She’s gone. The human part of her has retreated like a tide, and what’s left is all teeth and instinct. The air between us tastes metallic and hot.
June lunges. A low, animal sound rips from her throat and her fangs find my shoulder, sharp, wet, tearing through fabric and skin. Pain explodes, white-hot and immediate. I curse, taste iron, but I don’t pull away. I won’t hurt her.
I clamp my hands around her forearms, fingers digging into fur and muscle. She fights like a thing born to fight, stronger than she should be, stronger than me, not just because she’s shifting but because of the blood that runs through her. Her body is a machine of motion and hunger; her mind is a dark, simple thing that wants only to tear and mark.
“June! It’s me ... Killian!” I shout, voice raw. “Get a grip! Re
