Page 42 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
That frightening, sinister growl rose in Christian’s chest again, but this time it was louder, closer to a snarl. His lips peeled back over his teeth. His body went completely rigid.
“Christian?” Ember said it very quietly, now frozen in fright.
“Get back to the car, September,” he answered without looking away from the men. “Go find Corbin and tell him to take you straight home. Now.”
Very slowly, he stepped away, pushing her behind him with one arm so he was between her and the men at the end of the alley. As Ember peeked around Christian’s shoulder, the men turned, in unison, to face them. They took a step into the alley, very slowly, then another, and Christian’s hands curled to fists.
Ember whispered, “Christian, who are those—”
“Get back to the car! Now!”
He’d whipped his head around and snarled it out before she could finish her question. But it wasn’t his snarl that had her shrinking back in terror. It wasn’t because his voice had turned different, deeper and whiskey rough. It wasn’t even the look of cold, monstrous violence on his face.
It was his eyes. They’d changed. Something about the pupils.
She realized the change just as Christian turned away and pushed her back, growling another warning to go find Corbin. She stumbled back one step, then two, then finally turned and fled the alley in a flat-out run. Ember didn’t even bother to look behind her when the growling turned to a horrifying, unearthly roar of pure, animalistic rage that echoed off the stone walls, reverberating into silence.
She couldn’t look back because all she could see as she ran was Christian’s brilliant green eyes, the rounded dark pupils in the center that had elongated and narrowed to slits.
The three men at the other end of the alley—who weren’t really men at all—began advancing with the slow, measured gait of experienced predators honed in on their prey.
Christian stood his ground as they came, that low growl that had so frightened Ember still rumbling through his chest, the electric charge that gathered just before the Shift surging up to sting his skin.
He crouched to a defensive stance, ready to spring. One of the men held up a hand bringing the other two up short with the motion. They stopped, staring at Christian in silence, until the one with his hand up said something to the other two, in a language that sounded like Latin.
Christian knew they were trying to determine if he were friend or foe. He decided to give them an unmistakable hint.
The electric charge surged to a crackling, snapping peak, and Christian Shifted to panther.
It was the same every time; the flood of feral power, the ache of sudden release. There was fleeting pain as his muscles and tendons and bones transformed—fleeting but terrible—and the sound of his bespoke suit being shredded into ragged pieces was minor compared to the sound of his bones grinding into other, stronger shapes, his skin and muscles ripping apart along ragged seams. The process took all of a few seconds, and when it was done, he was standing on four massive paws instead of two feet, his muzzle curled back over sharp canines, his long, powerful tail snaking back and forth behind him like a whip, his clothes littering the street around him like confetti.
Judging by the shocked expression on the men’s faces, Christian had the satisfying realization they’d been expecting anything but that.
He knew he was huge in his animal form, much larger than the big cats he’d seen on those wildlife shows, even larger than many of his kin. Pitch black and heavily muscled, he stood shoulder-high to a human man. If he reared up on his hind legs, he’d tower over any human, big as a bear. All his senses, so sharp even in human form, were exponentially stronger, and he could smell, hear, and even taste the world around him, in all its myriad richness and life.
This was who he really was. This was his heritage, and his Gift. His human disguise was just that, a disguise, but in his natural form Christian had so many advantages over a human it was practically laughable.
For instance…speed.
In one lightning-fast motion, he sprang forward and bounded down the dark alley, a roar of pure rage ripping from his throat. Kill kill kill kill kill kill! It was all he could think or feel, bloodlust bright as sunlight surging through his veins.
The three men/not-men reacted instantaneously. One of them turned and fled, one of them Shifted to panther, and the third—unfortunately—pulled out a gun.
The first shot missed him completely, ric
ocheting off the brick wall behind his head with a shrill, echoing twang. Behind the man who’d fired, the crowd of people strolling by on the sidewalk broke apart screaming and began to stampede in all directions like a herd of frightened deer. At the same time, the other panther leapt forward with outstretched claws and snapping jaws, snarling as viciously as Christian. Then everything happened at once.
He and the other animal collided in mid-leap, their bodies slamming together with such force it sounded like a small explosion. There was howling, hissing, and the twisting huge bodies, the sharp scrape of claws across his muzzle. They landed on the ground and began fighting in earnest, rolling over and over, slamming against the side of a Dumpster with a hollow boom, both of them aiming for a killing strike to the throat. Christian’s teeth fastened around his opponent’s neck before he could twist away, and he heard a shrill scream as his fangs sank deep into his carotid artery.
He bit down hard and twisted his head sideways, ripping out a huge chunk of furred flesh. Blood spurted, wet and hot and copper-tangy, all over his face and into his mouth.
Then another shot rang out in the alley and Christian realized he’d been hit as agony flared up his spine. In the right rear leg, which buckled beneath him.
His first thought was entirely irrational. It was only a name.
Ember.
It gave him enough strength to turn on the gunman and propel himself forward on his one good leg. He hit his target with both paws spread open over his chest and the gun went flying from his hands. Eight pinpoints of blood flowered out beneath the man’s white shirt where Christian’s claws had pierced his skin. Then more blood spurted out in a high, arcing spray when Christian leaned in, crushed the sternum between his jaws and tore the man’s heart, still beating, right out of his chest.
