Bella stared at the note in Dante's hand, her blood running cold.
"I'm coming for my mate."
The words were written in bold, slashing ink, but it was the meaning behind them that made her stomach twist.
Because whoever had written this—whoever was coming for her—wasn't just claiming her life.
They were claiming her.
As if she was theirs to take.
As if Dante's mark, Dante's bond, Dante's claim on her meant nothing.
Dante's fingers curled around the paper, crumpling it in his grip, his breath coming in slow, dangerous exhales.
Bella didn't have to look at him to know he was seconds away from losing control.
His wolf was seething beneath his skin, ready to tear the world apart for daring to challenge him.
"It's not possible," Bella said, forcing herself to think, to breathe, to push past the panic rising in her chest.
"Everyone from my past is dead."
Sage, who had been standing nearby, exchanged a glance with Chase, her expression tight.
"Not everyone."
Bella's stomach clenched.
"What does that mean?" she asked, her voice sharp.
Sage hesitated, but Chase sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Bella, we never actually found your old Alpha's body."
Silence.
Bella felt like the air had been knocked from her lungs.
Because no.
That wasn't possible.
"No," she said flatly. "Gabriel Santos is dead. He has to be."
Gabriel.
Her birth Alpha.
The tyrant who had ruled her old pack with an iron fist.
The man who had used her, controlled her, tried to sell her off as a political pawn before her pack was destroyed.
She had spent years trying to forget him.
Trying to forget the way he had made her feel powerless.
And now?
Now, she was supposed to believe he was still alive?
"Bella—" Chase started.
"No."
Her hands shook.
"If Gabriel were alive, I would have known. I would have—"*
She stopped, her breath catching.
Because she had known.
Had felt something watching her, something lurking in the shadows even before Mikhail made his move.
Gabriel.
It had always been him.
And now?
He was coming back to take her.
Again.