Thorin relied on his heightened werewolf senses to track Riona's scent through the chaos. He found her trail easily—but then something else caught his nose. Something far more urgent.
Puck.
If it had been only Puck's scent, Thorin might've stayed his course. But it was laced—no, drenched—with blood. The metallic sting of it overwhelmed everything, nearly masking Puck's own scent entirely.
Riona's trail, by contrast, was steady. There were faint hints of blood, yes, but not enough to raise alarm. Thorin figured she was holding her own in whatever fight she was tangled in.
Puck, though—that much blood could only mean one thing.
Thorin bolted toward the source of the blood-soaked scent and found Puck, motionless beneath a pile of castle rubble. A low growl rumbled from his chest as his muscles surged with power. Only his arms transformed, swelling with supernatural strength as he tore through the debris.
