Page 23

NICHOLAS

T he relic pulsed in Nicholas's hand, black tendrils of mist curling around his fingers like living shadows. Each heartbeat sent burning pain shooting up his arm, but his grip only tightened. The cursed thing had cost him Sylvie—he'd be damned if he'd let it escape now.

"Just stay... buried," he growled through gritted teeth, clawing at the earth with his free hand.

The hole he'd managed to dig in Echo Woods was deep enough, but his fingers had started shifting uncontrollably ten minutes ago, human nails elongating into lethal tiger claws, then retracting, over and over.

The forest floor around him was torn to shreds, pine needles and dirt scattered in his frenzy.

The relic—Mate's Bane, as Cassian and Sylvie had called it—seemed to fight against being contained. Every time Nicholas tried to drop it into the hole, an electric shock would jolt through his system, his tiger roaring inside his mind.

A wave of pain crashed over him, bringing Nicholas to his knees.

The shift was coming whether he wanted it or not, his bones already creaking with the need to change.

But something was wrong. Instead of the smooth transition he'd mastered decades ago, his body seemed caught between forms with fur sprouting in patches, teeth sharpening then dulling, muscles rippling under skin that couldn't decide which shape to take.

"Damn it," he panted, feeling his control slipping. "Not... here."

The relic glowed brighter, feeding off his distress. Visions flashed before his eyes: Sylvie laughing with another man, Sylvie walking away forever, Sylvie hurt because of him. Each mental image stoked the painful half-shift further, his tiger clawing to break free and find her.

A familiar scent cut through the pine and earth, musk and leather, with hints of tobacco. Rollo.

"Kid? Are you making a ruckus out here? Every critter for a mile is—" The older shifter's voice stopped abruptly. "Sweet mercy."

Nicholas couldn't lift his head, muscles spasming as the failed shift left him contorted on the ground. The relic pulsed again, black mist now enveloping his entire arm.

"What the hell is that thing?" Rollo dropped to his knees beside Nicholas, reaching for the artifact.

"Don't—" Nicholas managed, but too late.

The moment Rollo's fingers touched the relic, he yanked his hand back with a hiss. "Dark magic. How long have you had this poison?"

Nicholas tried to answer, but speech failed him as another wave of half-shift rocked through his body. His jaw elongated, then snapped back, a pained growl escaping.

Rollo pulled off his leather jacket, wrapping it carefully around his hand before knocking the relic from Nicholas's grip. It rolled a few feet away, its glow dimming but not disappearing.

"Breathe, kid," Rollo gripped Nicholas's shoulders. "Focus on my voice. Your tiger's confused. Find your center."

The absence of direct contact with the relic provided slight relief, but Nicholas's body remained caught in the painful limbo between forms. His vision blurred, amber tiger eyes trying to focus through human pupils.

"Can't," he choked out. "She hates me."

"Who? The witch?" Rollo kept one firm hand on Nicholas's shoulder while retrieving a worn flask from his pocket. He poured clear liquid onto a bandana and pressed it to Nicholas's nose. "Breathe this. Calming herbs. Millie makes it."

The sharp scent of lavender and something else Nicholas couldn't identify cut through the pain haze. Three deep breaths later, the violent shifting began to slow.

"That's it," Rollo encouraged. "Find your anchor."

Nicholas's thoughts cleared enough to form words. "She found the relic. Kicked me out."

"And your response was to come out here and what—have a one-man pity party that trashed half the woods?" Rollo cuffed him lightly on the back of the head, an oddly comforting gesture. "Dumber than I thought, and that's saying something."

Rollo eyed the still-glowing relic. "We need to get that contained and you to the sanctuary. Can you stand?"

Nicholas managed to rise on shaking legs, his body finally settling mostly back to human form, though patches of orange-black fur still rippled across his forearms. Rollo kept a firm grip on his elbow.

"Why'd you hide it from her?" Rollo asked as they stumbled through the trees, the relic now wrapped in his jacket and tucked under his arm.

"I was..." Nicholas swallowed thickly. "Protecting her."

Rollo snorted. "From what? The truth?"

"From me," Nicholas admitted, the words burning his throat. "From this mess. From the curse."

They reached Rollo's weathered pickup truck, and the older shifter practically shoved Nicholas into the passenger seat before carefully placing the wrapped relic in the truck bed.

"Drive," Nicholas mumbled as Rollo slid behind the wheel. "Just drive."

The sanctuary was quiet when they arrived.

Nicholas let Rollo lead him past the main buildings toward the small cabin that served as the shifter's private quarters.

The relic, still wrapped in leather, had been locked in a metal box from Rollo's truck, though Nicholas could still feel its pull like an itch under his skin.

"Sit," Rollo ordered, pointing to a worn leather sofa. "And start talking."

Nicholas sank into the cushions, utterly drained. The tiger inside him whined, a sound he'd never heard his inner beast make before. Longing, pain, and loss rolled through him in waves.

"I've been running," he admitted, staring at the floor. "My whole life. From commitment. From... possibilities."

"No shit," Rollo grunted, placing a glass of amber liquid in Nicholas's hand. "That's not news to anyone with eyes."

Nicholas took a swallow, the whiskey burning a path down his throat. "I knew she was different from the start. Something about her scent, her energy. I stayed away, mostly. Safer that way."

"For who?"

"For her," Nicholas looked up, meeting Rollo's knowing gaze. "My bloodline is cursed, Rollo. You know the stories."

"I know the legends," the older shifter corrected. "And I know you've used them as an excuse to keep everyone at arm's length since you were eighteen."

Nicholas's fingers tightened around the glass. "Three generations of Whitmore males whose mates suffered. My father, even my mother?—"

"Your mother loved your father," Rollo said softly. "What happened wasn't the curse."

"She got sick because of him," Nicholas insisted. "The bond weakened her. Everyone knows it."

Rollo sighed heavily, settling into an armchair across from Nicholas. "So you've spent your life being exactly what everyone expected—the charming playboy who never gets serious. And then this witch comes along and messes up your carefully constructed bullshit."

Nicholas closed his eyes, feeling the truth of it settle in his bones. "I was an ass to her deliberately. Thought I could push her away. Keep her safe."

"And how's that working out for you?"

"She hates me," Nicholas said, his voice hollow. "Finding that relic was the last straw. She thinks I cursed her on purpose."

"Did you tell her about your family? The curse?"

Nicholas shook his head. "I began to, but then she found the relic before I could explain. Besides what am I supposed to really say, 'Hey, by the way, I've been terrible to you because I'm afraid if I admit what you mean to me, something awful will happen to you?'"

"Sounds like a start," Rollo shrugged. "Better than letting her believe you're just a manipulative jerk who played with dark magic to trap her."

Nicholas realized that he'd been so focused on protecting Sylvie from the curse that he'd ended up hurting her anyway.

"I'll ruin her life," Nicholas whispered. "Just like my father ruined my mother's."

"Kid," Rollo leaned forward, his weathered face serious, "you're already ruining her life by not being honest. And yours too, from the looks of it." He nodded toward Nicholas's arms, where patches of fur still rippled beneath his skin. "That half-shift isn't going away until you face this."

Nicholas stared into his whiskey, seeing Sylvie's stormy grey eyes reflected in the amber liquid. "I don't know how to fix this."

"Sure you do," Rollo stood, heading for the door. "You're just too damned scared to do it."