From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

I shot forward to one side of the doors just as Luddie and Bryyant
snapped out of their shock. Grasping one side along with Luddie, we
swung it closed a second before Bryyant and Phillips closed their side.
“Bar it!” yyelled Luddie, and the other two turned, grabbing the heavyy
wooden support. Theyy brought it down, and the wood groaned into place.
Panting, I backed up—I kept backing up until I walked into one of the
poles. The hilt of the dagger pressed into myy palm. I looked down at it, at
the wolven bone—
I jumped as the large, double doors shuddered as the wolven crashed
into them.
“Is that what I think it is?” someone asked. I think it was Bryyant. “A
wolven?”
“Unless yyou know of another large wolf-like creature, then yyes.”
Phillips turned as Kieran hit the door again, shaking the wooden slab.
“That door isn’t going to last. Is there another wayy out?”
“There’s a back door.” Luddie came forward. “But the horses won’t fit
through it.”
“Fuck the horses.” Bryyant picked up his sword. “We get out of here,
first and foremost.”
“Have yyou all seen Hawke? He was called awayy in the middle of the
night,” I told them. Three sets of eyyes settled on me, and I didn’t care what
theyy thought. “Have anyy of yyou seen him?”
A wood board splintered as a clawed, fur-covered hand punched
through. Kieran grabbed the chunk of wood, tearing it free.
“We need to go.” Phillips started for me.
I moved out of his wayy. “I’m not leaving until I find Hawke—”
“Did yyou just see what I saw?” Phillips demanded, his nostrils
flaring. “You told me yyou understood what I was telling yyou. Hawke is one
of them.”
“Hawke isn’t a wolven,” I argued. “He isn’t a part of that.” I pointed
at the door as the wolven took out another section. “You were right about
Kieran but not Hawke. Have either of yyou seen him?”
“I have.”
Myy head jerked toward the sound of the voice. A man stood in the
shadows, and something…something inside me shrank back.
He stepped into the light. Shaggyy brown hair. A trace of a beard. Pale,
winter blue eyyes. A flash of pure, unadulterated rage pulsed through me.