I woke to my wolf snarling.

Not a dream. Not residual energy from this morning's training. Pure, instinctive warning that something was wrong.

My room was dark except for moonlight filtering through the curtains. Everything looked normal. My desk with its scattered papers. My wardrobe against the far wall. The door firmly closed.

But my wolf knew better.

I slid from bed silently, grabbing the knife I kept under my pillow. Bare feet on cold stone, I moved toward the source of my wolf's ...