Kade didn't answer at once. He stared at the darkening horizon where land and sky blurred. The bond had flickered—gone—and returned with that single undeniable message: Dakota was awake. And whoever had taken her had stirred her wolf.
Kade's jaw tightened. Someone had made the mistake of making Dakota angry.
Dorian took another step back. For the first time since Dakota had awakened, the manic certainty in his expression began to fray. Her questions had struck deeper than mockery ever could. She was no longer simply reacting to his claims—she was dissecting them. And that unsettled him more than anything else.
Chains rattled as Dakota sat up straighter. The lazy amusement and flippant jokes vanished. The woman who had joked about flowers and chocolate was gone. In her place sat something Dorian had never truly faced before: not fear, not panic, but the slow, cold calm of a mother whose cub had been threatened.
"You lost her," she said. Her voice was quiet and steady.
