Tight with frustration.
Or fear.
I stop walking.
Instantly, I’m fully awake.
I tilt my head, listening harder.
There it is again.
A breath caught on a gasp.
A voice carried thinly through the trees.
Female.
Cold.
Scared.
My heart gives an almighty thud.
My beast stirs so fast its claws rake down my spine from the inside.
A voice I haven’t heard in years.
But I know it as well as I know my own soul.
I start running. Charging through the snow, my only thought of her—out here in the dark.
Alone.
Cold.
Calling out.
I push harder through the trees, branches scraping my shoulders, heart hammering like it’s trying to escape.
At last, I break into the clearing and there she is in the half-light—a small figure in a too-thin coat, snow swirling around her, phone light trembling in her hand.
“Smokey?” she calls. “Where the hell are you, you stupid cat?”
I freeze.
She’s not lost. Or hurt. She’s out looking for one of Heather’s domesticated beasts.
Relief shudders through me, and I almost laugh.
But then she slips, goes down, a cry catching in her throat.
I’m on her before I’ve thought it through, instincts moving faster than sense.
Lila.
I force my voice to sound human-soft as I speak her name aloud. But still, she startles, twisting toward me with a gasp.
Now, she’s looking up at me, snow clinging to her lashes.
