Enzo’s POV I was barely aware of what I was doing as I stood up, so abruptly that my chair was knocked backwards – with such force that it smashed on the floor. My fingers trembled as I reached for Scarlett’s hand, but my glare was firm as I looked out upon the jeering bunch of idiots that my pack had suddenly become. “Don’t run,” I murmured to her, squeezing her hand. “If you run, they win.” She nodded mutely, shaking so much, with such wide eyes, that she looked more like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a truck than a werewolf. A single tear tracked down her cheek, coming to rest just above her lip. I leant over and wiped it away. And then I rounded on my wolves. “Scarlett is my mate,” I said, my voice clipped. “And I am your Alpha. My judgement is not to be questioned on this. I cannot believe the way you have all behaved today. I am disappointed in every one of you for treating a new member of our pack with such a lack of respect.” Silence swelled. Good. “Since you are

Enzo’s POVI couldn’t decide what looked better: Scarlett, with her hair loose down her back with five strands braided intricately around her head, interwoven with clovers and lavender and daisies, her cheeks flushed with excitement and her eyes wide with wonderment, or my pack grounds, every inch of them glittering with lamplight and flickering candles.Well. Obviously it was Scarlett, I thought, a smile pushing at my cheeks. She smoothed her hands over the deep green velvet bodice of her dress – the least practical thing I’d ever seen her wear – and blushed as she looked up, catching my gaze.“You look beautiful.” I swallowed hard before correcting myself, an almost painful yearning gnawing at my chest. “You are beautiful.”“You’re just realising this now?” she teased, spinning in a loose circle, letting the skirt of the dress fan out around her. Fallen leaves crunched beneath her boots.“I knew it from the moment I saw you.” I pulled her close, my hands snagging her waist. “And I l

Enzo’s POVI blinked myself into awareness. The room was vaguely familiar, all squeaky linoleum floors and starchy white bed sheets. Disinfectant, scented with pine and lemon, filled the air and made the flooring gleam wetly. The curtains were drawn, but no daylight pierced through them.Davin was perched on the edge of my bed, his face drawn and weary. He brushed a strand of curly hair behind his ear, his masquerade mask long since discarded. I narrowed my eyes at him, needing to fix my vision onto something to stop it from rolling and spinning. My stomach revolted; I surged upwards, bent double, and vomited all over the squeaky-clean floor.Davin slid a bucket under my mouth wordlessly, a few seconds too late. Still, it was better than nothing.“That’s a good sign. A very good sign indeed,” said a familiar voice, feminine and soft but with a hard edge to it. I knew it, but was too focused on spewing my guts up to put a face to the sound. “If he’s got the energy to sit up and vomit,

Enzo’s POVI pushed my glasses up my nose, settling back on my bed. It creaked as I shifted my weight. “It’s all here. There isn’t anything missing – not even her favourite sweatshirt.”“Of course it’s all here,” said Marla, pausing her pacing to arch an eyebrow at me. She flicked her dark curls over her shoulder before starting up again. “Scarlett wouldn’t have run, and she sure as Hell wouldn’t have poisoned you.”“Emila’s insistence makes her almost seem guilty,” mused Davin. He was hovering in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, he nodded at the damp grey dawn visible through the window. “I don’t think we’ll find any answers in here. We need to start speaking to people, Alpha.”“You’re right.” I folded up Scar’s sweatshirt with shaking hands and laid it flat on the bed, smoothing out creases and folds. It smelt like her, more than any of her other clothes, but for once the scent of pine and wild berries didn’t manage to soothe me. My hear

Enzo’s POVI scrubbed a hand through my hair and sighed. My back ached and my chest felt tight, like a man was sitting on it – and not in a fun way. I ran my dry tongue over the back of my teeth. My leg bounced beneath the table. We’d been sat in the meeting room all morning. I’d stared at every inch of every wall over the last few hours, watching them grow steadily lighter as the sun had risen, going from a deep, burnished gold to the washed-out white-grey it was now. Floor to ceiling windows faced out to the forest, painted a rich green under a cover of cloud and fog; the dismal outdoors contrasted with the warm tones of the room, with its crackling log fire in the wide, stone hearth and the burgundy and terracotta throws covering the back of the worn sofa in the corner. Beside it was a small coffee table that held two mugs of coffee, which had long since gone cold, and a vase full of wilting flowers on it. I wished I’d set up this particular meeting on the sofa rather than at this