That night, the screams began.
Bella woke to the scent of blood.
Thick. Suffocating.
Dante was already out of bed, his wolf prowling beneath his skin as he stormed out of the packhouse.
Bella followed.
But the second she stepped outside—
She froze.
Because the body was still warm.
The blood was still fresh.
And the worst part?
The claw marks on the rogue's body…
They were hers.
Bella's breath caught in her throat.
"No."
She staggered back, her pulse hammering.
This wasn't possible.
She hadn't left the bed.
Hadn't shifted. Hadn't fought.
And yet—
She remembered the feeling.
The hunger.
The craving.
The satisfaction.
Dante's blue eyes locked onto hers.
"Tell me you didn't do this."
Bella's stomach twisted violently.
"I—"
She couldn't.
Because she wasn't sure if she was still herself anymore.