The feral's head swung toward me. His lips peeled back from his teeth.
"Easy," I said softly, raising my hands. "Easy. No one's going to hurt you. You're safe here. You're—"
He lunged.
I saw it coming—the coiling of muscles, the shift in weight—but I couldn't move fast enough. Couldn't get out of the way. He was airborne, claws extended, jaws wide, and I had time to thinkthis is itand then—
Impact.
But not the impact I expected.
A body slammed into me from the side, driving me to the ground, covering me. I hit the floor hard, the breath knocked out of my lungs, and above me I heard the sickening sound of claws meeting flesh.
The weight on top of me shuddered. Made a sound—low, pained, controlled.
Then it rolled away, and I saw Cole.
He was on his feet before I could process what had happened, positioning himself between me and the feral, one arm hangingat an angle that told me the claws had found their mark. Blood darkened his sleeve, dripped onto the floor.
"Stay down," he said. His voice was calm. Impossibly calm.
The feral circled. His eyes were on Cole now—on the new threat, the larger predator. He was growling, a constant low rumble that vibrated through the corridor.
"Tranquilizer," Cole said, not taking his eyes off him. "Now."
Someone fired. The dart hit the feral's flank, and he yelped, stumbled, tried to lunge again. A second dart.
He went down.
The corridor erupted into controlled chaos—staff members securing the unconscious feral, security assessing the damaged containment, someone calling for medical. But I couldn't focus on any of it.
Because Cole had turned to look at me.
And when he reached down to help me up—when his uninjured hand closed around my wrist and pulled—
The bondflickered.
It was like touching a live wire. A spark of connection, brief and bright, that shot through my entire body. Not imagination. Not adrenaline. Something real and terrifying and utterly impossible.
I felt it.
He felt it too.
His hand tightened on my wrist. His amber eyes went wide for just a fraction of a second—the first crack I'd ever seen in his composure. He felt it. Heknew.
Our eyes met. Held.
The chaos of the corridor faded to nothing. There was only this—his hand on my wrist, the echo of that impossible spark, the recognition passing between us.
Then he let go.
Stepped back.
His expression smoothed over, becoming unreadable again. But something had changed in the way he looked at me. Something that made my heart pound in a way that had nothing to do with the attack.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was steady. Professional.
"No. I—you—" I gestured at his arm. "You're bleeding."
