I charged again, this time with claws. My vision pulsed red. The wolf in me surged forward. He was a threat— he was the threat. He had touched my pregnant wife while I trusted him like a brother.
He dodged easily, too easily. Like my rage was a dance he'd choreographed.
"Ignacio," Lucía warned, stepping forward with both palms glowing. "Try anything and I'll burn you where you stand."
"Oh, witchling. You think you scare me? I've danced with death longer than you've been alive." He crooned mockingly.
"Try me," she snapped.
I took María José's hand and pulled her behind me. She stumbled, still clutching her towel, still trembling. I felt her breath against my neck. It was hot and panicked. My poor wife.
"He was… he touched me," she choked. "I—I didn't know, Axel. I swear. I didn't know."
"I believe you," I said fiercely.
