Page 29 of Roar Me Like You Mean It
When it clears enough to see, he’s still there, roaring, but the fallen stack has slowed him. He slams against it, tusks tearing at the metal, but by then I’m already moving. I grab my briefcase, duck through the scaffolding, and run harder than I’ve ever run in my life.
His roar follows me out into the night, echoing through the empty street, promising that this isn’t finished.
By the time I reach the corner, lungs burning, legs trembling, I know exactly what I have to do. There’s only one person who can explain what just happened, only one man with answers, and he’s the one I swore I’d never call again.
My hand shakes as I pull out my phone, fingers fumbling until the line connects.
“Malek,” I whisper, my throat raw. “I need you.”
19
MALEK
The night air in Washington is thick with damp, the storm having rolled through hours earlier, leaving the streets slick with water and the smell of ozone heavy on every breath. I step from the car without waiting for Michaelis to follow and let the city hit me. Exhaust fumes, grease from a diner across the street, the faint perfume of cherry blossoms even though the season has nearly passed; it all blends together until something cuts sharper through it.
Boar.
I catch the musk immediately, sour and rank, a stench that clings to the back of the throat. It’s close, fresh. My pace quickens, boots striking the wet pavement with a steady rhythm, and I follow the trail to the construction site Jennifer lured him into earlier.
The place is a ruin of steel and concrete, scaffolding looming against the night sky like a skeleton half-built, tarps snapping in the wind, puddles reflecting the orange glow of a single flickering streetlamp. Shadows crawl over everything, too deep, too heavy, the kind that feels alive.
I step inside.
The sound reaches me first: the scrape of tusks against metal, a frustrated growl, the stomp of hooves too heavy to belong to any human. He’s here, searching for her, tearing the place apart in his rage at losing prey.
The lion surges inside me, claws scraping to be set free, a low rumble in my chest that I don’t bother to hold back. He hears it. He stops.
“Lion,” he grunts, his voice guttural, slurred by the shift. From the shadows he lumbers forward, massive shoulders rolling, his hide glistening where fresh blood still leaks from the shallow wound she gave him earlier. His eyes are small and glittering, his mouth stretched by tusks yellowed and sharp, his breath a reek of rot and copper. “Roman said you’d come. He said you wouldn’t let her go.”
I bare my teeth. “Roman talks too much.”
He charges before the words are finished, the ground quaking with each step.
I shift in a rush of heat and tearing bone, claws sliding free, jaw lengthening, muscles swelling until the lion prowls just beneath my skin, eager for violence. The collision when we meet is thunder in the hollow space, steel beams rattling, sparks flying as my claws rake his hide.
He’s strong, stronger than most I’ve faced in years. His tusks snap inches from my ribs, gouging deep furrows in the scaffolding when I twist aside. His skin is thick, layered in hide so dense my claws barely slice more than flesh. I slash at his flank, drawing blood that seeps slow and dark, but it isn’t enough to stop him. He swings his massive head, one tusk catching my side, ripping through fabric and tearing skin. The burn of the wound sears hot, but pain is an old companion.
I grip his thick neck and slam him back into a support beam. Metal bends with a groan, the entire structure shuddering under the force. Dust rains from above, but he doesn’t falter.He thrashes, spittle flying, his tusks raking for my throat. His strength is brute, relentless, but it lacks precision. I drive my forehead into his snout. Bone cracks, his bellow shaking the scaffolding, but still he doesn’t fall.
“Roman will break you,” he snarls through blood and spit, voice shaking with rage. “And the woman, you’ll watch her bleed.”
The lion inside me roars, louder than the storm, demanding his death.
He lunges again, and this time I don’t retreat. I catch his tusk in one hand, claws slicing into the base, and wrench it hard until bone cracks. His scream is deafening, echoing off steel, and I seize the opening, raking my claws across his chest. Flesh tears, blood spraying hot and steaming in the cold air. He stumbles, but he isn’t finished.
He lowers his head, charges again, and the impact slams me into the concrete. My back cracks against the ground, tusks grazing dangerously close to my throat as his weight pins me. His stench is overwhelming, his saliva hot against my skin, and for a breath the beast inside me rages against the threat.
I twist, driving my knee into his gut, heaving him aside with a roar. I roll to my feet, chest heaving, blood dripping down my side. He wheels on me, foam flying from his mouth, and I see it now, his hide scored with wounds, but his body refusing to quit. A wall of flesh and fury, unthinking, unyielding.
But I am not unthinking. I am not unyielding. I am a lion.
He charges again, tusks lowered, and this time I leap aside, seizing a hanging chain from the scaffolding. I wrap it around his thick neck as he passes, bracing my weight against a steel beam. The chain goes taut, biting deep into flesh, and he bellows, thrashing, tearing at the scaffolding until the whole structure groans and tilts dangerously.
“Roman doesn’t own me,” I snarl, yanking the chain tighter, my claws digging into the links until they cut my own palms. “And he’ll never own her.”
He surges forward one last time, desperate, snapping the chain in a burst of strength that nearly drags me down with him. But the effort costs him. His movement slows, his wounds bleeding heavy now, his hide torn. He stumbles, and in that heartbeat of weakness, I strike.
I slam him into the ground, pinning him beneath my weight, and drive my claws across his throat. This time the hide gives way. Blood bursts hot, soaking the ground, steaming as it hits the cool air. His body convulses once, twice, and then stills, the fight finally gone.
