POV: OliviaThe storm had been building all evening, pressing on the roof until the whole house felt like a held breath. By midnight it broke—rain slamming the windows, thunder rolling like war drums.I killed the lights, bundled the kids in the den, and clutched the knife so tight my palm ached.Then the door creaked.A shape filled the porch—broad, rain-slick, eyes flashing red. The scent hit wrong: pine tainted with iron and old smoke. Not Luther. Not Red Moon.He stepped inside. Scar down the cheek, claws half-shifted, smile like a hook.“I can smell them,” he said, voice dripping with hunger. “Strong pups. Alpha. Reed’s blood.”“My knife doesn’t miss,” I said. “One more step and I cut you open.”He laughed. “Brave little breeder.”Steel kissed his hand. He bled, healed, came again. We fought in the dark—claws against knives, my body running on every drill Aria ever made me repeat. When he pinned me, the children howled from the closet—raw, young, powerful enough to rattle the flo
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