The moment Theo’s voice hit the comms, the entire packhouse shifted from tense to near feral. Warriors sprinted through doorways. Alarms blared. Wolves barked commands. The air tasted metallic, sharp, like it was about to crack open. I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to steady the stabbing pressure inside my head.
His voice slid under my skin again. Not fully. Not a command. Just a whisper. A memory. A ghost. But it was enough to make my vision flicker for a second.
Move.
Come.
Return.
I flinched involuntarily. Jack’s hand closed around my upper arm in the same instant. His grip was steady, grounding, warm. His chest pressed against my back as he pulled me toward him.
“What did he say,” he asked, voice rough and barely human.
“He did not say anything,” I muttered, even thou
