Edge Of Darkness

44

Christian knew they were trying to determine if he were friend or foe. He decided to give them an unmistakable hint.

The electric charge surged to a crackling, snapping peak, and Christian Shifted to panther.

It was the same every time; the flood of feral power, the ache of sudden release. There was fleeting pain as his muscles and tendons and bones transformed—fleeting but terrible—and the sound of his bespoke suit being shredded into ragged pieces was minor compared to the sound of his bones grinding into other, stronger shapes, his skin and muscles ripping apart along ragged seams. The process took all of a few seconds, and when it was done, he was standing on four massive paws instead of two feet, his muzzle curled back over sharp canines, his long, powerful tail snaking back and forth behind him like a whip, his clothes littering the street around him like confetti.

Judging by the shocked expression on the men’s faces, Christian had the satisfying realization they’d been expecting anything but that.

He knew he was huge in his animal form, much larger than the big cats he’d seen on those wildlife shows, even larger than many of his kin. Pitch black and heavily muscled, he stood shoulder-high to a human man. If he reared up on his hind legs, he’d tower over any human, big as a bear. All his senses, so sharp even in human form, were exponentially stronger, and he could smell, hear, and even taste the world around him, in all its myriad richness and life.

This was who he really was. This was his heritage, and his Gift. His human disguise was just that, a disguise, but in his natural form Christian had so many advantages over a human it was practically laughable.

For instance…speed.

In one lightning-fast motion, he sprang forward and bounded down the dark alley, a roar of pure rage ripping from his throat. Kill kill kill kill kill kill! It was all he could think or feel, bloodlust bright as sunlight surging through his veins.

The three men/not-men reacted instantaneously. One of them turned and fled, one of them Shifted to panther, and the third—unfortunately—pulled out a gun.

The first shot missed him completely, ricocheting off the brick wall behind his head with a shrill, echoing twang. Behind the man who’d fired, the crowd of people strolling by on the sidewalk broke apart screaming and began to stampede in all directions like a herd of frightened deer. At the same time, the other panther leapt forward with outstretched claws and snapping jaws, snarling as viciously as Christian. Then everything happened at once.

He and the other animal collided in mid-leap, their bodies slamming together with such force it sounded like a small explosion. There was howling, hissing, and the twisting huge bodies, the sharp scrape of claws across his muzzle. They landed on the ground and began fighting in earnest, rolling over and over, slamming against the side of a Dumpster with a hollow boom, both of them aiming for a killing strike to the throat. Christian’s teeth fastened around his opponent’s neck before he could twist away, and he heard a shrill scream as his fangs sank deep into his carotid artery.

He bit down hard and twisted his head sideways, ripping out a huge chunk of furred flesh. Blood spurted, wet and hot and copper-tangy, all over his face and into his mouth.

Then another shot rang out in the alley and Christian realized he’d been hit as agony flared up his spine. In the right rear leg, which buckled beneath him.

His first thought was entirely irrational. It was only a name.

Ember.

It gave him enough strength to turn on the gunman and propel himself forward on his one good leg. He hit his target with both paws spread open over his chest and the gun went flying from his hands. Eight pinpoints of blood flowered out beneath the man’s white shirt where Christian’s claws had pierced his skin. Then more blood spurted out in a high, arcing spray when Christian leaned in, crushed the sternum between his jaws and tore the man’s heart, still beating, right out of his chest.

He gurgled and twitched, clutching his chest as if he could fill the bloody hole with his hands. Then he sagged to his knees, listed sideways, and silently slumped to the pavement. His head hit the ground with a flat smack. He jerked once, then fell still. Blood began to pool in a swiftly widening, erratic circle around his body.

Christian looked up just in time to see three blue and white police cruisers screech to a stop at the end of the street, lights flashing. He released the heart—dripping blood and steaming in the night air—from his jaws, turned, and limped away.

As instructed, Ember ran straight to find Corbin, pushing through the crowd that at first was strolling casually, then, when two shots rang out in the night, screaming and fleeing in panic.

She was fleeing in panic, too.

It can’t be it can’t be it can’t be! Over and over in her mind it repeated like a record stuck in a groove.

There were images flashing behind her eyes, voices spinning in her head, things she’d seen on the news and heard on the radio—the few times she’d allowed herself to listen to the radio, which was rarely, as it was too painful to hear music—and a terrible picture was coming together in her mind. A picture of chaos.

A picture of c*****e.

She concentrated on pushing it back for the moment, because if she allowed it to break free and flood her with the full horror of it, all the details that were lurking just there behind her wide-open eyes, she wasn’t sure if she could put one foot in front of the other, not even to run for her life.