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I look around, desperate to get out of this conversation, but he’s still gripping my hand, holding me in place. His fierce green eyes are locked on me.
“As he sliced his cruel claws through my aunties’ neck,” he continues with a trace of bitterness in his voice, “I fought through the pain and stood up. I grabbed a sword dat was lying on the ground. Someone had brought it to the fight. They were mauled before they could use it. My legs were on fire, but I grabbed dat sword and cut off the rabid beast’s fucking head. Sliced it right off. Schlap. After dat moment, I was no longer weak a heart. Dat was the day my heart turned to stone.”
“Great story,” I say as I yank my hand away. “Well, it was nice talking to you.”
He doesn’t take the hint.
“Now,” he goes on, “whenever I smell dat sick unnatural smell of a feral shifter…”
He leans in close and inhales. His whole body shivers.
“…it brings me back to dat day—the day I saw my entire pack massacred in front of me—and my stone-cold heart wants nothing more than to kill. To remove dat smell. Permanently.”
I stand up straight, puffing out my chest as I glare at him. “What are you trying to say?”
He glares back. “I think you know exactly what I’m saying, mon ami.”
We stare at each other for a long tense moment until Mr. Shields’ secretary taps on the microphone.
“Excuse me,” she says. “I’d like to bring up the man of the hour, Mr. Shields.”
The director walks onto the stage and everyone claps and cheers around us while we continue our tense stare-down. I keep my eyes locked on the French Canadian as I back away, getting swallowed into the crowd. He never takes those fierce green eyes off me.
“Thank you, thank you,” Mr. Shields says as the crowd roars. “Settle down, settle down. I’m retiring. You don’t have to kiss my ass anymore.” The crowd laughs.
I’m in the back of the room, hiding behind a large Kodiak shifter from accounting as my bear tries to get out. The loud cheering is enraging him.
“I remember the first day on the job,” Mr. Shields continues as I squeeze my eyes shut, clench my hands into fists, and try to focus on my breathing.
My grizzly charges forward with a roar. I flex my body tight and squeeze him back down. He’s so fucking powerful. I’m so close to losing control of him. I thought I had weeks, but right now, I’m just hoping to get through the rest of the party without him exploding out.
Remy is probably watching this, but I can’t worry about him now. I have to focus on staying calm.
Please stop.
My bear snarls back.
You’re going to ruin everything!
He doesn’t care. He charges at the surface and he nearly breaks through. I hear my jacket tearing as my body swells up. Luckily, everyone’s eyes are on Mr. Shields while he’s giving his speech.
“But what I’ll miss most is all of you,” Mr. Shields says and the whole crowd lets out a collective ‘awww.’
“A captain can’t leave the ship with no one tending the helm,” he says as the crowd quiets.
I take a deep breath and stand up on shaky legs. This is it. He’s going to announce the new director.
My steaming bear paces back and forth, his anger and frustration close to boiling over. I ignore him as I wait for the announcement with my breath caught in my throat.
“I have thought long and hard about the best person to lead the AFA into the next chapter,” Mr. Shields says. “Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the next director of the Anti-Feral Agency, your new leader, Cain Bradford.”
The crowd explodes into cheers as I stare in shock.
A hard slap on the back jerks me out of my daze.
I’m the new director? I knew I was the top candidate, but it’s still a shock to hear my name.
“Come on up, Cain,” Mr. Shields says into the microphone.
My feet seem to be moving on their own as I walk through the parting crowd. My ears are ringing. My bear is snarling. My coworkers are cheering. This is all so much.
I’m the youngest director in agency history. I’m the new AFA leader.
It doesn’t feel real as I bound up the steps and onto the stage. Is this really happening?
Mr. Shields shakes my hand proudly as he gives me a big warm smile. He motions to the microphone and I walk over to it with my heart pounding.
The crowd quiets as I look at the metal grill on the humming microphone. I swallow hard as my bear lets me know that he doesn’t approve of any of this. He’s grumbling in fury as he lurks around.
The spotlight shines on me and he snarls, hating the brightness, hating everything.
