Page 19

NICHOLAS

N icholas prowled the perimeter of his cabin, unable to settle. His tiger pushed against his skin, claws trying to extend, fur rippling just beneath the surface. Three hours since he'd walked out of Sylvie's shop, and he felt like someone had hollowed out his insides with a dull spoon.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself, running his hands through his already out of place hair.

The image of Sylvie's face when he'd shut down—disappointment washing over those stormy gray eyes—had embedded itself into his memory. He'd fled with the books, his tiger raging at him the entire way home. Even now, his beast was furious.

Coward. Going back on your word. She is OURS.

"She's not a possession," Nicholas argued aloud to his empty living room. "And she deserves better than..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at himself.

He flopped onto his couch, staring at the ceiling.

The ancient book from Pines it only knew its mate was hurting, and they were the cause.

"She deserves a choice," he whispered into the empty room, his voice cracking.

The memory of her scent—clove and cedar with undertones of something uniquely Sylvie—still clung to his clothes, tormenting him.

"Not some magical chain binding her to a man who's never managed to keep anyone around for longer than a few months. "

A peculiar crackle of energy made him look up. The relic he'd brought home sat on his bedroom dresser, visible through the open door. To his horror, tendrils of inky black mist curled from its surface, twisting like living shadows into the air.

"What the?—"

Nicholas lunged toward it, but the moment his hands came within inches of the artifact, pain lanced through his skull. His tiger roared, a sound that tore from his human throat in a strangled cry. The mist coiled around his wrists, ice-cold and burning at once.

Give in, something whispered that wasn't his tiger. Fight the bond and feed me instead.

He stumbled backward, crashing into his doorframe as the shadows pursued him.

His tiger fought for control—not to escape, but to protect them both.

The partial shift ripped through him, bones cracking as his body caught between forms. Fur sprouted in patches, claws tore through his fingertips, but he couldn't complete the transformation.

The black tendrils were binding him, freezing him in this agonizing halfway state.

A sharp rap on his door barely registered through the pain.

Then the knob turned, he'd forgotten to lock it, and small sneakers appeared in his vision.

Millie Grace. The sanctuary's young empath stood in his living room, her wide eyes taking in the scene: Nicholas half-transformed, the relic spewing darkness.

She didn't run. Instead, the mute girl moved forward with purpose, her small hands extended palm-up in a gesture of peace. Nicholas tried to warn her back, but all that came out was a tiger's chuff.

Millie knelt beside him, her expression serene despite the chaos. She placed one hand on his forearm where fur had erupted and the other on his chest, right above his heart.

A wave of calm flowed from her touch, soothing his frantic heart. His tiger responded instantly, recognizing the empathic magic that so often helped distressed animals at the sanctuary. The beast stilled, purring under her influence.

The black mist recoiled, curling back toward the relic like smoke caught in a draft. Nicholas felt his bones resettle, the fur receding beneath his skin. His breathing steadied as Millie's quiet magic worked through his system.

He managed a hoarse "Thank you," as his body returned fully to human form.

Millie smiled and patted his hand. Using the notepad she always carried, she wrote: Your heart is fighting your head. That relic seems to feed on that.

Before he could ask what she meant, his phone rang. Sylvie's name flashed on the screen. With a shaking hand, he answered.

"Nicholas?" Sylvie's voice sounded strained. "Are you okay? I had a vision just now—I felt like you were in danger, and I couldn't breathe, and there was this pull?—"

"I'm fine," he lied, meeting Millie's disapproving stare. The girl crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "Actually, that's not true. I'm not fine, Sylvie. I shouldn't have walked out like that."

A pause. "What happened?"

Nicholas took a deep breath, watching as Millie discretely moved to his bedroom to examine the now-dormant relic.

"I need to see you," he admitted, his voice dropping lower, the natural charm he usually wielded like a shield nowhere to be found. Just raw honesty. "I need to explain why I acted that way. There are things about me, about my family, that you need to know."

The silence on the other end stretched so long he thought she might have hung up.

She spoke. "My place. One hour." Then, softer, "Be careful, Nicholas."