"Different beasts, different challenges." I step over a fallen log, my boots crunching on dead leaves. "He’s a master dreamwalker. Royal blood."
"And Boaz is pretty much mainlining the stuff to hold off becoming a statue, according to Dugall."
I snort, though there's no real humor in it. "Better a statue than a mindless beast." The words come out bitter, but it's the truth. At least stone feels nothing, wants nothing, takes nothing, hurts nothing. The wolf wants everything—to hunt, to kill, to claim territory. To find her.
My mate.
"We'll find her." Cormac's voice is steady, confident. "We just need to?—"
He stops so suddenly I nearly collide with him. His body goes rigid, one hand raised in warning. I inhale deeply, catching what he's sensed before he can speak.
Bear. Female. Agitated.
And close—too close.
"Back up slowly," Cormac whispers, his voice barely audible. "There must be cubs nearby."
I take one careful step backward, then another. The wind shifts—betrayal in the form of a breeze—carrying my scent directly toward where the bear must be waiting. A low, rumbling growl breaks the silence, followed by the crash of underbrush as something large moves through the forest ahead.
"Too late," I mutter, my fingers trembling as the wolf inside me stirs, eager for confrontation while the human part of me knows we shouldn’t engage. "She's picked up our scent."
My throat tightens as sweat breaks across my brow—not from the bear's threat, but from feeling my control already beginning to fray at the edges. Cormac doesn't know how close I am to the edge.
The bear emerges from between two massive oaks, her body blocking the path ahead. She rises onto her hind legs, towering nearly eight feet tall, muscles rippling beneath dark brown fur. Her teeth flash white in the dappled sunlight as she roars a challenge that shakes leaves from the branches above.
My wolf surges forward in response, claws lengthening from my fingertips, fangs pressing against my gums. The urge to shift, to meet threat with threat, floods through me like wildfire.
"Don't." Cormac's hand lands on my shoulder, his voice tight with warning. "We can back away. There's another path to the river."
But it's already too late. The bear drops to all fours and charges, covering the distance between us with shocking speed. Cormac shoves me aside, his hands raised as fae magick crackles between his fingers—not to harm the bear, but to confuse her, to make her turn away.
The spell flashes blue-white in the forest gloom, but the bear barely slows. She's too enraged, too intent on protecting whatever lies behind her. And suddenly I'm out of time, out of control.
The wolf takes over.
Bones crack and reshape, muscles tear and rebuild, skin splits as fur erupts across my body. The pain is excruciating and exhilarating all at once. My consciousness fragments, human thoughts scattering like shattered glass and then I'm gone.
Bear-threat-enemy stands before me, challenging my right to be here. My territory now. My forest. Pack-scent-protect-Cormac. Not threat. Bear threat.
I lunge forward, meeting the bear's charge with my own. We collide in a tangle of claws and teeth, her momentum driving me backward. Pain lances through my shoulder where her claws tear flesh, but the wound is already closing as we separate and circle.
She rises again, towering over me, but height means nothing. I’m easily as heavy as she is and speed is everything in this fight. I dart beneath her guard, teeth finding purchase in the soft flesh of her throat. Blood. Hot. Life. She roars, massive paws battering my sides as she tries to dislodge me.
But I hold on, instinct driving me to clamp down harder, to shake my head and tear deeper. Her struggles weaken. One final, desperate swipe opens a gash across my flank before she collapses, body shuddering as life drains away.
Victory-surge pounds through veins. Territory defended. Threat eliminated. But now hunger. Fresh kill. Good meat. I begin to feed, tearing through hide to reach the rich flesh beneath.
From the edge of my awareness, I sense Cormac-friend-pack moving closer, his scent sharp with worry-fear-caution. Not fear of me—concern for others. His magick ripples through the forest, creating a bubble of don't-look-here around us. Protection. Good.
Time blurs as I feed, strength returning with each mouthful of warm meat. The pain of my wounds fades as flesh knits back together. Eventually, satiation replaces hunger. I lift my head, newfound clarity allowing my human thoughts to filter through.
That's when I smell them. Humans. Multiple. Male. Guns.
Hunters.
I push my wolf’s control back more when I read the alarm in Cormac's scent. His magick flares brighter, straining to maintain the concealment glamour, but I can taste his exhaustion. He's pushing too far, using too much energy. The spell flickers like a candle in a strong wind.
My wolf bristles, hackles rising at the thought of being seen. Of being hunted. The urge to attack, to eliminate this new threat, rises like a tide. But the man I am beneath the beast is able to push back again.
