Page 46 of Brandon’s Mate

He wanted so badly to hold on, but he had to let her go.

He closed his eyes, breathing her in one more time, and then summoned all his will power and slipped out of bed, trying his damnedest not to wake her.

He’d had his one night, which was more than he ever thought he’d get. Now he had to figure out some way to get her to leave this mess and go on with her life.

He could almost hear Colt and Remy laughing at that idea.

Without warning, the shaking hit him, and his cat mrrrowed in protest. Brandon didn’t even try for the door, just opened the window and blundered through it, and took off into the darkness.

He headed up the mountain, trying to keep control of his Change, trying to stay human. He knew where his panther was headed. Brandon always told himself he wouldn’t go back, but he always did.

Deep in the woods was a tiny cabin, surrounded by strange stone sculptures. No electricity, no running water. Just a giant hermit with silver hair and crazy eyes, who smelled of winter.

Brandon didn’t know what he was, and his panther didn’t care.

He went there whenever he wanted blood.

The Hermit always seemed to know when he was coming. He was outside waiting, as usual. As soon as Brandon saw him, his panther burst out, screaming a challenge.

He wanted the Hermit to Change, to fight him in his animal form, but he never did.

Instead, he drew a knife, and went into a crouch.

“Come on, kitty-cat,” he crooned. “Is tonight the night you want me to kill you?”

Not tonight, Brandon’s panther said. We will make him submit.

With a snarling roar, he launched himself at the Hermit, ready for the pain and blood.

Chapter 18

Towards dawn, Brandon, still in panther form, was making his way back to the house when he realized something was wrong.

A faint whiff of vehicle exhaust and a hot engine. Low voices from outside the house.

Intruders in his territory.

Sinking down low, he crept through the tall grass on the hillside below the woods to a vantage point where he could see the house.

Two men were on the porch. One crouched before the front door, trying to pick the lock. The other lounged on his sleeping couch, drinking one of his beers.

The McCall twins. Hah. He’d teach them to try to sneak up on him.

Brandon crept closer, staying in the tall grass like a lion on the savannah. Except lions didn’t find their asshole childhood friends breaking into their houses.

Colt took another swig of his—Brandon’s—beer. “Good god, Rem, how long does it take you to pick a lock? Just ring the doorbell, for fuck’s sake.”

Remy shot him an offended look. “Do you know what kind of lock this is? A Rabson. Top of the line. Kitty texted me she picked it in one minute 42 seconds. I have to beat her time.”

“Why?”

Brandon eased even closer.

“Duh. To prove I’m Master of the Universe. Lord of the Lockpicks. Cooler than you, though that doesn’t need any proof—”

Brandon sprang out of the grass and over the porch railing, landing on Colt and batting the beer out of his hand. It spun across the porch and hit Remy, spraying him with foam.

Double bonus points.