beautiful redhead.”
 
 Savannah tensed, and I could sense her rising trepidation.
 
 I nudged her with my alpha presence, letting her know she was dismissed.
 
 “Sleep well, Ms. Caine.”
 
 She spun and stalked back to her car, giving me a delightful view of her
 
 long legs and tight shorts. My breath stopped as my gaze landed on the back
 
 of her pink shirt. Below her nickname, Fury, was the number she had chosen
 
 —37.
 
 She knew that the bastard Kahanov might be scrying, and she’d coopted
 
 his mark. Talk about sending a message. The woman certainly had stones, but
 
 she was toying with powers she didn’t understand.
 
 I slipped into the cab of my truck, heart pounding, as all the things I
 
 hadn’t told her raced through my mind. At the heart of them had been the
 
 message Kahanov had somehow left on my desk—a small note, written in
 
 blood:
 
 You have three days to hand over Savannah Caine. If you don’t, I will
 
 make your pack pay. One way or another, when the bodies are piled high
 
 enough, you will submit.
 
 My veins burned, and I struggled to restrain my claws as my fingers dug
 
 into the steering wheel.
 
 The pack was everything. Everything I was, and everything I stood for.
 
 But I would never submit. I was going to hunt the bastard down, no matter
 
 what it took. Then I would wrap my jaws around his throat and savor the
 
 sweet taste of his blood.
 
 3
 
 Savannah
 
 Three hours later, Casey and I stumbled through the front door after a
 
 heavy night of celebration in which I’d done my best to forget about Jaxson,
 
 the sorcerer, and the sword hanging over my head. I just wanted a night to be
 
 normal. Every muscle in my body ached, and I was dead beat. It was a relief