“Bad wolf!” the boy shrieked, his tiny claws unsheathed. “Hit her! Hit her like a rogue!”
The stones flew fast and mean. I turned my body to shield Ayla, but one sharp edge slipped past, catching her temple.
Her scream pierced me.
Blood ran down her face, bright and thin.
Lyra’s children only laughed and reached for more.
I spun, fury igniting beneath my skin. My wolf rose, brushing the surface.
“Touch another stone,” I growled, “and I’ll bury you both before the next moonrise.”
The twins froze, their small bodies sensing the shift in power. They stumbled backward, cowering behind Damien like pups behind a father they knew would defend them—no matter the truth.
“Daddy!” the girl whined, clinging to his leg. “She said she wants to kill us!”
Damien knelt to comfort them, his voice soft, his hands gentle.
Then his gaze found me—cold, sharp, full of blame.
“Selene,” he said, standing tall, “must you bring chaos everywhere you go?”
His eyes flicked briefly to Ayla, then past her—as if the blood on her face was a nuisance, not a wound.
“You’ve been here half a day and already upset the pack. Take your daughter and leave.”
I stared at him.