17

Kingston infused his voice with the growl of his beast, taking on the unmistakable edge of an alpha issuing a command. “Look at me, Sunday. That’s it. Good girl.”

“K-Kingston?” Her brows knit together in a mix of pain and confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry about that right now. Call on your wolf.”

“C-can’t,” she whispered.

Panic laced his features, and he shook her, causing her head to loll. “Yes you can. You can do this. She’s in there waiting for you to let her free. Here, let me help you draw her out.”

Sunday swallowed, trying to keep her eyes open. “How?”

“Wolves respond to their mate.”

“Not... my mate.”

It was a struggle for her to talk through the pain, and even more of one for me to stand by and watch it. I was a hairsbreadth from flinging the wolf away from her, but if there was any truth to his words, he might be the only one who could save her.