It felt like wading through a simmering pool of quicksand in the heart of a cyclone. Ignoring the frostbite biting at my fingers and the fire scorching my toes, I kept running—desperately—towards my shackled friends.

“Patrick!” He yelled as I stopped before them, his voice trembling with urgency.

Patrick, like all shifters, was massive. But up close, he dwarfed even Asshole’s wolf, who had seemed so imposing from a distance. Patrick’s wolf groaned low, a sound laden with ...