This is sharper. Metallic, but sweet, like blood on citrus peel. My teeth ache at the scent. My muscles coil before my mind can even name it. Jaguar.
I know the way they hunt. Slow, deliberate, a shadow moving behind a heartbeat. Roman doesn’t send men to knock. He sends killers to end.
I straighten, slow and deliberate, and speak into the night. “Come out.”
Nothing.
“Now,” I say, voice low, the kind that doesn’t need to shout.
The branches shift. A figure steps from the treeline, bare feet silent on the dry grass, moving with the grace of someone who knows exactly how to kill and exactly how long it will take. He’s tall, lean, built like steel cables under skin, tattoos curling up hisarms in patterns I don’t recognize. His eyes shine yellow even in the dark. He smiles like he’s already had this conversation in his head.
“You made it hard to find you,” he says in Spanish, his accent clipped and clean. “But not impossible.”
I don’t answer. I just keep my hands loose and my eyes on his throat.
“She’s inside,” he says, like he’s making small talk. “The witch.”
My jaw ticks. “She’s not yours.”
He tilts his head, that smile widening just a fraction. “Everything’s Roman’s. Especially what you try to hide.”
I move before he does. My fist catches his shoulder, but he twists, light on his feet, claws flashing where nails were. He’s fast. Too fast for a human. Not fast enough for me. He slashes for my ribs. I twist, feel the fabric of my shirt tear but not the skin beneath. I grab his wrist and slam him into the stone wall hard enough to crack plaster.
He laughs, low and breathless. “That’s it, Bull. Show me what she makes you.”
I don’t answer. I drive my knee into his gut, feel the air leave him, then spin him and pin him by the throat against the fountain’s edge. His claws rake at my arm, drawing blood but not enough to matter. The bull in me surges. My vision flickers. The night sharpens until every leaf on every tree is a blade.
He spits blood, still smiling. “You’re slow.”
He twists and gets free, lunges low, and his shift comes halfway—skin rippling, fur breaking through in jagged patches, jaw stretching to show teeth that don’t belong in a human mouth. He springs up, claws aimed for my throat. I drop low and catch him mid-air, slam him into the courtyard stones so hard they crack.
His voice is a hiss now, jagged and wet. “Your bond is his target.”
The words cut deeper than his claws. My grip tightens. “What did you say?”
He laughs, choking on his own blood. “She’s already in it. You brought her in. You gave him a key.”
The bull roars inside me. My vision goes gold. My skin splits at the seams and the shift comes fast, tearing up from my spine to my skull, horns curving into the night air, muscles doubling, every vein in my body singing for violence.
I tear him apart.
There’s no poetry in it. No clean kill. Just claws and horns and teeth and the sound of something breaking under weight it can’t fight. He dies fast but not quiet, his voice a gurgle that fades before his body hits the stones. Blood steams against the cool night air.
When it’s done, I’m standing in the courtyard, chest heaving, hands red, horns fading back into skin. My breath clouds in front of me though the night isn’t cold. I look down at him. What’s left of him. His eyes are still open, yellow fading, mouth frozen in a half-smile like he knew exactly how this would end.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and crouch beside him, fingers closing around the edge of his shirt to drag him away from the fountain. But then I stop. His words sit heavy in my skull.
Your bond is his target.
Not just her. The bond. The thing between us that shouldn’t even exist. The thing I’ve been trying not to name because naming it makes it real.
I stand and look toward the villa. The shutters are still. The light in the back room flickers. She’s in there, maybe asleep, maybe still glowing, maybe dreaming of ancestors and fire. She has no idea what just tried to take her from me.
I feel the bull shift under my skin, not pacing now but still, coiled, listening.
This isn’t just my war anymore.
I walk back inside, my boots leaving dark prints on the tile. The air in the villa feels different now, thicker, like it knows what’s waiting outside its walls. She’s sitting up on the mattress, hair falling loose around her shoulders, the glow soft but steady under her skin. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
