Page 91 of Dream Weaver

No, it wasn’t every day you saw a cougar. But that wasn’t an ordinary cougar, and I knew it. Especially when two more emerged from the bushes.

Chapter Twenty-Two

COOPER

Abby’s breath caught, and she backed away. I followed her, keeping my body between her and the cougars.

But, shoot. We didn’t have much space to retreat into. The rock arch connected smoothly to the landscape at one end — where the cougars were — but it crumbled off at the other. To escape in that direction, we would have to jump a six-foot gap over a fifty-foot drop.

A fourth cougar appeared at the cliff face near that end, cutting off that suicidal option.

“Aren’t cougars supposed to be solitary?” Abby murmured.

I nodded slowly. “Cougars, yes. Shifters, no.”

Their scents made that clear — a musky feline scent mixed with a faint trace of human sweat.

Abby’s hand tightened around mine as she checked the sky.

“It’s getting closer.”

I didn’t look, because so were the cougars.

We were running out of options fast.

I pulled my shirt over my head and thrust it at her. “Hang on to this, please.”

That was Peter’s shirt, and I’d hate to ruin it in a shift.

The cougars closed in, snarling.

I yanked off my boots next, because those would be a bitch to kick off halfway through a shift.

“Wait!” Abby protested when I stepped away. “What are you—”

My back hunched, and I snarled. It was all garbled, though, because my bear pelt broke through my skin, and that stung like hell.

“Oh,” Abby mumbled.

Not exactly a cheer of approval, but at least she hadn’t screamed in horror.

My bear ripped to the surface, and I found myself on four feet and awash in scents. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of the felines. How had I not caught that earlier?

Angry with myself and them, I reared onto my back legs and roared.

“Whoa,” Abby murmured.

A good thing Abby was Abby and not most folks. Otherwise, she would have run for the hills. Not that she could, though, with that fourth cougar blocking our only avenue of escape.

The three felines at the near end converged and stepped onto the first part of the arch, one in the front and two at its flanks.

Definitely shifters — with military training, I would bet.

A leaf fluttered by, then another, and the wind picked up, whispering through the trees. The dark cloud was nearly upon us, more orange than gray now.

“Dust storm,” Abby warned. “Not far off.”

Well, neither were those cougars, though one at the back glanced toward the storm in concern. It grumbled at the others and dropped back. The leader turned to hiss at it, then tried to impress me with his long, curved fangs.

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