My soul. My missing piece. Inside her.
The shock drives me to my knees in the mud. My wolf surges forward with such violence that bones crack beneath my skin, beginning the transformation without permission. A sound escapes my throat—not quite human, not yet beast.
Mine.
"That's her," I gasp through elongating teeth, the words mangled and raw. "Cormac—that's her."
He drags me deeper into shadow as the woman approaches a window, peering out into the darkness. Her face emerges from shadow into light—sharp angles and midnight hair framing eyes that search with a hunter's focus. Beautiful like Valkyries are beautiful—deadly, magnificent, inevitable.
"Are you certain?" Cormac whispers, though his white-knuckled grip on my arm answers his own question.
"We need to?—"
The back door explodes open.
She emerges from the doorway like a warrior goddess stepping from legend. Her weapon is extended with deadly precision, stance perfectly balanced for both attack and retreat, every movement betraying years of combat training.
"Don't move," she commands, voice steady as bedrock. "Hands where I can see them."
I should raise my hands. I should follow Cormac's lead. I should do anything except what I do, which is to stand frozen, staring at her like a man who's found water after a thousand years of thirst. The pull toward her becomes physical pain—an emptiness demanding to be filled.
"Astrid." Her name leaves my lips before I know I've spoken, recognition as instinctive as breathing.
Her eyes narrow, dark as midnight forests. The weapon doesn't waver. "How do you know my name?" One step forward, threat radiating from her like heat from flame. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Cormac moves slightly forward, hands raised. "We mean no harm. We're simply?—"
"Enclave?" she cuts him off, gaze flicking between us with dangerous intelligence. "Is that who sent you? You’re not GUIDE."
Words tangle in my throat, caught behind fangs that refuse to recede. My muscles spasm with the effort of containing the change. Blood roars in my ears—the wolf's hunger and the man's need blending into something new and terrible.
"Answer me." Her finger shifts on the trigger—not nervousness, but decision.
Engines growl in the distance. Tires hiss on wet pavement. Headlights sweep across the yard, turning raindrops into falling stars.
Astrid's head turns slightly toward the approaching vehicles, weapon still trained between my eyes. In that fractional inattention, control slips from my grasp like water.
A growl builds in my chest—primal, possessive, unstoppable.
Her eyes snap back to mine, widening as she notices the change. My irises must be glowing that telltale amber now. I feel my facial bones shifting beneath my skin, jaw extending unnaturally forward.
"You— your eyes, your face," she whispers. She adjusts her aim and steps back. "Two strangers showing up in the middle of the night right where that wolf shifter was last seen. And now this." Her tactical mind connects the pieces instantly, just as any skilled hunter would.
"You're the wolf?" The question hangs between us, weighted with meanings I can't decipher.
Thunder cracks—not from the sky but from her weapon. Cormac shoves me aside with impossible strength, a strangled sound escaping him as the bullet carves a path through his shoulder. He stumbles, crimson blooming between his fingers as he clutches the wound.
The scent of Cormac's blood shatters me.
Bones break and reform. Skin splits like overripe fruit. Muscles tear and knit in the same breath. Pain becomes fire becomes power.
The world shifts, colors bleeding into scents, sounds separating into layers of meaning. Where a man stood heartbeats before, now the wolf rises—massive, black and sliver-furred, trembling with rage and need.
Astrid doesn't flinch, weapon never wavering despite the horror unfolding before her. Her eyes narrow with the cold calculation of a seasoned hunter who's seen this before. For one breath, something flickers across her face—not fear or surprise, but the focused intensity of an Inquisitor who's finally cornered her prey.
Her finger adjusts on the trigger, body shifting into the combat stance of someone about to eliminate a threat. Whatever moment of hesitation I thought I saw vanishes in an instant, replaced by lethal determination.
Car doors slam in rapid succession. Flashlight beams cut through the rain as boots pound against wet earth.
