Page 76 of Hex and the Kitty

Daisy materialized at his side, her pink hair plastered to her skull from the sprinklers. “I’ll stay with her,” she promised, taking over the compress. “Celeste says the illusions are drawing power from some dark source. We need to cut it off.”

“Gus,” Warrick snarled, the name barely recognizable through the growl distorting his voice. “Behind the utility shed.”

Understanding flashed in Daisy’s eyes. “Go. We’ve got her.”

Warrick brushed his lips against Molly’s forehead before rising, his body vibrating with barely contained fury. Around them, the chaos continued—townsfolk fleeing, witches battling the magical flames, firefighters attempting to maintain order.

None of it mattered as much as the blood staining Molly’s dress. As much as the pain clouding her usually bright eyes.

Gus had gone too far. Sabotaging equipment was despicable. Targeting a public event was cowardly.

Hurting Molly? Unforgivable.

Warrick stalked through the crowd, no longer bothering to conceal the predator emerging in his movements. His vision sharpened further, tinting with gold as his tiger pushed closer to the surface. Claws extended from his fingertips, shredding the expensive fabric of his dress gloves.

Outside, the night air carried Gus’s scent—now mingled with satisfaction and a touch of fear. The coward had fled the utility shed, making for the forest boundary behind the community center.

Warrick followed the trail at a run, shedding his constricting jacket as he moved. His dress shirt stretched taut across broadening shoulders as his body prepared for the inevitable shift. He had maintained rigid control for decades, containing his tiger except in the most private moments.

Tonight, control no longer mattered. Only justice did.

The forest’s edge loomed, dark and dense. Without hesitation, Warrick plunged into its shadowy embrace, letting the transformation flow through him more completely. Bones cracked and reformed. Muscles elongated, growing denser. Hair thickened into striped fur across his body.

By the time he caught sight of Gus’s fleeing form, Warrick existed in the halfway state between man and beast—still bipedal but unmistakably tigerish in his features and proportions. Powerful enough to end this threat once and for all.

“Niles!” he roared, the sound echoing through the trees with primal authority.

Gus froze, then slowly turned. Even in the dim forest light, the shock on his face registered clearly—followed quickly by calculation and desperate bravado.

“Came to play hero, Shaw?” Gus sneered, though his voice wavered.

“This stops now.” Warrick advanced slowly, claws fully extended. “You’ve endangered lives. You’ve injured innocent people.”

“Collateral damage.” Gus backed up, his hand sliding into his pocket. “The witch wasn’t supposed to get hurt. Just scared off, back to where she belongs.”

The casual dismissal of Molly’s injury ignited Warrick’s rage anew. “She belongs here,” he growled. “With me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Something dark glinted in Gus’s hand—an obsidian knife inscribed with symbols that pulsed with malevolent energy. “Outsiders don’t belong in Whispering Pines. Nor witches who haven’t earned their place. Or tigers who think their fancy royal bloodline matters more than local ties.”

The knife hummed with power, its edge seeming to absorb the scarce moonlight filtering through the canopy. Dark magic—serious dark magic, not the parlor tricks Gus had used for sabotage.

“Put it down,” Warrick warned, instinctively assessing the threat level. “You’re outmatched, Gus.”

“Am I?” A cruel smile twisted Gus’s features. “My uncle taught me plenty before he disappeared. Including how to handle apex predators who forget their place.”

The knife flashed forward suddenly, slicing through the air where Warrick’s chest had been a split second earlier. Only centuries of combat reflexes saved him from a potentially fatal blow.

SIXTY-ONE

Warrick sidestepped, calculating. The knife wasn’t ordinary steel—it reeked of sacrificial magic, the kind that could harm even a shifter’s enhanced physiology. One cut might not kill him, but it could weaken him enough for Gus to gain the upper hand.

“Last chance,” Warrick offered, circling warily. “Surrender now.”

Gus laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “To an outsider? Never.”

He lunged again, faster than an ordinary human should move. Dark magic enhanced his speed, making him unnaturally quick. The blade caught Warrick’s forearm, slicing a shallow line that burned far more intensely than a normal cut should.

The pain triggered something primal in Warrick. His last tenuous hold on human form snapped. Bones cracked more dramatically, his spine arching as the full transformation overtook him. His clothes shredded completely as fur rippled across his body. His face elongated into a powerful muzzle, teeth lengthening into lethal fangs.

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