Cass’s POV

"Colt!" I shrieked, skidding across the debris-strewn lawn until my knees burned.

He was motionless, his chest still, his skin marred by jagged, blackened burn scars. I pressed my ear to his chest. Silence.

"Victor, he has no pulse!" I screamed.

Victor shoved me aside, his hands flying to Colt’s chest. "It’s there… but it’s failing. It’s too faint."

"NO!" I grabbed Colt’s shoulders, shaking him. "WAKE UP! You don’t get to leave me! Do you hear me? You don't get to leave me!"

Desperation clawed at my throat. I forced his eyelids open, my gaze locking onto his vacant pupils.

Heal!

I pushed every ounce of my will into the command, pouring my own life force into his shattered body.

HEAL YOURSELF!

A guttural grunt tore through the silence. Colt’s back arched, his eyes snapping open as he inhaled a jagged, wet breath.

"Colt?" I sobbed, my tears falling onto his face.

Victor exhaled, his voice trembling. "His heart… it’s steadying."

Colt’s hand drifted weakly toward my arm, his fingers barely registering against my skin. He was alive, but the carnage around us was far from over. The garden was a graveyard of broken stone and fallen bodies. Oliver was gone.

"He needs rest," Victor whispered, though he looked just as rattled as I felt.

My father, Warrick, limped toward us, flanked by Lotus and Peggy. He was battered, but alive. "Garret!" he bellowed, his voice frantic.

Garret emerged from the smoke, limping but alert. "They’re attacking! The perimeter is breached!"

I stood, my resolve hardening into something cold and lethal. I kissed Colt’s forehead, then gently laid him on the grass. "Dad, protect him. Do not let him out of your sight."

Warrick gripped my shoulder. "Come back alive. All of you."

We sprinted toward the treeline. The woods were alive with the sounds of battle—snarls, gunfire, and the screams of dying wolves.

"How many are they?" I asked, ducking as an explosion rocked the forest floor.

"More than I’ve ever seen," Garret growled. "No pack dares attack us like this. They’re prepared for war."

"Then we give it to them," I replied.

I saw Serge and Kanda holding the flank, their fur matted with blood. "I’m going for Oliver," I announced.

"Cass, that’s suicide!" Victor argued.

"If we kill the head, the snake dies. Go—help the men!" I didn't wait for their protest. I sprinted into the trees, leaving them to their battle.

I caught the scent of crisp, sharp cologne—Oliver’s signature. He wasn't hiding; he was waiting. I found him leaning against a towering oak, his posture maddeningly relaxed.

As I approached, a swarm of twenty men—many already partially shifted into hulking, man-wolf hybrids—emerged from the brush, encircling me.

"You took your time," Oliver purred.

"Plan, Oliver. What is your endgame?"

He just smiled, a look of pure, unadulterated amusement. "Why assume I have one?"

Unknown POV

My face was a mask of agony, the skin burned and blistered by the blast.

How dare he!

I ignored the agony, moving through the shadows of the estate. Colt was thrashing, half-conscious, his pack trying to restrain his protective fury, but I had my eyes on a different target.

I saw Casseopea sprint into the woods, alone and vulnerable.

Foolish girl.

I shifted my stance, my target locking onto her back. I couldn't let her fall—not yet. She was far too valuable to die at Oliver’s hands. I followed, keeping to the edge of the darkness, waiting for the moment to strike.