Page 32 of Gunnar

My beast stirs again.

Run.

I strip my shirt off and kick my boots aside before the pressure inside my bones becomes unbearable.

The shift tears through me in a familiar rush. Bones stretch, muscles swell.

The world explodes outward as my senses sharpen and the forest opens around me in a thousand living details.

Then I am running.

The cold air chills my muzzle as I charge down the slope beyond the lodge, claws digging into the damp earth. Branches whip past. Stones scatter under my weight.

Faster.

The forest rushes toward me and breaks around my shoulders.

Every nerve in my body is alive now.

Cold air flooding my lungs. Wet soil. Pine sap.

Deer. Not far away.

The scent slices through my skull like lightning.

I veer instinctively, charging downhill toward it. The ground thunders beneath my paws as I barrel through brush and fallen timber, massive shoulders smashing aside anything too slow to move.

Prey.

The word echoes through me like a drumbeat.

For a moment the hunt takes over completely. Every muscle locks into the rhythm of pursuit, body low and powerful as I surge through the dark.

But another scent cuts through the frenzy.

Softer.

Warmer.

Human.

I slow, skidding as I dig my claws into the earth.

Mate.

The word rolls through my chest like distant thunder.

Even miles from the lodge I can still feel her.

A pull. A certainty in my bones.

My mate is up there on the mountain.

Under my roof.

Sleeping in my bed.

I huff and pace in a tight circle among the trees, energy surging through my limbs with nowhere to go. Restless and electric.