Not three. Four.
He backed her against the nearest tree before she could react. Her shoulders hit bark, and then he was in front of her, his body a wall between her and whatever circled in the shadows.
“Stay behind me. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
“Rykan—”
“Promise me.”
The intensity in his voice cut through her fear. She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I promise.”
The growling grew louder. Closer. She saw shapes materializing from the shadows now—lean bodies covered in mottled grey fur, yellow eyes that caught the dim light and reflected it back like lanterns. They moved with predatory patience, circling, testing, looking for weakness.
Four of them. Four against one Vultor and one untrained human. The odds were not in their favor.
But then Rykan began to change.
She had read about Vultor transformations. She’d even seen illustrations in academic texts, clinical descriptions of the physiological process, and debates about whether the shift was biological or something older and stranger. None of it had prepared her for the reality.
He grew larger. His shoulders broadened, his spine lengthened, and his entire frame expanded in ways that should have been impossible. Dark grey fur erupted along his arms, his neck, his face. His hands curved into claws—each one longer than her fingers, wickedly sharp and designed for tearing. His jaw extended, fangs emerging from gums that had reshaped themselves to accommodate the change.
And his eyes. His eyes burned gold, brighter than firelight, brighter than the sun, so intense she could barely look at them.
The beast that stood before her bore only a passing resemblance to the man who’d been training her moments ago. This creature was pure predator, powerful and magnificent.
The lead adyani lunged and he met it mid-air. The collision was brutal, a tangle of fur and teeth and claws that moved too fast for her to track. She heard snarling, heard the wet sound of impact, and heard a yelp of pain that didn’t come from him. The adyani hit the ground and didn’t get up.
The second attacked from the left. He spun to meet it, one massive hand catching it by the throat and slamming it into a tree trunk hard enough to crack the wood. The creature crumpled, whimpering.
The third and fourth came together, coordinated, trying to overwhelm him with numbers. They were fast—faster than she would have believed possible—but he was faster.
He caught the first by its hind leg and used its own momentum to fling it into its packmate. Both went down in a tangle of limbs. Before they could recover, he was on them, claws flashing, fangs bared, a roar tearing from his throat that made the very air vibrate.
The fight was over in seconds.
The adyani that could still move fled into the forest, their retreat marked by crashing brush and panicked yelps. The ones that couldn’t move lay still in the bloody snow, their breathing shallow but present. He hadn’t killed them. She realized he’d pulled his strikes at the last moment, doing only enough damage to end the threat.
He stood in the center of the carnage, chest heaving, claws dripping crimson onto the white ground. The golden glow of his eyes began to fade, and she watched the transformation reverse itself—fur receding, bones reshaping, the beast giving way to the male.
By the time he turned to face her, he looked almost like himself again. Almost. The gold still lingered in his gaze, and there was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable beneath the predator’s mask.
He expected her to be afraid. She could see it in the way he held himself. He was braced for rejection and the disgust he clearly anticipated.
She stepped away from the tree, and his jaw tightened. He started to pull away and retreat behind the walls he’d built so carefully, but she caught his arm before he could turn away.
The muscle beneath her fingers was still corded with tension, still carrying the echoes of the transformation. His skin was hot, almost feverish, and he flinched at her touch.
“Ember—”
“You were magnificent.”
The words came out certain, carrying all the wonder she felt and none of the fear she knew he expected. She watched his expression shift from guarded surprise to something she couldn’t quite name.
His eyes searched hers, looking for the lie, the hidden revulsion, the eventual rejection that experience had taught him to expect. She held his gaze and let him see the truth. She wasn’t afraid. She was awed.
Heat flared in those golden depths. His hand came up, almost touching her face, hovering centimeters from her cheek. Warmth radiated from his palm, and she leaned into the almost-contact.
Then he pulled away.
