I don’t see her.

We’re still singing, but the mood of the packs ripples. Ren stirs, turning in an anxious circle as his gaze darts to the forest.

Where is she? Bryn’s thought enters my mind.

I force my tone to be light when I answer. Cold feet?

God, I hope not. Bryn has stopped howling. Beside her, Sabine bares her teeth.

Mason whimpers in my ear. Something’s wrong.

I don’t answer. I don’t want to. The thrill of the night racing through my veins has grown cold.

The chorus of howls falters. Intermittent snarls and low growls begin to filter through.

The Keepers, who’ve been standing apart, silent and watchful, begin to move. Efron Bane, standing with Logan and Lumine, suddenly shouts:

“Emile! To me.”

I watch the burly Bane alpha lope to his master’s side. I can’t hear what Efron says, but a moment later Emile is racing into the forest with five elder Banes at his heels.

A large, dark shape shoulders into me. My father doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the tension in his body. The way he’s standing is defensive, as if he expects an attack at any moment.

My hackles raise, but I force myself to stay still.

Bryn creeps across the circle, standing close to me but careful not to touch me. There are too many watchful eyes here. What if she’s hurt?

What could hurt Calla? I ask, but my stomach is knotted.

The other young wolves begin to cluster and I notice that we’ve split into our former groups. Sabine, Dax, Ren, and Nev huddle together. Mason and Fey appear at Bryn’s flank.

New howls echo in the woods and I jump. The Banes’ call is alarmed and furious.

Stay close, my father says as a low growl rumbles in his chest.