beautiful redhead.”
Savannah tensed, and I could sense her rising trepidation.
I nudged her with my alpha presence, letting her know she was dismissed.
“Sleep well, Ms. Caine.”
She spun and stalked back to her car, giving me a delightful view of her
long legs and tight shorts. My breath stopped as my gaze landed on the back
of her pink shirt. Below her nickname, Fury, was the number she had chosen
—37.
She knew that the bastard Kahanov might be scrying, and she’d coopted
his mark. Talk about sending a message. The woman certainly had stones, but
she was toying with powers she didn’t understand.
I slipped into the cab of my truck, heart pounding, as all the things I
hadn’t told her raced through my mind. At the heart of them had been the
message Kahanov had somehow left on my desk—a small note, written in
blood:
You have three days to hand over Savannah Caine. If you don’t, I will
make your pack pay. One way or another, when the bodies are piled high
enough, you will submit.
My veins burned, and I struggled to restrain my claws as my fingers dug
into the steering wheel.
The pack was everything. Everything I was, and everything I stood for.
But I would never submit. I was going to hunt the bastard down, no matter
what it took. Then I would wrap my jaws around his throat and savor the
sweet taste of his blood.
3
Savannah
Three hours later, Casey and I stumbled through the front door after a
heavy night of celebration in which I’d done my best to forget about Jaxson,
the sorcerer, and the sword hanging over my head. I just wanted a night to be
normal. Every muscle in my body ached, and I was dead beat. It was a relief