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"She's not there," said Magnus.

My blood ran cold. She ran? I scared her.

"Astrid brought Rosalind into the city three hours ago," Magnus said, checking a notification on his phone. "According to the security detail's last notification, they spent the last two hours doing severe damage to a credit line at three different luxury boutiques."

I blinked, thoroughly thrown off. "Rosalind went shopping?"

"She's a pack princess, little brother," said Vidar. "What did you think she was going to do all day? Sit in your bedroom and knit? They're having lunch at that bistro on 5th right now. A few blocks away."

I rubbed the back of my neck. The picture of Rosalind standing in a high-end city boutique surrounded by designer bags seemed right. But the thought of her out in the public eye—surrounded by crowd noise, harsh light, and unfamiliar smells—made the protective part of my wolf snap awake.

"A few blocks?" I asked, settling my jacket over my shoulders.

"Don't go charging in there like an overbearing guard dog," Vidar warned, though his tone was light. "She might actually be enjoying herself without six-foot-four of brute force breathing down her neck."

I gave him the finger over my shoulder and pushed through the heavy doors, heading straight for the street. The afternoon sun beat down on the city sidewalk, doing little to cool the restless edge in my blood. I rolled my shoulders, keeping a fast, steady stride as I cut through the pedestrian traffic toward 5th Street.

When I pushed through the glass doors of the bistro, the cool, air-conditioned air hit me first, followed by a dizzying mix of roasted espresso, seared meats, and high-end perfumes.

My eyes swept the dining room out of habit, cataloging exits, blind spots, and threats. Near the middle of the dining floor, a familiar head of black and purple hair caught my attention.

Astrid was sitting alone, sipping an iced drink and thumbing at her phone. Before she could notice me approaching, I stepped up behind her, hooked my arms around her shoulders, and hauled her up into a bear hug, lifting her feet right off the floor.

"Put me down, you giant gorilla," Astrid groaned, pounding her fists uselessly against my biceps. But the huge, fond grin spreading across her face gave her away.

I set her back on her feet, giving her black and pink hair a rustle before looking around the empty table. "Where's Rosalind?"

Astrid smoothed down her designer top, rolling her eyes. "Restroom. She left a few minutes ago."

"By herself?"

Astrid threw her hands up defensively. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I offered to help her, and she nearly bit my head off. She explicitly told me she could manage on her own."

An uneasy feeling settled heavy in my gut. "I'm going to check on her."

"If you're going to have sex in the bathroom with your wife, at least wait for me to settle the check and leave. Actually, no, you settle the check and leave a big tip."

I cut down the quiet back corridor leading toward the restrooms. As I drew closer, my wolf caught Rosalind's scent beneath the stale restaurant air—peonies, ripe strawberries, and that sharp little bite of peppercorn.

Then another scent slammed into my senses. My nose wrinkled at the overwhelming smell of cheap aftershave. Then my features smoothed out into the cold mask of a killer. I had smelled this scent before. Our wedding day. The wolf who had been standing too close. He was in the bathroom. With my wife.

And the door was locked.

I didn't think. I didn't pause to weigh the logistics or diplomatic consequences. Territorial fury hit my brain. I slammed my shoulder into the wooden door. The brass latch snapped as the door flew open and cracked violently against the tile wall.

The scene inside froze my blood.

The lanky Lobo guard was pressed up against my wife. His body crowded hers in front of the vanity. His hand rested against the curve of her waist, his face hovering mere inches from her neck.

My vision narrowed to a single, white-hot point of rage. The air ripped out of my lungs in a guttural, earth-shaking growl that rattled the glass mirrors. My claws burst through my fingertips, snagging the cuffs of my jacket.

I closed the distance in a single, explosive stride. I grabbed the guard by the back of his collar and his belt, hauling him backward with so much raw force that his feet left the ground. Before he could even turn to face me or draw a breath to speak, I slammed his head face-first into the solid marble countertop.

The sound of shattering bone and brain matter echoed through the room. Blood erupted across the white porcelain basin, spraying up against the mirror in a crimson splash as the guard went limp, slumping to the tile floor at my feet.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ROSALIND