Page 45 of Consume Me
Noctan is mid-shift when the world tilts. One heartbeat, it’s the man I know—broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, dangerous in a way that makes me feel safe. The next…
Fur explodes across his skin, white streaked with silver in a pattern like starlight spilled from the heavens. His bones stretch and snap, reforming into something bigger, more primal. His eyes flare into molten gold, locked on me.
The wolf from my vision.
The wolf I’ve feared for years.
And he’s charging straight for me.
I freeze, too stunned to breathe, the image searing into my mind like the scene I’ve lived a hundred times in nightmares—his weight bearing down, his teeth glinting like polished ivory—except…
They don’t sink into me.
They hit the demon who is looming over me, claw-like nails aimedfor my throat.
The impact sends both rolling away from me, a violent tangle of fur, claws, and shadow-made-flesh. The sound is a nightmare—wet snarls, the scrape of claws against stone.
And then?—
Noctan’s jaws lock on the demon’s shoulder, his teeth sinking deep until the monster lets out a piercing, inhuman scream that makes the hair at my nape rise. There’s a sharp, visceraltear.
They tumble again, slamming into the far wall with enough force to send cracks spiderwebbing through the plaster.
Something hisses—a wet, sickening sound—and the smell follows almost instantly.
Smoke. Burnt flesh.
It hits the back of my throat, thick and cloying, turning my stomach. I gag, pressing a hand to my mouth, and force myself to move.
When I push up onto my elbows, the sight freezes me mid-breath.
Noctan’s wolf lies sprawled on the floor. His fur is matted, streaked with crimson, the white dulled under a layer of soot and blood. His flank rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths.
Beside him, the demon’s body is twisted at an unnatural angle, black ichor pooling beneath it. Its eyes are open, glassy, the twisted mouth slack in death.
And its chest… is empty.
Where its heart should be is nothing but a hollow cavity, edges torn and smoldering.
I crawl forward, knees scraping against the roughfloor, the burn of panic flooding my chest. “Noctan…” My voice cracks.
He doesn’t move.
My pulse hammers harder, my movements faster. I reach his side and press a trembling hand to the thick fur at his shoulder.
It’s warm.
Alive.
Thank the gods.
Golden eyes crack open, finding mine, and the relief nearly topples me.
“You’re okay,” I whisper, my voice a prayer more than a statement. My fingers sink into the fur at his neck, stroking gently, grounding myself in the solid, living weight of him.
He exhales through his nose, a slow, steadying breath, and then the magic ripples through him again. Bones shift, fur retreats, muscle reforming under skin until the man is there, lying half-curled on his side.
And my hand is no longer buried in fur. It’s cupping his cheek.
