I was drifting in that fragile space between sleep and waking when the sound of hurried footsteps tore me out of my shallow dreams. My heart lurched instantly every sound inside the Pack House was a possible threat, every sudden noise a promise of terror.
The door to the Omegas' quarters banged open, the old hinges screaming. I shot upright, my pulse pounding against my ribs like it wanted out. Joan, who had been folding laundry by her bunk, flinched so hard the clothes slipped from her hands and spilled across the floor.
"Elara?" she gasped when the figure stumbled into the room.
It was Elara, breathless, her face pale with a clammy sheen of sweat. Her hair was tangled as though she'd been running her hands through it over and over, her chest rising and falling so fast it made her whole frame tremble. She slammed the door shut behind her and pressed her back against it as if she expected something or someone to be chasing her.
