Mine.
The word isn’t mine—not consciously—but it echoes through me anyway, instinctive and undeniable. I slide out from under the truck, wiping my hands on a rag as I scan the street. And then I see her.
The moving truck. The woman climbing out of it. Dark hair pulled back, jeans, worn boots. Nothing outwardly remarkable—and yet everything in me sharpens, focuses, narrows to her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.
My tiger prowls against my skin, restless.
Mate.
The realization lands hard enough to make my pulse spike.
“No,” I mutter.
Not here. Not now. Not human. Because she is. I can scent it even from here—no trace of animal beneath her skin. Just human.
My jaw tightens. Of all the possibilities, of all the ways this could have gone?—
A human mate walks into Redwood Crossing. Perfect. She looks toward the garage, toward me, and for a split second our eyes meet. That’s all it takes. The pull intensifies, sharp and insistent. My instincts surge, urging me forward, toward her, to close the distance, to claim?—
I turn away. Immediately. Before I do something I can’t take back.
I shove the rag down onto the workbench and head for the back exit of the garage, my movements clipped and controlled.
“Archer?” one of the guys calls after me. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I throw over my shoulder.
Lie.
I don’t stop walking until I hit the tree line at the edge of town. Then I run.
The shift hits me mid-stride, bones reshaping, muscle stretching, skin rippling as my tiger takes over. It’s fast—clean—but the force of it is driven by something stronger than usual.
Need.
I land on four paws and keep moving, pushing deeper into the forest. The scents of pine and earth flood my senses, grounding, but it’s not enough.
She’s still there. I can still feel her. The connection hums beneath my skin, a constant pull that doesn’t weaken with distance the way it should.
Damn it.
I run harder, faster, until my muscles burn and my lungs strain. I don’t stop until the instinct quiets enough that I can think again.
When I finally shift back, I’m deep in the forest, alone, my chest heaving.
A human mate. This complicates everything.
I drag a hand through my hair, staring out through the trees toward the direction of town.
Toward her. I can’t stay away. That much is already clear.
By the time I make it back to the garage, hours have passed. The sun has shifted, the light softer now, stretching long shadows across the street.
I try to focus on work. Try. It doesn’t last.
Every few minutes, my attention drifts. My senses reach, tracking her movements next door without conscious effort. The faint sounds of shifting boxes. The creak of the old building. Her footsteps. Too close. Too unprotected.
When the crash happens, I’m moving before I even register the sound.
