Page 7

NICHOLAS

N icholas paced behind the tiger enclosure, muscles coiled with a tension he couldn't shake. The band pulsed with a steady rhythm, almost mocking him with its consistency while everything inside him felt scattered and wrong.

"You know, with all this pacing, you're wearing more trails than the animals." Rollo called from the feeding station.

Nicholas paused mid-stride. "Just restless."

Restless was an understatement. Ever since leaving Sylvie's shop yesterday, his tiger had been prowling beneath his skin, refusing to settle.

The midnight run that usually calmed him had been a disaster.

He'd barely made it half a mile before his partial shift collapsed, leaving him with nothing but a killer headache and wounded pride.

"Restless looks like pacing." Rollo set down the meat cleaver and wiped his hands on a towel. "You look like you're coming out of your damn skin."

Nicholas flexed his hands, willing the claws that kept threatening to emerge back into his fingertips. "Maybe I am."

Rollo, with his knowing eyes, crossed his massive arms. "This have anything to do with the magical jewelry you've been sporting?"

"It's nothing," Nicholas muttered, absently rubbing the binding band.

"Nothing's got you looking like you haven't slept in days."

Nicholas turned away, his gaze drifting to Rajah, the sanctuary's oldest tiger. The massive cat was sprawled in a patch of sunlight, watching Nicholas through half-lidded eyes that seemed to hold a judgment all their own.

"I need to shift," Nicholas admitted. "Thought I'd use the back trails after feeding time."

"Good idea. You're wound tighter than Harriet Peterson's girdle at the town festival." Rollo chuckled at his own joke before his expression turned serious. "But maybe check that magic first. Shifters and witch-work don't always mix well."

Nicholas glanced down at the band. "I'll be fine."

Rollo shrugged. "Your funeral."

Twenty minutes later, Nicholas stood in the secluded clearing behind the sanctuary's northern boundary, stripped down to his boxers with clothes folded neatly beside a fallen log.

The afternoon sun filtered through the pine branches overhead, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow.

He rolled his shoulders, closed his eyes, and reached for the tiger within him—that primal, powerful part of himself that was as natural as breathing.

Nothing happened.

Nicholas frowned and tried again, focusing harder, calling to his beast with the mental connection that had never failed him before.

His skin prickled, muscles burning as they began to shift, and then stopped, locked in an excruciating half-state that was neither human nor animal.

"Damn it!" He dropped to one knee, panting through gritted teeth as his body snapped painfully back to human form. The violet band gleamed in the sunlight, seeming to pulse with amusement.

Nicholas staggered to his feet and tried again. And again. Each attempt ending worse than the last until he collapsed against a tree trunk, sweat-soaked and trembling.

His tiger prowled beneath his skin, restless and agitated, but refused to emerge completely. It was like some vital connection had been severed—or rather, redirected.

To Sylvie.

The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. His tiger recognized what Nicholas had been trying to deny since the moment the spell bound them together: Sylvie was his mate. And his tiger side wouldn't fully emerge without her nearby while he denied it.

"Well, that's just perfect," he growled, pulling his jeans back on with jerky movements.

The walk back to the sanctuary felt longer than usual, his limbs heavy with fatigue and frustration. He found Rollo in the staff room, nursing a cup of coffee that smelled suspiciously spiked.

"That was quick," Rollo observed, not even trying to hide his knowing smirk.

Nicholas collapsed into a chair. "Couldn't shift."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rollo set his mug down and leaned forward. "Your tiger knows something you don't want to admit?"

Nicholas's jaw tightened. "My tiger needs to get with the program."

"Or maybe you do." Rollo's voice dropped, serious now. "That band binding you to the Sage girl—it's not just any spell, is it?"

The memory of Sylvie's wide, startled eyes when the magic had sparked between them flashed through Nicholas's mind. The way her scent of clove and cedar and something uniquely her had wrapped around him, settling his tiger even as it drove him crazy.

"She's not interested," Nicholas said flatly, avoiding the actual question.

"And you're too busy playing the field to notice what's right in front of you.

" Rollo shook his head. "I've known you since you were a cub, Nick.

Watched you charm half the women in three counties without ever letting one get close.

But this—" he gestured to the binding band, "—this isn't something you can smooth-talk your way out of. "

"It's just a spell gone wrong. We'll break it."

"If that's what you think, you're dumber than you look." Rollo drained his coffee. "Let me tell you something about mates, boy. Deny them too long, and it gets worse. That restlessness you're feeling? That inability to shift? That's just the beginning."

Nicholas stared at him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying your tiger's recognized its mate, and you're being too stubborn to listen." Rollo stood, his large frame casting a shadow over Nicholas. "Magic just made visible what was already there. And the longer you fight it, the worse that binding's effects are gonna get—for both of you."