Find her.
My human side tries to regain control, but it’s not working.
I’m falling to my beast. Words are blurring into growls and sounds, and I’m aware of what I’m doing beyond the need to move.
To hunt.
I tear through the house, every room, every corner—like she might somehow still be here.
She’s not.
By the time I hit the front porch, I’m still shifted, and it’s broad fucking daylight.
Which is a huge problem.
I try to get back into my human skin.
It’s painful. And it doesn’t work.
At best, I’m half in, half out.
Too much power under my skin.
Too much need.
Fuck it.
I let the Tiger take me.
It’s not a clean shift.
Not controlled.
Not the kind we train for.
It’s violent.
Bone and muscle ripple under my skin, senses exploding outward all at once like someone ripped the world open and shoved too much of it inside my head.
The first thing that hits is scent.
God—everything has a scent.
The road, baked warm from the sun. Oil and dust, and rubber.
The Pride—layers of it—Tiger, Bear, Other, all tangled together in a web of familiarity and territory.
Fear.
Sharp. Metallic. Immediate.
They smell me before they see me.
And over all of it?
Faint.
Fading.
