The traitor has a name now. A face. And a plan built on one bad assumption - that a bond this big would break before it ever got the chance to stand. They were wrong about Rourke. They were wrong about me. I spent my whole life being told I'd never be anyone's mate. Now I have four of them, a war at the border, and no intention of losing a single one of them to prove a stranger's point about what four alphas and one mate are supposed to be capable of. >Some bonds get made in a ceremony. Ours got made in everything we survived to reach one. When the fighting is finally, finally over, there's only one title left worth claiming - not lost, not healing. Home.
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