Cass’s POV

Colt pulls back, his gaze heavy with intensity. "This is how I want you. Trapped under me, completely at my mercy."

"Sounds perfect," I whisper.

I love the feeling of submission to him—it’s a stark contrast to the control I wielded when he was shackled. As he leans down, kissing my neck, every nerve ending in my body ignites. He unzips his pants, his arousal pressing against me, and I can feel the shift in his energy—more desperate, more hungry.

"Colt," I moan, my fingers digging into his back. "Please, take me."

Just as he lifts my shirt, a sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.

"Ugh! Who is it?!" I scream.

"Princess," a muffled voice calls out. "The Alpha has requested you both immediately."

We share a frustrated look, but the urgency in the messenger’s voice stops us cold. Reluctantly, we dress and head to Warrick’s office. The atmosphere inside is suffocating; every general and both of my brothers are already there, staring at three boxes on the desk.

"My condolences," Warrick says, his voice devoid of warmth. "Your father is dead."

Colt freezes. Warrick points to the largest box. "Be warned: this was not my doing."

I approach, bracing myself, but the sight inside stops my heart. It’s the severed head of Alpha Harrie—Colt’s father. Colt lets out a choked, guttural sound, his body turning to ice. Before I can process the horror, Warrick gestures to the second box.

"And this," he says, his eyes cold, "is your sister."

The world tilted. I push past Colt, needing to know, needing to be wrong—but I’m not. Lauren’s lifeless face stares back at me. A scream, primal and jagged, tears from my chest, echoing off the stone walls. I collapse, the agony so absolute it feels as though my very soul has been shredded. Lauren, my only family, my sister—and she was pregnant.

Everything after that is a blur of wailing and darkness. The pack doctor eventually forces me into a chemical sleep.

When I wake, the room feels like a tomb. Colt is beside me, his forehead pressed against mine, his presence the only thing tethering me to reality.

"It hurts so much," I whisper, my voice raw.

"I know," he says, his grief mirroring my own.

I reach a breaking point where sorrow curdles into something far more dangerous: rage. I push Colt away and march toward Warrick’s office. I don’t knock. I slam my hands onto his desk, my eyes burning with a vengeful fire.

"I want him dead," I shout. "I want his skin stripped from his bones!"

Warrick watches me, a faint, predatory smirk playing on his lips. "That is doable. Ezra is declaring war, demanding we hand you and Colt over."

"Then we give him war," I hiss.

Warrick nods to his generals. "Everyone in the war room tomorrow at dawn. We finish this."

Later that night, the silence of the house is too heavy to bear. I pull Colt toward the forest. We strip, shift, and run until our lungs burn and our paws are stained with earth. Under the moonlight, we share the weight of our shared trauma through the mate bond. It’s not comfort, but it’s an anchor.

As dawn breaks, we stand outside the war room. I stop Colt, searching his eyes.

"I should have asked sooner," I say quietly. "Ezra is your blood. How are you holding up?"

His jaw tightens, his expression hardening into stone. "He is not my brother. Not anymore. He’s a monster, and he deserves to suffer for what he’s taken from us."

"Then we’re in agreement," I say, my voice steady for the first time in hours. "Let's make sure he pays."