Page 13 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Straightening, I rolled my shoulders back. “From what exactly? His line of sight?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. If I wanted him, you’d know.” I said it lightly, almost bored, and slid the earphone back in.

She stood there vibrating with rage for a moment, then stormed off.

I finished my sets, showered, and walked home through the cooling evening air, determined once again not to think about him.

The house was quiet when I got home. I heard my roommates upstairs, voices low, doors opening and closing. I changed fast and slipped out the back door.

Chapter 6: The Black Wolf

Since my first shift, my cougar had grown into a strong presence in my life, her instincts blending with mine in a way that felt natural. We got along well. Unlike me, she found happiness in small things. She loved soft blankets, sun-warmed windowsills, stalking through the woods, chasing small critters, cardboard boxes, and of course catnip.

Tonight she wanted the woods.

The shift came easy. Bones lengthened and reformed, muscle and sinew reshaping beneath my skin until I landed on four large golden paws. My cougar was a true mountain lion, a hundred and twenty pounds of tawny gold, lean through the ribs and heavy through the haunches. Her tail stretched almost as long as her body, balancing every movement, and each paw was broad enough to bury my human hand beneath it.

The forest unfolded all at once. Layers of scent, sound, and movement. Things my human mind would have missed completely. Damp earth. Rotting wood. Small creatures moving beneath leaves. The faint trace of something that had passed through hours ago.

She breathed it all in, then moved.

Her paws hit the ground without a sound as she slipped between the trees, light and precise for her size. A fallen log caught her attention. She veered toward it, nose brushing the rough bark, whiskers twitching. Her claws sank into the softened wood, testing, then digging deeper and peeling back a strip with quiet determination.

Something skittered underneath.

She froze, focused, then pounced.

Missed.

She huffed, annoyed, pawing at the spot like it had personally offended her. The movement came again and she dove after it, nose nearly buried in the decaying wood, tail flicking with sharp, irritated swishes. When it escaped a second time she chattered softly under her breath and lost interest.

A tree caught her eye next. She leapt, claws catching easily, and climbed without hesitation. Higher. Branch to branch, testing her footing. She settled high above the forest floor, eyes half-closing as she watched the leaves shift and listened to the quiet hum of the night.

Then her ears twitched. Once. Then again.

The forest had gone quiet. Not the slow quiet of night deepening, but the sudden, absolute stillness of every small creature deciding at the same moment to stop moving.

She tensed before I fully processed it, every muscle coiled, gaze locked on the darkness below.

A wolf stepped out from between the trees. Black from nose to tail, massive even by wolf standards.

He stopped as his gaze lifted and locked onto us.

My cat held perfectly still on her branch. I did the same inside her. For a long suspended moment none of us moved. She stayed perched high, tail twitching, watching the wolf from above. I felt her weighing him, assessing him, completely unfazed by the dominance rolling off him in steady waves.

We should leave, I told her.

She didn’t even flick an ear.

The wolf stepped closer to the tree, slow and deliberate, his paws barely disturbing the leaves. His gaze stayed locked on us. He was enormous, the kind of predator that should have sent every instinct screaming.

My cat didn’t flinch. She leaned forward, curious.

No. No, absolutely not. Do not go down there.

She went down there.