The construct fell into pieces.
Narla couldn’t breathe.
She’d seen shifters in their animal forms before. Theo’s wolf, massive and gray. Leo’s lion, golden and regal. Even Aero’s dragon, scales glinting in moonlight.
This was different.
Wyatt’s panther was two hundred pounds of lethal darkness. Pure black, no markings, no spots—just shadow given form and hunger. It moved with a fluid grace that shouldn’t have been possible for something so large. Silent despite its size. Deadly despite its beauty.
And its eyes—burning with protective fury—were utterly, unmistakably him.
The second construct lunged for the panther’s flank. Wyatt spun, impossibly fast, and met it with claws that could shred steel. The thing went down in a spray of dark ichor.
The third construct hesitated. Something that might have been calculation flickered in those empty eyes. It looked at its fallen companions, at the panther stalking toward it, at?—
At Narla.
It charged her.
She raised her hands, fire blooming—but she wasn’t fast enough. The construct was too close, moving too fast, and those dead fingers were reaching for her throat?—
Black fur filled her vision.
Wyatt’s panther intercepted the construct mid-lunge. The impact sent them both tumbling, a tangle of claws and limbs and snarling fury. Narla scrambled backward, her heart in her throat, watching the fight with wide eyes.
It was over in seconds.
The panther’s jaws closed around the construct’s skull and crushed it.
Silence fell over the forest.
Wyatt’s panther stood among the ruins of Derren’s soldiers, sides heaving, muzzle dark with whatever passed for blood in those things. His head swung toward Narla, and that burning gaze swept over her—assessing, checking, cataloguing every inch.
Then he shifted.
It happened faster than she expected. One moment, a massive black cat. The next, Wyatt crouched on the forest floor, naked and human and shaking with residual adrenaline.
“Narla.” His voice was raw. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She was at his side before she consciously decided to move. Her hands found his face, his shoulders, the pulse hammering in his throat. “I’m fine. You—God, Wyatt, you?—”
He pulled her against him. Buried his face in her hair. His whole body trembled with the force of the shift, with the panther still pressing close to the surface.
“I felt it.” The words came out jagged. “I was making coffee and I felt you. Fear. I’ve never—” He broke off, his grip tightening. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“I didn’t do anything. Derren?—”
“I know.” He pulled back, but only far enough to look at her. His eyes were still bright with residual gold. Still panther. “Derren’s minions. He’s done with warnings.”
Narla looked at the destroyed constructs. Three of them, reduced to piles of unnatural flesh and shattered bone. Derren had sent three soldiers to corner her on a morning walk, just to prove that he could.
The fear she should have felt during the attack hit her now. Her knees buckled.
Wyatt caught her. Held her upright. His naked body pressed against her clothed one, and she could feel his heat, the lingering predator energy that made the air crackle.
“We need to end this.” His voice had steadied, hardened. “No more waiting. No more gathering information.”
“How?” The word came out small. “He has more of those things. He has?—”
