Nobody moves.
I feel him before I see him — the bond surging warm and desperate and animal, nothing like the bruise it's been, nothing like the muted frequency of the circuit. This is RJ running without containment and the bond is enormous with it, flooding the mark up my wrist and into my chest.
He breaks from the treeline.
Not human. Not wolf. Something between, fur and claws, standing on two legs — too fast, too fluid, the movement of something that has stopped pretending it isn't what it is. His eyes find me across the distance and lock.
Then he sees Dalton.
He hits him like a wall.
They go down hard and fast and RJ goes for his throat — not controlled, not measured, pure drive and teeth and claws. Dalton turns with it, manages the angle, takes the impact without fighting back. His eyes are fully shifted, gold in the early light, but his hands on RJ are containment. Not combat. He's absorbing it, redirecting, keeping his throat protected.
Violent and aggressive. It's not sustainable.
"RJ."
He doesn't hear it. Swings again. Dalton blocks.
Dalton's footing slips.
That's it.
I step forward and let the bond rise. It doesn't creep — it takes. Up my spine, into my chest, through my shoulders. My bones shift under it. Not fully. Enough.
My hands aren't hands anymore — longer, heavier, claws pressing through skin. My jaw tightens, teeth changing, breath pulling deeper and sharper.
RJ feels it.
His head snaps toward me.
I don't slow. I hit him.
We go down and he turns on me instantly — faster, harder, no hesitation. He slams me back. My shoulder hits the ground hard enough to jar bone, breath punching out of me.
For a second he has me. Weight and teeth and pressure.
I drive back. Claw, weight, turn. We roll. I meet him with everything I have — force for force, teeth for teeth, no softness, no hesitation.
He presses me down.
I shift under it. Change the angle. Drive up.
Now I have him.
My hand closes at his throat — claws biting just enough — my weight locking his chest to the ground.
He bucks. Hard.
"Look at me."
The bond slams — full, violent, forced open from both sides at once. He jerks. Gasps. Still fighting —
He jerks against me — not yielding, not yet.
The bond surges again, misaligned, violent, trying to find the right shape and missing it.
Then it breaks.
