Samantha woke to silence.
Not the comfortable silence of her mates sleeping beside her, but the aggressive silence of being alone in bed. She reached out instinctively, finding only cool sheets where warm bodies should have been.
Her eyes snapped open.
The bedroom was dark except for moonlight streaming through the uncurtained windows. The portable crib stood empty, Nova's blankets undisturbed but decidedly lacking a baby.
Her hybrid instincts kicked in immediately—heart racing, senses sharpening, muscles tensing for a threat that her rational mind told her probably wasn't there. Probably.
She grabbed the first shirt she could find—one of Marcus's, judging by how it swallowed her—and padded barefoot into the main room.
Empty.
The fire had burned down to embers, casting the space in dim orange light. No mates. No baby. No sign of struggle or panic, just an eerie absence that made her skin prickle.
Then she heard it—laughter, muffled and distant, coming from outside.
