Page 38 of Paws and Claws

The lion in him paced restlessly, wanting to check on her. Make sure she was okay after the fight. But she'd made it clear his concern wasn't welcome.

"None of my business," he growled softly, echoing her words from last night. The memory still stung, sharper than he wanted to admit.

Bruce's trail went cold as the sun dipped below the horizon. Dominic's lion prowled restlessly as he drove home, frustrated by another dead end. The familiar sight of his pristine house did nothing to lift his mood.

He went through his evening routine with mechanical precision. Shoes lined up by the door. Badge and gun secured in the wall safe. Dinner - leftover chicken and vegetables, eaten while standing at his kitchen counter. The silence pressed inaround him, broken only by the soft clink of his fork against the plate.

"This is pathetic," he muttered, surveying his spotless kitchen. Everything had its place, organized with military precision. Just like his life. Just like his routine.

His gaze drifted to the stack of case files he'd brought home. More work - always more work. When was the last time he'd done something just for himself?

The thought sparked a memory. In his bedroom closet, behind his precisely arranged clothes, sat his old acoustic guitar. He hesitated, then pulled it out, running his fingers over the worn wood.

"Been a while, old friend." The strings were dusty but still in tune. He settled onto his bed, the familiar weight comfortable against his chest.

His fingers found the opening chords to "Dust in the Wind" without conscious thought. The melancholy tune filled his empty house as memories of purple hair and challenging blue eyes danced through his mind.

"Dammit, Tabitha," he growled softly, but his fingers kept playing. The lion in his chest rumbled in agreement. He missed her energy and the way she made him feel alive. Even their arguments had more spark than his entire week of mindless routine.

The music shifted to something darker, reflecting the ache in his chest. He'd gotten so caught up in being the perfect sheriff, he'd forgotten how to be anything else. No wonder she thought he was boring.

His phone buzzed with a work message, but for once, he ignored it. Instead, he played another song, letting the music say what he couldn't admit out loud - that his ordered world felt empty without a certain troublemaking witch turning it upside down.

Dominic soon propped his guitar against the nightstand instead of hiding it away again. The familiar weight of duty and responsibility pressed against his chest as he stretched out on his bed, but for once, he didn't immediately reach for his phone to check work messages.

His lion stirred restlessly as memories of purple hair whipping in the wind filled his mind. The way Tabitha's laugh had carried over the roar of her motorcycle's engine, wild and free. His hands had gripped her waist, the leather of her jacket smooth beneath his palms.

"At least she's never boring," he muttered into the darkness, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

He rolled onto his side and stared at the moonlight streaming through his window. The same moon Tabitha rode under, chasing that next rush of excitement. No endless paperwork. No political dance with fellow officers. Just the open road and whatever adventure called to her.

His lion purred at the thought. They'd felt it too, that night on her bike - that pure, uncomplicated joy of movement and speed. The way the coastal air had tasted of salt and freedom.

"Living in the moment," he mused, remembering how she'd teased him about always planning three steps ahead. Maybe she had a point. How long had it been since he’d done something just because it felt good?

The memory of her pressed against him as they rode down the winding coastal road came unbidden. Her wild magic had crackled through the air like summer lightning, making his skin tingle where they touched.

His lion stretched lazily, surprisingly content with these thoughts of their troublemaking witch. Usually, they bristled at any hint of disorder in their carefully constructed world. But there was something about Tabitha that made chaos feel... right.

Sleep began to pull at him, and for once he didn't fight it with thoughts of tomorrow's duties. Instead, he let himself drift, imagining the wind in his hair and Tabitha's warmth against his back. His last conscious thought was that maybe being a little reckless wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Dominic's lion bristled as Bruce's voice carried across the station's breakroom. The morning sun filtered through the windows, casting harsh shadows across Bruce's smug face as he held court with a group of officers.

"That witch is nothing but trouble," Bruce sneered. "Getting into magical brawls at bars? She's practically confessing to those other incidents."

The pen in Dominic's hand snapped, ink staining his fingers. His shoulders tensed as Bruce continued.

"Typical witch behavior. They're all the same - wild, dangerous, and no respect for authority or proper society. This Tabitha Moon is the worst of them."

"Do you even know anything about Tabitha, Bruce?" Dominic's deep voice cut through the chatter. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, his eyes flashing with barely contained anger. The lion demanded action.

Bruce's lip curled. "Does it matter? She's-"

"It matters." Dominic stalked forward, his presence commanding attention. Officers scattered from his path like leaves in a storm. "Just like it matters that you're so quick to judge her without evidence. Just like it matters that you seem to have a problem with every paranormal in this town."

"Now listen here-"

"No, you listen." Dominic's voice dropped lower, dangerous. The air crackled with tension as he invaded Bruce's space. "You're a sheriff. Your job is to protect and serve everyone in this town - human and paranormal alike. Not spread prejudice and half-baked theories."

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