I drew in one steadying breath. Then another. On the third, we launched forward.
The ground shot beneath us in a blur. I stretched out, claws digging for traction, wind slicing past my ears. Chris bumped my shoulder, playful and deliberate.
Show-off.
I snapped my jaws near his fur in warning, but he only bounded ahead with that cocky, rolling stride. So I pushed harder out of pure pride, legs churning faster.
We wove around the low jumps and the tunnel barrels, skirting the obstacles like it was our own private game. At one curve, Chris swung too close on purpose, brushing against my flank.
I clipped him back with a shove of my shoulder and bolted ahead. His playful growl chased me.
Pampi barked from the sidelines, sharp, bossy, absolutely delighted. The thrill hit me hard then, thick and wild. It made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time.
Every time Chris drew close, heat flared under my fur, urging me to run faster, chase harder, push him, and let him push me back.
We hit the final stretch side by side. We skidded to a halt, chests heaving. I collapsed first, dropping into the mat with a heavy thud. Chris flopped beside me a heartbeat later.
For a moment, all I heard was panting and Pampi’s distant excitement.
Chris shifted first with a ripple of fur and bone, that familiar shimmer of heat crawling over the air. He shook his hair out and walked over, tossing my clothes toward me with a smirk.
“Here,” he said, voice rough from the shift.
I shifted back, body reshaping, skin prickling with leftover energy. We got dressed quickly and sat on the floor again, shoulder to shoulder, legs stretched out in front of us.
My heartbeat still felt too loud in my ears. My wolf hadn’t fully settled. It paced just under the surface, restless, wanting more.
Chris broke the quiet first. “So… you gonna let me run with her in the heats?”
I barked a laugh. Smart of him not to ask who won. Bold enough to go straight for what he wanted.
“Fine,” I said, trying to sound composed, but my voice came out a little rough. “One run. Don’t make me regret it.”
He grinned at me, that impossible, teasing curve of his lips making my pulse stutter. Heat prickled up my neck and across my chest, and I tried to tell myself it was from the race.
Before I could look away, Pampi nudged her head between us, insisting on attention with a loud, smug snort.
Chris let out a laugh that was half exasperated, half amused. “Your dog is bullying me.”
“She learned from the best,” I muttered, scratching behind her ears, stealing a quick glance at him while I did.
Chris looked up at me through his messy hair, grin widening. “You saying I’m a good influence?”
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t deny it.
6
CHRIS
I’d never been to a dog show. It was an endless churn of movement, noise, and the strangely mesmerizing rhythm of competition.
Jaime and I spent hours in the designated handlers’ section, perched at the edge of the temporary bleachers in the ballroom.
From morning until the final whistle, we watched heats, trial runs, obedience demonstrations, freestyle routines, and agility exhibitions.
It should’ve been monotonous, but it wasn’t. Not with Jaime beside me, arms folded, posture coiled in its usual cool focus, eyes sharp enough to slice through every tiny detail.
Sometimes we leaned forward at the same moment. Sometimes we murmured the same observation under our breath. Sometimes our shoulders brushed when the handlers’ lane got cramped.
