Page 24 of Forbid Me

As quickly as it emerged, the human-like quality in Oz's actions disappeared, and he was once again purely a panther, completing the grim task of neutralizing the remaining threats. Witnessing Oz, so controlled, sent shivers down my spine. It served as a reminder of his dual nature, the man and the beast, existing together in a sometimes unbalanced equilibrium.

The coyotes were defeated. All three lay still on the ground. The danger had passed. Wearied from the fight, the panther made its way to me. His steps were slower now, the aftermath of the battleshowing in the slight slump of his form. He settled at my feet, resting his massive head on his paws. With each breath, his sides expanded and contracted, signaling the exertion from the confrontation.

I knelt beside him, my hand shaking as I reached out to touch his coat. It was soft yet bristled with the remnants of the fight. Our eyes locked, and in his golden gaze, I found an array of emotions that no words could ever fully capture. Relief, weariness, and an undiminished sense of protectiveness.

Even though I'd missed a few details in my vision, I knew my dream would come true. I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man. I would have his cubs. We would live in a big, sprawling house. And we would be happy.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Oz

The hideout was thick with the scent of blood and death. My panther had the reins of my body. I didn't try and snatch them back. There was too much adrenaline still coursing through my blood.

My sides heaved with exertion. The taste of the fight lingered in my mouth. One of those fat rats had nearly touched her. It was lying in four—maybe five—pieces now in the corner of the room. My incisors sharpened, wanting more of its blood for penance at daring to come near my mate.

I gave a shake of my head. Stella was not my mate. But the panther was still in control. That shake of the head only served to land its head in her lap.

Instead of crying in fear or turning away in disgust, Stella scratched the fur behind my ear. She cooed nonsensical words thatsoothed the savage beast at her feet, in her lap, wrapping us both around her manicured fingers.

I wrestled with a different kind of battle then—one within myself. My panther was asserting its claim over Stella, insisting that she was ours. It was a possessive urge, strong and unyielding. With every gentle touch from Stella, every tender stroke, it sent waves of comfort through my panther form and straight into a chest that was becoming less and less hollow. I felt the bond between us stretching, while the one I shared with Dion thinned like a thread pulled too tight.

I needed to shift back, to put an end to this dangerous game. Both the man and the beast in me craved to claim her, to mark her as ours in a way that would leave no room for doubt. But that was a path fraught with betrayal and heartache.

Mine, not hers.

Once she saw her choices laid out in front of her, there was no way I would stand the victor. My best friend and I were a physical match. But the scales tipped in his favor when it came to worth. King Dion, with his strength, his nobility, his seat on the throne, was far more deserving of Stella than I could ever be. It was a bitter pill to swallow. But even my panther, with its fierce possessiveness, couldn't deny the truth of it.

It lifted its head from Stella's lap, taking its last look at her in this form. She gifted me with a smile. It was a look so full of warmth, so brimming with affection, it cut through me.

I'd seen many women look my way before. Their eyes were calculating, seeing me as nothing more than a means to an end or, more often, a path to Dion. Stella's gaze was different. It was devoid of any ulterior motives, filled with a devotion that was all… for me.

My panther and I were utterly undone by her. The fierce, protective emotion that surged within me was overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to wash away all reason and resolve. I wasn't good with emotions, having experienced so few early in my life that I had trouble identifying feelings inside me or radiating from others. But Iknew with a clarity that pierced through the foreign sensations in my chest that I would be hopelessly, irrevocably loyal to this woman until my dying breath.

I focused inward, calling on the magic that bridged the gap between man and beast. The shift was always a struggle, a battle of wills between my two halves. But this time it felt even more daunting. Every fiber of my being was at odds, torn between the duty that anchored me and the desire that threatened to sweep me away.

The shift ended. I was back in my human form. The vibrant sensations of my panther self dimmed to the more familiar, muted human senses. I found myself on my knees, the cool air of the cabin brushing against my bare skin. The brief disorientation that always followed the shift ebbed away as the full weight of my human thoughts and responsibilities returned.

Without thinking, I turned my back to Stella. It wasn't about modesty—I'd long ago lost any sense of embarrassment about my body. It was the scars that crisscrossed my chest I was hesitant to show. Each scar was an open wound, a connection to my past, a time of turmoil and survival I never spoke of. They were more than just marks; they were stories of pain and endurance etched into my skin. I wasn't sure I was ready to share them with her.

I caught sight of my clothes, now nothing more than shredded fabric on the floor. A sigh escaped me as I acknowledged my current state, stripped of defenses both physical and metaphorical.

"You don't need to hide from me, Oz," Stella said, her voice soft but carrying an undeniable force that made me pause.

I stayed still, my back turned to her. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Even her voice soothed me. I wondered if I'd gotten it wrong. If she was a siren and not a panther.

The sound of rustling fabric reached my ears. I opened my eyes to see that Stella had reached for the remains of my clothes. Before I could voice any objection, her hand moved in a graceful arc. The torn pieces of my pants began to weave back together, threads moving as if guided by an unseen hand. But I saw her hand, her magic. In notime, the garment was restored, looking as good as new, without a single sign of the battle they'd been through.

Turning to face her, I let her see, scars and all. Her gaze met mine. There was no disgust there. Only a profound acceptance that pierced right through me. She handed me the repaired pants, keeping her gaze trained on mine and not dipping lower.

"It's kind of hot that you're shy. Luckily for us, I'm not. But I also believe in consent, so I'll wait a little while before I claim you."

Her boldness took me by surprise, almost drawing a laugh from me. My mouth curved up in half a smile. Her gaze dipped to my lips. Her smile stretched wide and lit up her face.

Damn, the woman was beautiful.

I slid into the mended pants, which felt almost new. Though they did fit a little snugger in the derriere department. I caught Stella looking back there now, an appreciative grin on her face.

Then she focused her attention on my ruined shirt. Her fingers whirled through the air with a grace that reminded me of a music conductor. The threads of the fabric, torn and scattered, began to move as if alive. The sleeves, once hanging by mere threads, reattached themselves with precision. The seams pulled tight, each stitch perfect, as if the shirt had never been torn. The dirt that had clung to the fabric lifted away as if carried by a gentle breeze. Stains of blood, reminders of the fight, dissolved without a trace, leaving the material pristine and unblemished. It was as if time itself was being reversed, the damage undone by Stella's will alone.

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