Page 3 of Paws and Claws

Later that day, Dominic cruised down Main Street in his squad car, the afternoon sun warming the dashboard. His lion's enhanced senses picked up the scents of fresh-cut grass, exhaust fumes, and Mrs. Peterson's apple pies cooling on her windowsill. The quiet hum of the engine and the routine patrol usually helped settle his thoughts after difficult mornings, but Bruce's earlier antics still gnawed at him.

The roar of a motorcycle engine shattered his contemplation. The bike screamed past him, the speedometer on his dash jumping as it registered the violation. Fifty in a thirty-five zone. The rider's dark purple hair whipped in the wind, a flash of color against the black leather jacket.

"Tabitha Moon." His lion rumbled with a mixture of irritation and something else he couldn't name. "Of course it's you."

He watched her weave through traffic with practiced ease, breaking at least three more traffic laws in the process. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

"Every single time." He shook his head. "You'd think she'd learn."

The rational part of him knew he should flip on his lights and pursue immediately. But his lion had other ideas, enjoying the thrill of the hunt. He'd let her think she'd gotten away with it, just for a moment. After all, there were only so many places that distinctive purple hair could hide in their small town.

"Dispatch, this is Sheriff Blackmane."

"Go ahead, Sheriff."

"Just spotted our favorite speed demon on Main. Heading east toward the art district."

The dispatcher's laugh crackled through the radio. "Want me to start the paperwork now?"

"Might as well." Dominic eased his foot onto the gas, following at a distance. "You know how this goes."

His lion purred with anticipation. The chase was on, and this time, Miss Moon wouldn't talk her way out of a ticket with that mischievous smile of hers.

2

TABITHA

The summer breeze whipped through Tabitha's dark purple hair as she gunned the throttle on her Harley. The engine's rumble vibrated through her bones as she headed down Main Street. Her black leather jacket creaked as she leaned into a curve, the scent of fresh-cut grass and blooming flowers filling her lungs.

"Now this is living," she whispered to herself, grinning as the wind kissed her face. The lack of a helmet meant she could feel everything - the sun warming her skin, the rush of air through her hair, and the pure exhilaration of speed and freedom.

The speedometer needle crept past fifty, but she barely noticed, too caught up in the perfect moment.

The bike responded to her every movement like an extension of herself. This was better than any spell she could cast - pure, raw energy thrumming between her legs. She'd gotten the motorcycle specifically because it reminded her of flying on a broomstick, though she'd never admit that to anyone.

She laughed lightheartedly as she weaved around a slow-moving minivan. The driver honked, but Tabitha just nodded with a smirk on her face.

The art gallery rejection letter she'd received that morning seemed far away now, lost in the wind behind her. Who needed stuffy galleries anyway? This was real art - the poetry of movement and speed through a beautiful landscape.

"I should paint this," she mused, already imagining the swirls of color. Her hands itched for a paintbrush, but for now, they gripped the handlebars, guiding her motorcycle through the heart of Saltwater Grove.

The summer heat shimmered off the asphalt ahead, creating mirages that made the road look like it was floating. Perfect riding weather. Maybe she'd ride all the way to the coast, letting the ocean breeze clear her mind.

The wail of a police siren shattered Tabitha's perfect afternoon. Her shoulders slumped as she checked her side mirror, catching the flash of red and blue lights. Just perfect.

She guided her Harley to the curb, the engine's purr dying as she cut the ignition. The police cruiser pulled up behind her, and through her mirror, she spotted that familiar broad-shouldered silhouette stepping out.

"Of course it's him," she muttered, running her fingers through her wind-tousled hair.

Sheriff Dominic Blackmane approached with that confident stride of his, his badge catching the sunlight. His uniform stretched across his chest in a way that would've been distracting if Tabitha wasn't so annoyed. Those green eyes of his were already narrowed in disapproval.

"Fifty in a thirty-five, Miss Moon." His deep voice carried that authoritative tone that made her want to cast a silence spell on him.

"Only fifteen over?" She flashed him her brightest smile. "That's practically law-abiding for me, Sheriff."

His jaw tightened. "This isn't a joke. And where's your helmet?"

"Helmets mess up my hair." She patted her dark purple locks. "Besides, if I crash, I've got protection spells."

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