I was running on pure instinct and command as the convoy tore through the city roads. Elliot's voice kept cutting through the pack communication channel, sharp and controlled, feeding off updates from his tracking wolves. Every second brought new coordinates, new directions, and every second felt too slow for the Alpha pressure building inside him.
I could feel it even from a distance—his bond energy was unstable, stretched thin between control and fury. He wasn't just tracking me. He was hunting like a wounded Alpha whose mate had been taken from his territory.
"Faster," he ordered through the channel, voice low and dangerous.
The drivers pushed harder, engines howling, but it still wasn't enough. The pack energy in the air felt wrong, like something had been poisoned ahead of us. I didn't know where I was, but my instincts were beginning to resurface in fragments, clawing through the drug haze still binding my body.
Darkness. Cold ground. Stone beneath my cheek.
