Page 22 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
Including the one you ran away from twenty years ago.
I tilt my head. “Looks like you’re cooking for an army.”
“Big crew, big appetites,” he says, tossing in a stack of steaks. “Gotta keep the protein up when you’re hiking into fire country.”
Right. The perfect hunting ground.
"Be safe out there," I laugh nervously as I get in the fast lane, watching his eyes track me just a little too long. There’s an interest there. Male curiosity? The kind that sleezy film directors are known for? No. It’s something darker. More calculating. I feel like prey—and that’s the way he likes it.
We part ways at the checkout, and I wait in my car until I spy him leaving.
I don’t need confirmation to know what my instincts are screaming: he’s hiding something.
And I’m not just talking about camera gear.
The fire circle is nestled between two granite boulders, charred from use and age. Tori stands waiting, her long coat pulled tight against the crisp air, her features serene in the moonlight.
“You didn’t forget,” she says, her breath curling like mist.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, stepping into the circle, exhausted from the day's investigating.
But tonight is about control, and I'm going to need every ounce I can muster for this assignment.
Tori presses a pouch of herbs into my hand. “Burn this. Let the smoke settle you. Then call the heat to your center.”
I kneel, sprinkle the contents onto a small ember pile, and light it with a flicker of my will. The smoke curls upward—sweet, pungent, grounding.
Tori circles me slowly. “Now—shape your will. Give it teeth. Make the fire kneel.”
I raise my hands. A small spark dances on my fingertips, tentative.
“More,” she urges. “Push past fear. Let itfeelyou.”
The spark flares. A stream of flame spirals upward, weaving into a rudimentary pattern. I grit my teeth, sweat dotting my temple.
“Good. Again. Shape it into something real.”
I close my eyes, heart racing. Focus. Not on the fear, or Noah, or the secrets pressing at my chest. Just the fire. Just me.
When I open them, the flame has transformed.
A mountain lion made of pure ember, sinew and heat, blinks at me. Solid. Fierce. Enormous.
My familiar.
Tori lets out a low whistle. “You won’t want to let that one out of the cage in public.”
I can’t speak. The bond is overwhelming. Raw. Beautiful.
It’s more than power. It’s identity.
And something tells me I’ll need both in the days to come.
I toss and turn in my bed in the dorm, but sleep doesn’t come easy. The fire training, the investigation, the heat of Noah’s presence—all of it clings to me like smoke in my lungs.
When I finally drift off, the dream hits hard and fast.
I’m running through a burning forest, ash and sparks falling like snow. And ahead of me, in the clearing, a massive wolf blocks my path.
