Page 46 of Colton’s Mate

Shifters who got stuck between forms… sometimes they could never get back.

Brandon set out cross-country, in a straight line between the mansion and Callie’s house. But it was five miles, through some thick forest, and he knew if he was off even a little bit in his trajectory, he could totally miss Remy in the woods.

Or the fucking treetops, for that matter.

It was Nick who found him. The ghost had come along with him, walking straight through thickets and patches of underbrush and a damn rock wall, then waiting on the other side for Brandon as if to say, Why the hell are you so slow?

But when Nick suddenly took a left turn and bounded off into the woods, Brandon followed.

Remy was in a small clearing. At least, it had to be Remy. It was a hunched ball of mixed fur and feathers, wings and paws, looking like an albino gremlin. Strange bulges rippled over its body, pushing out and retracting like aliens were about to bust out through his skin.

Holy fuck.

He should have brought a tranquilizer gun. Although maybe not. If Remy passed out before he could will himself completely into one of his shapes…

Brandon shoved that thought away.

He dropped down on his knees next to the creature. His friend, his brother—and also his responsibility.

And he didn’t know what to do.

He put his hand on what might have been the creature’s back, trying to project comfort and strength.

The creature writhed and struggled, bones cracking and re-forming, muscles tearing. At times it gave a strangled roar or a muffled squawk—sometimes even a groan.

Not a creature. Remy. And he was in pain.

Brandon didn’t know how long he sat there feeling like he was accomplishing fuck-all—it seemed like an eternity. Phantom Nick had disappeared, and they were alone in the forest.

Suddenly, Brandon got a faint whiff of something cold and bleak, like an ice floe in winter. He looked up to see Nick—and Sasquatch.

The big man came up to him slowly, his long silver-white hair floating in the breeze, his pale eyes fixed on Remy. He sank down until he was sitting cross-legged next to Brandon.

“His spirits are fighting,” he said. Squatch’s voice was weirdly low and soothing, except when he was pissed off and yelling at Remy.

“No shit,” Brandon said.

“They are fighting in the spirit world,” Squatch said, frowning at him. “They both want to be dominant. They want to kill each other.”

Which would probably kill Remy. Fuck. “How do we make it stop?”

Sasquatch looked off into the distance, as if he were listening. Or seeing something Brandon couldn’t see.

“Shit,” Brandon said. “Can you see the spirit world?”

Squatch didn’t answer. He just said, “You must command them.” His huge hand shot out and grabbed Brandon’s wrist.

And just like that, he was somewhere else.

Another clearing, another woods. They didn’t smell like Kentucky—they smelled like nowhere he’d ever been before. Ancient. Magical.

In front of him were a snow leopard and an owl, locked in combat. And a mound of dirt and grass and vines—like a grave.

Please tell him they hadn’t already killed Remy.

Brandon strode up to the fight. You two! Stop that right now!

But they didn’t listen. His alpha power rolled out from him, and the leopard checked himself for a second, only to be attacked by the owl. The leopard snarled and took a swipe at the owl, hooking a couple of wing feathers.