“Mine!” Darian roared.
The sound wasn’t just a voice—it was a command, a claim, a primal thunder that tore through the air. His fangs were still bared, gleaming, saliva catching in the corners of his mouth as if his wolf had full control and barely enough restraint not to lunge. His aura wasn’t just filling the room, it was crushing it—alpha weight layered with mate-bond obsession, crashing over us like a tidal wave with nowhere to run.
Oh, for the love of the freaking Goddess.
“Pumpkin,” I hissed, stepping forward before Stan did something catastrophically stupid, like squaring his shoulders at my brother. “I think it’s better if you step aside from your sister until my brother gets his freaking wolf under control.”
I didn’t shout. I didn’t need to. My voice cut through the room like
