Liam’s POV Our wolves tore through the woods, muscles straining, the sound of rushing wind in our ears. The pack's territory came into view, dark and imposing in the fading light. The moment the scent of Rogues hit my nostrils, it clawed at me like rotten meat—putrid, violent, and repulsive. It was a smell that spoke of danger, death, and chaos. *No time to waste.* Rage was already eager, his fury building like a storm in my mind. *We will tear them apart,* he growled. As we approached the pack house, I saw them—my father and Derick, both in their wolf forms, fighting fiercely. They were locked in combat with vicious, snarling Rogues. Blood stained the grass beneath their feet, a grotesque sign of the struggle. Greg’s brown wolf was already in the thick of it, launching himself at a Rogue’s throat. He shook his head, snapping with savage strength, and the Rogue went limp in an instant. He was with Dad, protecting the pack just as fiercely. I wasted no time. My wolf surge
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