I need weapons that don't break.
I strip my shirt off, buttons tearing. I kick my boots away.
"Jax?" Miranda is looking up at me. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the chaotic beams of light cutting through the room. She looks terrified.
"Don't look away," I say. My voice is deepening, distorting as my vocal cords thicken. "Remember what I am."
I close my eyes and tear down the wall in my mind.
I don't ease into the shift. I dive into it.
Snap.
My spine arches violently. The sound of vertebrae grinding and expanding fills the small room, louder than the gunfire outside. My shoulders dislocate, broadening, reforming with dense, powerful muscle.
I fall to my knees.
My hands claw at the floorboards. Fingers fuse. Nails lengthen into black, curved daggers. The skin splits, not bleeding, but revealing the thick, coarse fur beneath.
My jaw pushes out, bones cracking as my skull reshapes. Teeth—human, flat, useless—are pushed out by fangs designed to shear meat from bone.
It hurts. It always hurts. It feels like being burned alive and put back together by a madman.
I let out a scream that turns into a roar.
I hit the floor on all fours.
I shake my head, the world shifting from the dull colors of human sight to the hyper-focused monochrome of the predator. The smell of the cabin explodes—Miranda’s scent (salt, fear, brass) is overwhelming.
I turn to her.
I am massive. My head brushes the bottom of the table. My fur is black, absorbing the stray beams of light. My claws gouge deep grooves into the wood as I shift my weight.
Miranda doesn't scream. She doesn't scramble backward.
She pushes herself up to her knees. She looks me in the eye.
"Beautiful," she whispers.
The word hits me harder than a silver bullet. She sees the monster, and she calls it beautiful.
I step closer. I lower my massive head, huffing hot air against her face. I nudge her hand with my wet nose.
She buries her fingers in my ruff, gripping tight.
"Kill them," she whispers, her voice trembling with a dark, fierce rage I’ve never heard from her before. "Kill them all, Jax."
That is the permission the Wolf needed.
I pull away. I turn toward the door.
The wood is shredding under the hail of fire.
I don't bother with the latch.
I coil my muscles, the power in my hind legs building like a compressed spring. I let out a snarl that vibrates the walls.
I launch myself.
