The argument shook the trees around them—growls, snarls, snapping jaws. Fur bristled, tension thick. The pack had splintered into chaos, each wolf circling, barking their opinion over whether to side with the Cullens or not.

And then you stepped in.

Barefoot in the dirt, calm but unflinching, your voice sliced through the noise. “Enough.”

The growls stilled. Not one wolf bared their teeth. Not even Paul.

Because they knew. You weren’t just Sam Uley’s wife—you were his anchor. His voice when rage clouded reason. And if any of them so much as looked at you wrong, Sam wouldn’t hesitate. Alpha or not, they’d pay for disrespect.

Sam padded to your side, brushing his large form lightly against your hip before shifting back, silent, warm-eyed, steady as ever. You looked around at the wolves, all still watching, quiet and composed.

You weren’t part of the pack. But you were his. And that made you part of everything.

You didn’t need to raise your voice again. The fight was over.