Page 130 of Revealing Fate

The man’s arms abruptly vanished, and Felíne hit the ground hard enough to expel whatever little air remained in her chest. A ripping sound filled her ears through the hood—a shurii shifting form.

Felíne clawed at the canvas sack, dragging it over her head. Her hair had come loose from the low knot that held it, the wet strands clinging wildly to her face. She wheezed, thorax still tight from fear. Felíne scrambled backward, wedging herself against a spongy tree trunk.

Her captor crouched several feet away, his broad flaxen-furred back to her. His shirt had ripped when he shifted to second form, but his bias-cut trousers remained intact, a breakaway opening in the back making room for his swishing tail. Beyond the shurii male, snarling like a rabid dog, was Grim.

“Robb! Get him tied up and get the fuck over here!” the male called to his companion, not daring to pivot away from his new adversary.

The wolf’s yellow eyes locked on the sandy-colored male. His black lips curled over wicked canines. His wrinkled snout and raised hackles sent a shiver of fear through her. The rattling rumble that tore from Grim’s salivating maw promised violence.

But Felíne’s captor was a beast in his own right. His second form wasn’t as imposing as Kal’s—he was no more than two-thirds Kal’s size—but his hands flexed with long claws, and an equally sharp row of fangs protruded from his shorter, creased muzzle.

“Alright then, mutt. You want a fight?” He pulled a serrated knife from the band at his waist.

“No!” Felíne gasped.

The blond male lunged for the wolf. Grim darted back, barely avoiding being slashed with the shurii’s wicked blade. The wolf twisted, snapping and yowling. Felíne’s captor recovered, throwing up a furry forearm to protect his face. Grim’s powerful jaws clamped down on the provided target. The shurii male jerked his arm back on instinct, but Grim held fast. The momentum lifted the wolf’s forepaws off the ground, back legs scrambling for purchase in the leaf-strewn forest floor.

Felíne was drenched. Thunder boomed overhead, the sunny afternoon having given way to roiling gray clouds that she glimpsed through a break in the treetops. Lightning flashed, painting the scene before her in harrowing shadows and flickering light.

Her captor finally threw Grim off. He stood panting, his forearm soaked by both rain and blood. He clutched at the ribboned flesh. A growl resounded in his chest. He gripped the serrated blade with his right hand. This time, when he slashed forward, Grim didn’t move quickly enough.

The wolf yelped, the cry sending a fresh wave of dread crashing into Felíne. Tears flowed freely now, mixing with her running nose and the pouring rain.

Her captor, his blond pelt darkened by the deluge, rose to his full height. His left forearm was a bloody ruin, but his right hand wielded that blade with frightening confidence. The male stepped forward. Grim couched low, his growling drowned by the clap of the thunderstorm.

A sob lodged itself in Felíne’s throat. She couldn’t watch Kal’s wolf die. She forced herself to her feet. Her hatchet was gone, she possessed no claws or teeth, but she’d attack with blunted fingers and a panic-vised chest if need be.

The sandy-pelted male raised his blade.

Grim’s ears flattened to his skull. Yellow eyes gleamed. A whine pierced the sounds of the storm, his silver belly hugging the dirt.

“That’s right, you hateful beast,” the male panted.

A roar, the likes of which Felíne had heard only once before, rattled the wood.

The blond male twisted.

A clawed shadow shot out of the dark and seized the male’s throat with terrifying strength. Felíne’s captor was lifted off the ground. His face slackened with startled horror. He slashed with the jagged knife, and a second clawed shadow-hand materialized, snapping the male’s wrist with an effortless crack. He howled. The blade dropped, lost somewhere among the underbrush.

Lightning flashed again. Felíne glimpsed a muzzle filled with gleaming white fangs through the downpour and her haze of tears. She saw the thick column of a neck attached to broad shoulders. A hackled ridge of midnight hair ran the length of a long, curving spine. Muscles rippled under a pelt solid black as a piece of stygian wood.

Not a shadow.

Kal.

Another strangled sob broke from her, and she went to her knees. She still couldn’t breathe, but Kal at least appeared unharmed.

One of Kal’s ears flicked in her direction. He turned glowing gold eyes on her, holding her in his attention the way a collector might cradle a priceless artifact—one he’d spent a lifetime seeking.

Felíne managed to suck in a gulp of air.

Kal returned his furious glare to the suffocating male in his unrelenting grip. His rage was a tangible, bloodthirsty thing.

“Bad move, Skott,” Kal rumbled. “This little stunt got you and your brother killed.”

“Robb?” The male’s eyes bulged as he mouthed the word. “Robb!”

“He’s dead, you fucking coward,” Kal spat, words slipping past his fangs with pitiless precision.