I crouch slightly, fingers brushing the rough wood of the fence. Claw marks—shallow, but deliberate. Testing. Marking. Watching. A low growl builds in my chest.
He was here. Right here. Near her.
My tiger pushes harder, aggression flaring fast and hot. The urge to hunt—to track, to confront, to eliminate the threat—burns through me with a clarity that overrides everything else.
I straighten and move.
The trail leads away from town, cutting through the trees just beyond the last line of buildings. The rogue wasn’t subtle. He didn’t bother hiding his path. He wanted to be followed.
Fine. I follow.
The forest closes in around me as I pick up speed, my body slipping into a controlled, predatory rhythm. Every scent sharpens, every sound filters into something meaningful. Cougar.
Male. Alone. But not weak.
I shift mid-stride, the change fast and seamless as my tiger takes over fully. The world snaps into sharper focus, instinct guiding me along the scent trail with precision. He’s close. Too close.
I slow as I near the edge of the territory, muscles coiled, every sense alert. The scent thickens here, fresh and deliberate. And then?—
Movement. A shape steps out from between the trees, just beyond the invisible line that marks Redwood Crossing’s boundary. Cougar. Large. Lean. Eyes locked on me with a calculating stillness that sets my tiger on edge. He knew I’d come. Good. I don’t hesitate.
I close the distance in a blur of motion, a snarl ripping from my chest as I hit him hard, driving him back toward the border. He counters fast, claws flashing, but I’m stronger. Faster.
Angrier. The fight is short. Violent. Decisive.
I force him down, pinning him just long enough to make the point unmistakably clear.
This territory is claimed. Protected. Not his. He shifts under me, his human form surfacing just enough for words.
“Relax,” he sneers, blood at the corner of his mouth. “Just looking.”
“Look somewhere else,” I growl.
My claws press deeper, not enough to kill—but enough to promise that I could. Easily.
His eyes flicker, calculating again. Then he shoves back, breaking contact and retreating quickly, shifting fully as he moves deeper into the trees.
He doesn’t run blindly. He withdraws. Strategic. That bothers me more than the fight.
I hold my ground for a long moment, watching until his scent begins to fade, until I’m certain he’s crossed far enough out of the immediate boundary. Then I shift back, breath heavy, muscles still tight with leftover aggression.
That wasn’t random. He wasn’t just passing through. He was watching. And not the town. The bookstore. The realization lands hard.
I turn immediately, heading back toward Redwood Crossing at a faster pace than before. My mind runs through every detail—the scent near the alley, the positioning, the timing. He’d been close enough to observe. Close enough to notice patterns. Close enough to see her.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
By the time I reach town, the street is quiet again. Normal on the surface. Nothing about this is normal.
I head straight for Conrad. Conrad Bellamy is where I expect him to be, leaning against his truck, eyes scanning the street like he already knows something’s off.
“You look like you found something,” he says as I approach.
“I did.”
His posture shifts immediately. “How bad?”
“Rogue. Cougar. Male. Testing the border.”