Tarik knew the feeling all too well.
Torborg tipped his head, lifting his chin in a show of defiance. “I can’t let her go. You have to come with me. Now. Why would I let her go when I know she’s my ticket? To you. She’s your mate. You’d die for her.”
“You’ll die if you hurt her.”
“It’s your choice.” The hand holding the gun trembled slightly and Torborg’s face slowly took on a pale, ashy cast.
This only made Tarik more desperate to get Abby away from the man. What if Torborg jerked his hand and accidentally discharged the weapon? He was obviously barely holding it together. The scent of his fear was thick in the air, pungent and acrid like burnt plastic.
What the fuck was going on? Why was Torborg doing this? Holding innocent women hostage? Clearly, he didn’t feel good about what he was doing. There had to be more to this situation than he’d had shared with anyone.
The beast inside woke.
Between Tarik’s worry for Abby’s safety and the smell of Torborg’s fear, Tarik had to struggle to keep from shifting. His muscles burned. His skin tingled. He tried to ignore the scent carried to his nose on a chilly gust, but it stirred his instincts and made his nerves fire up like mini-explosions.
He felt himself losing control. He staggered backward, bumping into something behind him. A set of hands closed around his upper arms and he jerked, yanking himself free before turning to give the offender a warning snarl.
Raul. He stared at Tarik gape-mouthed as a goldfish cradled in a cat’s tongue.
Tarik didn’t have to look down to know he was about to lose the battle with his body. The thick brown hair had begun sprouting from his pores and his bones ached as they began to stretch and reshape. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hold back.
“Tarik.” Abby’s whisper reached his ears just before he closed his eyes against the mounting agony.
Temporarily crippled while his body changed, he endured minutes of torture, coupled with the terrifying thought that something was happening around him that he couldn’t stop. He heard shouting, men and women. A hollow pop that could’ve been a gunshot. A scream that chilled his burning blood.
By the time he opened his eyes, he figured a whole lot of something had happened.
What he saw knocked him breathless.
In full bear form, he staggered backward and fell on his rump. It took a while to comprehend the sight before him—Torborg and Raul stood bent over a fallen Abby. She was positioned between sitting and lying down, holding her shoulder. Her face was the hue of a clouded fall sky. A pasty grayish-white.
Tarik lifted his nose, catching the scent of fresh blood. He saw the red patch staining her sleeve and slicking her fingers. A bizarre hunger gripped him, threatening to overtake him and lock away what little remained of his humanity. Saliva flooded his mouth. He stood on all fours.
The two men lifted their heads simultaneously, looking like twin puppets being controlled by one player. Or little dolls. Delicate and weak. When he took a step forward, toward Abby, they both stood and shuffled backward.
A chase! What fun!
Now able to push aside his hunger for blood, he took a second and third step toward the men. In response, they turned tail and scampered, like a couple of kicked-up rabbits. The thrill of the chase pushed him forward into a full run. He caught Torborg first, knocked him to the ground with a swipe of a paw.
The smell of his prey’s terror spiked Tarik’s hunger. He roared and lunged at the man, now rolling on the ground, trying to get back on his feet.
No sooner had he stood than Tarik hit him again, this time harder. Torborg sailed several feet through the air before landing heavily on the gravel. Tarik stood over him, lowered his head to draw in a nice long breath. The smell was intoxicating.
“Tarik!” someone yelled.
He ignored the voice, content to breathe in the delicious scent of his quarry. Barely capable of thought, he stared down at the man’s face.
He knew that man. He recognized him, yet didn’t know him either. Like fading dreams at daybreak, his memories of life as a human were dimming. Like he had woken and the images he’d seen as he slept were drifting away…
Farther...
Gone…
All he saw now was a meal laid out at his feet, not a man. Not a person. Starving, he lowered his head to take a bite. His teeth broke the skin and his mouth filled with the sweet flavor of blood. His hunger increased a hundredfold and he bit again.
“Tarik!”
He lifted his head and turned toward the sound. He knew that voice from somewhere. But where?
That face. That scent. A woman…a woman he knew. She was staggering toward him, one hand stretched out in front of her, the other clasping her dampened clothing.