CORIN’S POV
“Careful with that!” I called out, watching two of our men haul a crate of wolfsbane onto the back of the transport truck.
The scent of blood and burnt earth clung to my throat, sharp and bitter, refusing to fade, no matter how often I exhaled.
“If it cracks open, you’re the one explaining to Marcus why his rogues can’t shift for a week.”
One of them huffed a nervous laugh, adjusting his grip immediately. “Noted.”
Across the clearing, Brett stood, arms crossed and expression tight but satisfied, overseeing the rest of the operation. Blood—not his—stained his sleeve, and a thin cut along his jaw was already healing.
We’d taken a few hits—Catherine and Marcus had become aware their shipments were being targeted, and their drivers had been prepared—but we’d anticipated that and still got what we came for.
My gaze shifted to the far edge of the site, where four men stood in a loose circle around the…thing we’d captured.
Someone oblivious would call it a ‘him.’
