Page 61 of Hex and the Kitty (Whispering Pines #9)

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W arrick sidestepped, calculating. The knife wasn’t ordinary steel—it reeked of sacrificial magic, the kind that could harm even a shifter’s enhanced physiology. One cut might not kill him, but it could weaken him enough for Gus to gain the upper hand.

“Last chance,” Warrick offered, circling warily. “Surrender now.”

Gus laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “To an outsider? Never.”

He lunged again, faster than an ordinary human should move. Dark magic enhanced his speed, making him unnaturally quick. The blade caught Warrick’s forearm, slicing a shallow line that burned far more intensely than a normal cut should.

The pain triggered something primal in Warrick. His last tenuous hold on human form snapped. Bones cracked more dramatically, his spine arching as the full transformation overtook him. His clothes shredded completely as fur rippled across his body. His face elongated into a powerful muzzle, teeth lengthening into lethal fangs.

Within seconds, a massive tiger crouched where the man had stood—nine hundred pounds of muscle, claw, and fang. Golden eyes fixed on Gus with predatory focus.

Fear replaced bravado on Gus’s face. He brandished the knife with trembling hands, backing toward a large oak. “Stay back! This blade is consecrated with blood magic! One strike to your heart, and even a royal tiger dies!”

Warrick growled, the sound vibrating through the forest floor. His tail lashed behind him as he calculated his approach. The knife posed a genuine threat, but Gus’s inexperience with true combat gave Warrick the advantage.

He feinted left, then sprang right with explosive power. His massive body collided with Gus before the man could reposition the knife. They crashed into the underbrush, Gus crying out as powerful jaws closed around his forearm—the one holding the blade.

Warrick applied precise pressure, feeling bones grind without breaking completely. The knife dropped from nerveless fingers, embedding itself in the soft forest floor.

Gus screamed, the sound piercing the night. “Get off me, you monster!”

The tiger snarled, maintaining his grip while pinning Gus with his considerable weight. One paw rested delicately against Gus’s throat—claws retracted for now, but the threat unmistakable.

“Warrick! Stop!”

Reed’s authoritative voice cut through the primal tableau. The sheriff emerged from the trees, accompanied by three deputies with weapons drawn. All bore expressions of shock at the sight of a massive tiger pinning the struggling Gus.

“We’ve got him,” Reed continued, approaching cautiously. “Don’t kill him, no matter how much he deserves it.”

The tiger’s golden eyes flicked toward Reed, intelligence burning within their depths. Slowly, deliberately, Warrick released Gus’s arm and backed away, maintaining his tiger form but allowing the law to take over.

“Jesus,” one deputy whispered as they moved in to secure Gus. “I knew the chief could shift, but...”

“Royal bloodline,” Reed explained tersely, handcuffing a moaning Gus. “Bigger and stronger than standard tigers. Impressively controlled, considering the circumstances.”

Warrick remained motionless, his massive chest heaving with exertion and lingering rage. Blood dripped from the wound on his forearm, but he barely registered the pain. One thought dominated his consciousness: Molly .

Reed seemed to read his concern. “She’s okay. Daisy’s looking after her. Go to her—but maybe shift back first. That form might frighten some of the civilians.”

The tiger huffed what might have been acknowledgment before padding deeper into the forest. Behind a thick copse of trees, the massive beast blurred and contracted, bones and muscles reforming until Warrick knelt on all fours, naked and human once more.

The shift back always left him momentarily vulnerable—muscles burning from the rapid transformation, mind reestablishing human thought patterns over animal instincts. He remained crouched for several seconds, controlling his breathing until the discomfort passed.

Reed approached, respectfully averting his gaze while offering a bundle of clothes. “Standard emergency kit from the cruiser. Not your usual style, but better than streaking through town.”

“Thanks.” Warrick accepted the simple T-shirt and sweatpants, dressing quickly. “Gus?”

“Talking already. Trying to make a deal.” Reed’s expression hardened. “Won’t help him. We found his uncle’s grimoire in that shed. Dark stuff, Warrick. Blood sacrifice, fear harvesting... he crossed every line.”

“He hurt Molly.” The words emerged as a growl, primal anger still lingering beneath Warrick’s human facade.

“And he’ll pay for it.” Reed clasped his shoulder. “But right now, she needs you more than the town needs vengeance.”