The night was unnaturally still. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath over Charming’s tree line. The moon, swollen and heavy, hung low, spilling silver light across the Redwood forest like spilled milk over dark velvet.

The Sons’ pack had gathered near the ridge, half-shifted in their wolf forms, fur bristling as they patrolled their claimed territory. The night should have been quiet — should have been safe. But then it came.

A howl. Not theirs.

It was low and drawn-out at first, almost mournful, then sharpened into something fierce, proud, and unafraid. It cut through the stillness like a blade, echoing off the hills.

Every wolf froze. Eyes snapped toward the sound, ears twitching. This was no pup. Whoever she was, she had power in her voice… and the audacity to announce herself in their territory without permission.

The alpha growled under his breath, the others shifting uneasily. The howl came again, closer now.

She was coming to them.

Or daring them to come to her.