Clara was supposed to be with her father, in our territory, under the protection of our pack. There shouldn’t have been any danger, and yet he'd managed to let this happen.
As I neared the middle of the forest, a scent hit me—familiar and sickeningly wrong. It was blood and something else. Something that didn’t belong.
Rogues.
Panic took over my thinking. I pushed forward, faster, the trees blurring around me until I reached the clearing. My heart nearly stopped as I spotted a small, lifeless body sprawled in the grass, crimson staining the earth beneath her.
"No! Clara!" I shifted back, falling to my knees beside her, my hands trembling as I touched her cold, blood-soaked skin. I pulled her close, my tears mixing with the blood on her tiny, delicate face. She was so still, so quiet, her beautiful eyes closed forever.
"Why?" I whispered, my voice broken. "Why my Clara?"
The scent lingered, sharp and distinct. Rogues had done this. I could smell it, feel it in the air, the viciousness that had stolen my daughter's life.