Page 5

Not because of rage. Not even grief. It was something more raw—a surge of need and helplessness so visceral it hollowed him out from the inside. She'd left again. No glance back. No signal that she'd felt the same fire threatening to consume him. That void ripped the restraint from him like paper.

A flash of heat. A thunder crack of instinct.

Mist spiraled up from the rooftop stones as the beast surged to the surface, all sinew and shadow, sleek and furious.

One blink and the man was gone. In his place, the panther landed silent and deadly on all fours, as if he’d always belonged to this darker, more honest form.

It was the only shape that could hold the ache clawing at his chest without being torn apart.

He didn't run. He didn’t roar. He crouched at the edge of the rooftop garden, eyes locked on the street below.

Vision sharper than any human’s. Breath tasting of metal and jasmine.

The beast inside him trembled—not from fear, but from intent.

She was gone, again. But this time, he wasn’t just mourning.

He was claiming.

Mist gathered again around the rooftop stones, swirling like smoke caught in moonlight.

The storm that had wrapped around him in his panther form began to calm, quieting in his blood.

Finn took one slow breath, then another—and let the beast release its hold.

The transformation was instant. The swirl of color brightened to white, then vanished with a subtle flash of light.

In the space where the panther crouched, Finn stood—naked, chest heaving, skin flushed from the raw pulse of instinct.

He stepped back from the edge of the roof, jaw tight, and reached for the small black bag tucked behind a ventilation shaft.

He always had a backup. Pulling on jeans and a dark henley, his fingers worked on autopilot, grounding him back in the man, not the beast. Only after fully clothing himself did he breathe deeply.

She was still there. Somewhere.

Finn turned at the sound—the soft metallic sigh of the elevator opening behind him—his senses already confirming who it was.

The shadows near the far edge of the rooftop pulled slightly as Donal stepped into view, the ever-present wind tugging at his coat.

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. No words needed but offered, anyway.

“She must have doubled back on foot,” Donal murmured.

“Didn’t approach, but she watched. From the alley.

She caught the tail end of it—the swirl of the mist, the shadows twisting, that shimmer before the thunder cracked.

It was fast, but enough. She flinched, yeah, but she didn’t bolt.

Just stood there like she couldn’t tell if it was real or her mind playing tricks.

Like part of her didn’t want to know... and part of her already did. ”

Finn’s smile was faint but knowing. “Curious kitten.”

“She saw something.” Donal tilted his head, brow furrowing. “Maybe not enough to name it. But she froze—like her brain was trying to make sense of what didn’t fit. Confused. Maybe even a little afraid. But curious too.”

Finn’s eyes darkened. “The mist?”

Donal nodded. “She caught the tail end of it. Saw it swirl and vanish. Maybe even heard the thunder.”

“She saw the edge of what she wasn’t supposed to,” Finn muttered. “Didn’t know what she was looking at. But it hit her.”

“She’ll have questions.”

“She always did.”

“And if she figures it out?”

Finn’s smile vanished. “Then I’ll have to decide whether to lie again.

Or show her exactly what I am.” He didn’t fear her knowing the truth because of what she’d think of the monster—no, the real fear was losing the glimmer in her eyes when she looked at him like he could be more than blood and violence.

He didn’t want to see that light flicker out.

But he also couldn’t keep hiding behind half-truths and silence.

The full truth was what she deserved, even if it destroyed whatever remained between them.

That choice carried weight. If he lied, he might buy them more time—keep her close long enough to remind her of what they were.

But if she found out on her own? If she discovered the truth without hearing it from him first?

That betrayal could break anything they'd built. And if he told her? If he bared everything—the beast, the bond, the ancient tie neither of them had asked for—she might never look at him the same way again. He could lose her for good. But pretending wasn’t in his nature. Not anymore.

Donal’s expression turned serious. “And if she runs?”

“She’ll run,” Finn said. “But this time... I’ll be faster.”

He turned back to the edge of the roof, the wind curling around him like a whisper of her hair.

“She’s already mine,” he said softly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, jaw tight as a wire. His eyes tracked the edge of the city skyline like a predator watching for movement.

“She knows it. She just doesn’t want to admit it.”