Page 3 of Shifting Hearts 1
Most people who step onto my land never leave it alive.
That isn’t a threat. It’s just the way the wild works. The forest doesn’t care about politics or rank. It doesn’t care about ceremony or tradition. Out here, it’s tooth and claw and blood. Out here, it’s survival.
And I like it that way.
The river gurgles at my feet, icy water biting at my muzzle as I lower my head to drink. My whiskers drip as I lift it again, the chill clinging to me even through the black fur that coats my body. My paws sink into damp moss, my claws flexing against the earth. The night is alive with scents, the musky trail of a deer herd, the faint tang of a rabbit scurrying off to hide somewhere, and the sharp bite of pine.
It’s peaceful. Or at least, it should be.
The wind shifts and a new scent cuts through the forest like a blade.
Blood.
Fear.
Shifter.
Female.
My head snaps up, ears swiveling. My muscles lock tight. The scent coils inside me like smoke, foreign and wrong but somehow still welcome.
I stalk forward, silent as shadow. The forest bends around me, branches whispering as I pass. Each paw fall is a ghost, swallowed by pine needles. My black coat blends seamlessly with the night. Out here, I am the forest. I am the predator they fear.
And yet my chest aches and my heart stutters. Because beneath the copper tang of blood and the sting of fear, there’s something else. Something ancient. Something dangerous.
Mate.
The word slams into me, primal and undeniable. My panther growls low, a rumble that vibrates through my bones. I bare my teeth to the empty air, as if I can snarl the truth away.
No. Not me. Not again.
I push harder through the underbrush, each step silent, my instincts pulling me toward the source. My chest tightens with every breath I take of her scent. The bond coils tighter, burning through me like fire.
And then I see her.
She lies crumpled at the edge of the riverbank, mud streaking her pale skin, her black hair tangled with pine needles and leaves. Her ceremonial dress is torn and bloodstained, the faint shimmer of runes dull and broken. Her lips are cracked, her breath shallow. I take in her cracked lips, shallow breathing, and tear-stained cheeks. She is unconscious and fear slams into me at the sight.
She looks half-dead. And yet, she is more beautiful than any other woman I have ever laid eyes on.
I circle closer, my muscles tense, and my panther snarling inside me. The bond crashes through me in waves, demanding, clawing, pulling. I stumble back a step, as though I’ve walked into fire. But my body hums, every nerve screaming the truth I don’t want.
Fated.
Mate.
“Fuck.”
The word slips out low and guttural as the shift rips over me. My bones snap, and fur recedes, muscles twist painfully and reform until I’m crouching in the mud on two legs instead of four. The chilly night air bites against my bare skin, but I barely feel it. My pulse is a drumbeat, heavy and fast.
I should walk away. I’ve survived this long by keeping to myself, by trusting no one. Mates are a curse, a chain. I don’t want it. I never did.
But she’s dying. And if she dies, something inside me will die with her.
I kneel, sliding my arms beneath her body and lifting her against my bare chest. She weighs almost nothing, her head lolling against my chest. Her heartbeat is faint, fluttering like a tiny hummingbird’s wings as it flits from flower to flower. Her scent is everywhere now, clinging to my skin, seeping into my lungs. It burns away all rational though.
Her lips part on a broken sound, too soft to understand and my chest tightens painfully.
“Don’t you dare quit on me,” I mutter, my voice rough as gravel.
