It took Dante twenty minutes to race through the city, and another ten to get to the canyon.

By the time he reached Finn’s cabin, he found fresh car tracks in the driveway, and Crumpet barking furiously, agitated carts circling around the dog. Smelled three different scents—dill, poplar, and fir.

A sick, sinking feeling flooded Dante’s stomach.

He shifted back into a man, glancing around the front yard. Finn’s truck was parked. The workshop door was open, but it was quiet inside. Couldn’t hear any sound from the house, either.

“Where’s Finn?” Dante asked Crumpet.

Crumpet growled, barking at the tracks in the driveway.

Dante closed his eyes briefly, his stomach twisting into a knot. He stepped into the workshop, found pieces of a project lying around—Finn had sawed these up. Dante touched the freshly-cut wood, sniffed at the still-warm table saw motor.

Finn had just been here, and Dante had been too late.

Who had taken him? Where had they gone?

He shifted back into a wolf, following the trails leading down to the front yard. Smelled the scuff marks on the earth, more dill, and a hint of sour fear sweat. Then, the sweet hint of chloroform.

Dante’s wolf snarled. He almost gave in to it. Reined his wolf back, tried to stay calm. He breathed deeply. Couldn’t let the wolf take over now, not when he had a chance to find Finn alive. Finn was just unconscious. That had to be all.

Stomach twisting, he followed the tracks in the dirt. Trailed after the scent of engine exhaust and car tire, until he reached the main canyon road.

There, he lost the scent. Dante followed the trail for a mile up the road, then down, but other car tracks covered it up, the scents of exhaust and rubber mingling into a mess. There was no dill scent here, no fir or poplar.

Dante snarled. Tried not to despair. If they’d taken Finn, they had to have an ulterior motive. They couldn’t—they couldn’t...

Dante stopped himself from thinking the worst. He turned, sprinting down to Bill’s house. Shifted halfway up the driveway, and pounded on the door. “Bill! Old Bill, are you home?”

He tried the door and found it open. Dashed into the house.

Three wolves stood up at the kitchen table, chairs clattering. Dante paused. His heart pounded. Recognized Old Bill, then next to him, Gabe and Rhett.

Rhett narrowed his eyes. “You were banished from the canyon.”

“Finn’s missing,” Dante said, his breaths short and sharp. “He’s not anywhere on his property. Someone took him.”

Gabe and Old Bill frowned. Rhett narrowed his eyes. “How can we be sure you’re not lying?”

“He’s not lying,” Gabe said, stepping forward. “Dante would be the last person to lie about Finn.”

“Found car tracks,” Dante said. “I smelled chloroform. Think he might’ve been gone for half an hour. Gods.”

Old Bill stepped forward, the wrinkles on his forehead growing deeper. He took Dante’s hand, and Dante realized he was shaking all over. Couldn’t stop the sick dread in his chest.

“Shouldn’t have broken the bond,” Dante muttered. “I can’t hear him.”

“It was Finn’s decision,” Gabe said tightly. “Shit. They left by car?”

“They can’t have gone far,” Dante said. “If they’re trying to attack me, then they’ll want me to find them.”

Rhett glanced around Old Bill’s house. “I can send out a search party.”

“They’ll probably contact me,” Dante said. He pulled out his phone, his hand shaking so hard he couldn’t read the screen. Old Bill held him steady. No messages. But that only made his heart twist worse. “He can’t be dead. He can’t... can’t...”

Fur bristled across his skin. Couldn’t help it. Needed to run, find his mate.

Gabe looked sharply at him. “We need you here, Dante. Not your wolf.”

Dante sucked in a deep breath. Finn needed him. He could do this. He held his wolf back, his fur slowly receding. “What do I do?”

“I’ll send out a call,” Rhett said. “Who are we looking for?”

“Two kidnappers—both wolf,” Dante said. “Smells like poplar and fir. They’ve got Finn in a car.”

Rhett nodded. Then he went to a window, threw it open, and stuck his head out. Howled.

“‘Finn kidnapped,’” Old Bill translated for Dante. “‘Two wolves in car. Poplar and fir scents.’”

Seconds later, wolves howled through the canyon.

“They’re passing the message along,” Gabe said.

Dante paced in Bill’s shadowy kitchen, barely looking at the hanging baskets of fruit and root vegetables. He should be out there searching, not standing around in Bill’s kitchen.

“When did you even get here?” Gabe asked, frowning. “I thought you left.”

“I was in LA,” Dante said. “Had a bad feeling. Ran here. Found Finn’s workshop open, but he was gone. Dog was barking up a storm.”

When he stepped outside, he found Crumpet and three wagons waiting for him, pacing by the front door. Dante blinked. Hadn’t expected them to follow him all the way to Bill’s place. Didn’t know how any of them could help, but it was nice of Finn’s pets to be concerned.

Then his phone buzzed, and his heart thumped. Dante glanced at it. Found a message.

Three miles northeast of Topanga. Highest ridge at the park. Come alone or you lose your omega.

There was no other info on the message—no name, nothing. But Dante knew who it was anyway, knew the black wolves wanted him to pay.

He’d given up their details for his own selfish reasons, so he could be released from prison faster. Dante understood the unfairness of that. But for them to threaten Finn, for them to take him away...

Violence surged through Dante’s veins. Finn wasn’t dead yet. There was still hope.

But if he went alone, what were the chances of them both surviving? Dante would be outnumbered. That was a given. There was no way the wolves would let him out alive.

Gabe stepped through the front door, glancing at Dante’s phone.

“Three miles northeast,” Dante muttered. “They said to go alone, or they’ll murder him.”

Gabe swore. Rhett narrowed his eyes, stepping out behind Gabe. “We’ll come with you,” Rhett said. “But further behind, and downwind.”

Dante shoved his phone back in his pocket. “That’s up to you. I’m not begging or anything.”

“I’m doing this for Finn,” Gabe said, fur bristling along his arms. “And my brother-in-law.”

Dante stared. Hadn’t expected that from Gabe. Not when Finn had broken up with him, not when Gabe had watched Kendrick cut Dante’s mark off Finn’s neck.

“I’m no longer his alpha,” Dante said, the words bitter on his tongue.

Gabe met his gaze then. “He still loves you.”

Dante’s heart stuttered. He bowed his head, his throat too tight. “I’m heading out.”

Then he shifted and ran, heading through the forest bordering Old Bill’s backyard. Crumpet barked, following. Further behind, the wagons trundled along. There was no time to waste—they’d already spent long enough here.

Dante loped through the forest, taking the shortcuts he’d learned from Finn. He knew the backwoods park the kidnappers held Finn at—it was a no-wolves land, an empty spot between the Topanga pack and the Weregrits.

Dante didn’t know how many wolves there would be, but that wasn’t stopping him. Not when he could imagine Finn being slapped around, his belly so damn vulnerable.

Gods, Finn’s belly. Their pups. Dante bared his teeth, his paws pounding across the forest floor. He slipped through backyards, flew through the forest, listening as wolf calls rang out behind him. Maybe Rhett and Gabe were talking to the pack. Maybe they were telling the pack to stay behind.

Mercy let Finn be alive. Pups too.

Dante couldn’t lose him again.

The scents around him changed as he left the Topanga pack territory—it was dustier inland, the air drier, the loamy scents of wolves dissipating.

Dante spotted a black car between the trees. Ten yards from it, Finn lay motionless on his side, his swollen belly obvious even in his wolf form. Dante’s stomach dropped.

Was Finn alive? Dante was upwind; he couldn’t catch Finn’s scent, or his heartbeat.

Finn? Dante thought. Couldn’t hear his omega. Finn didn’t respond.

Finn couldn’t be dead. Couldn’t be gone.

Terrified, Dante sprinted toward him. Skidded to a halt next to his omega, nuzzling Finn’s face. He was still warm, still breathing. No blood. There were red bruises forming on his neck. Someone had hurt him.

Anger surged through Dante’s veins, white-hot and terrible. His wolf snarled.

Needed to kill. Who did this to his omega?

He glared at the forest around them, baring his teeth when wolves stepped out behind trees and rocks, nooks and crannies they’d hidden themselves in. There were thirty, maybe forty black wolves.

Dante backed up against Finn, keeping his eyes on the dark shadows as he nuzzled his mate. Breathed in dill and loam. Omega.

He shouldn’t have left Finn alone. Shouldn’t have gotten Finn into this mess.

Dante stood over his mate, a growl rumbling in his chest. Mine. Can’t take him away.

The first of the wolves charged. Dante leaped at them, snapping, biting, making sure to stay just far enough away from Finn. Couldn’t risk someone stepping on Finn’s belly.

Then the wolves descended like a cloud of locusts. Some leaped over Finn, sinking their fangs into Dante’s leg. Some bit into Dante’s neck, ripping, teeth pricking his skin. Dante snarled and sank his teeth into a furry throat, jerked his head to tear it open.

Tasted blood. His wolf howled, demanding to be freed.

Through the wolves, Dante glimpsed Finn’s prone figure on the ground. His anger surged in his chest. Don’t touch my mate.

He snapped and whirled and bit, but there were more wolves, so many mouths and fangs. Someone bit hard on his tail. Someone else tore into his side, sending pain down his nerves.

Then Finn yelped in pain, and Dante’s senses focused on him, alarm jolting through his body. Finn!

He turned. Couldn’t find Finn through the mess of black bodies. Finn! he tried to say. Came out as a bark. Another wolf bit down hard on his snout, drawing blood. Dante snarled. Shoved at the wolves. There were maybe ten around him. Couldn’t see past them. Where was Finn now? Was someone hurting him?

Dante fought and struggled, teeth sinking into his body. Couldn’t overpower these wolves. They all bit and tore at him, sending pain sluicing through his body. Needed to see his mate. Needed to protect Finn.

It didn’t feel like enough. He was one wolf against thirty. How was he to get them both out alive?

Finn yelped again, his voice thin, reedy. Dante’s panic spiked. Not Finn.

He barreled past the bodies in desperation. Saw as a wolf bore down on Finn, fangs sharp, drool dripping from its mouth.

The wolf lunged at Finn’s swollen belly, and all Dante saw was red.

His wolf consumed him.