The forest seemed to hold its breath with him. The breeze died down, and even the birds, which had been chattering lazily above, went silent. Alright.
“A mountain lion was spotted a few miles east of here an hour ago,” he said, eyes straight into a thick part of the trees where the shadows pooled darker than the rest.
“How do you know?”
“The pack told me.”
More questions rose up immediately, because he hadn’t picked up a phone and no pigeon had dropped a letter, but again, he was looking into the trees so hard, it felt like if she spoke too loudly, she might break whatever thread he was tugging on. “Ok, so, um, an hour ago, it was spotted a few miles from here. That is cool, right? It’s far. Isn’t it?”
“Far, and mountain lions are shy enough to go the other way when they smell people. But lately, animals have been doing weird things.” He nearly whispered the last bit.
“Weird as...?”
“Coming close,” he murmured, eyes fully locked on that darker part of the forest.
She heard the movement before she saw anything. A brush of something heavy against leaves.
And then—
Oh, holy crap.
Itwasa mountain lion.
Right there. Emerging from the darker seam between the trees like it had been poured out of the shadows. Tawny hide, muscles sliding under its skin with unforgiving, terrible grace. It was coming toward them, and it didn’t seem friendly. Its ears were flat, its body low, shoulders rolling with a bad, bad intent.
It really looked like—
HOLY CRAP.
HOLY.
CRAP.
Less than a breath, and in front of her wasn’t Rex anymore. Or it was him, but dang it, he was a wolf.
His clothes shredded and fallen in sad, defeated strips. The backpack rolled to one side. Where a man had stood, there was now a black wall of fur and muscle and teeth. Big. Bigger than any wolf she’d ever seen in a picture. A living barricade, planted between her and the mountain lion.
The growl that came out of him vibrated through the ground all the way into her bones.
The mountain lion, on the other hand, wasn’t as impressed as she would have preferred it to be. The wild rascal kept stalking toward them, head low and tail flicking.
Fear didn’t sneak up on her. It crashed. Her vision narrowed, and the edges of the world blurred as every detail of that lion burned into her. The black rims of its ears. The pale underside of its jaw. The way its paws paced so carefully, so quietly. Her stomach dropped like she’d stepped off a cliff. Cold flooded her limbs even as sweat prickled fresh along her back. She wanted to run. Every cell in her body screamed at her to run, but her legs felt like wet paper and stone at the same time.
She was going to stay right there behind the big, bad wolf.
The lion started making sounds, and that didn’t feel good at all. A low, almost conversational rumble that carried threat in every note. She’d seen a documentary about cougars once. Apparently, they hunt elk. She was smaller than the daintiest, cutest little baby elk. Probably more confused, too.
Her mouth was so dry, her tongue glued to the roof of it. Her hands were closed in fists so tight that blood could not possibly circulate. Her nails bit into her palms—she knew it, but didn’t feel it. Her knees wobbled. Not a cute, damsel wobble. Oh, no. This was a legitthis-is-how-I-diewobble.
The mountain lion crept closer, shoulders rolling, tail swishing in irritated arcs.
Rex held his ground. And he grew.
Not in size, or not exactly. His presence expanded and filled the clearing. His hackles lifted along his spine, fur bristling into a dark ridge. His stance widened, paws digging into the earth. The growl deepened into a warning.
The cougar listened to that and paused, just for a second. Its ears twitched, eyes narrowed as if recalculating.
Rex stepped forward. Just one step. Head low, teeth bare. He wasn’t snapping, but that was a very clear statement: this ends badly for you.
