightly, clearly exhausted, but too stubborn to fall. Blood soaked nearly every inch of her. It smeared her arms, pooled at her heels where she stood, dripped from her fingers. A shredded jacket barely covered her, the back of it torn so badly, only strips clung to her shoulders. And beneath it, I saw the outline of wounds—deep, ugly ones that hadn’t stopped bleeding.
She took a staggering step toward Ricky, tracking crimson footsteps with her.
Then another step. And another.
Ricky raised his hands, almost as though he was preparing to defend himself from his little sister.
“Thorne,” I whispered. Just her name. But that was all it took for the room to fall dead silent.
She stopped moving, as did everyone else. Her brothers all glanced my way, even Cassian. I’d never locked eyes with a werewolf in wolf form before and truly hoped I never did again. All I saw was a predator there.
Finally, Thorne turned.
And I gasped.
Someone had battered her face. She had a split lip, one eye was nearly swollen shut, and her cheek was bruised a sickly shade of purple. A jagged gash ran from her temple to her jawline, crusted in half-dried blood, and still seeping. But it wasn’t her injuries that stole the breath from my lungs.
It was her eyes.
They glowed. And not golden like Cassian’s. Nor her natural brown.
