Chapter 2
TWO
T hora backed up five paces, drew in a breath that expanded her rib cage, and sprinted forward. The edge rushed toward her, and then she was airborne, the world suspended around her. For a crystalline moment, she flew—not quite human, not quite sabertooth—something in between and beyond both.
She landed in a controlled roll that dispersed momentum through her body, coming up in a low crouch. No wasted movement, no unnecessary sound. Rising to her feet, she caught sight of her quarry again, now moving with more purpose. Had he sensed her? The subtle shift in his gait suggested as much.
“Run all you want,” she whispered. “Makes it more interesting.”
The leopard shifter darted toward a series of narrower buildings—choosing terrain that favored his slighter build. Smart, but not smart enough. Thora had chased targets through the vertical mazes of three different cities; she knew every trick in the book.
She cut across the roof diagonally, aiming to intercept rather than follow. A small smile tugged at her lips as she calculated trajectories and timing. This part—the chase, the strategy, the battle of wits—made her blood sing. No complications, no messy emotions, no disappointments. Just predator and prey, locked in the oldest dance.
The gap between the next two buildings loomed ahead. This one narrower but deeper. The leopard shifter had already crossed it, his form briefly silhouetted against the darkening sky as he’d leaped.
Thora gathered herself and launched forward, her body twisting into a controlled somersault that carried her over the void. For a heartbeat, the city sprawled beneath her—cars like toys, people like ants, all oblivious to the hunt playing out above their heads.
An unexpected gasp floated up from below. Thora’s gaze flicked downward midair to spot a pedestrian staring up, mouth agape, phone lifted to capture her flight.
Great. Just what I need—to trend on social media.
She landed with precision, knees bending to absorb impact, fingertips grazing the rooftop for balance. A quick glance confirmed her suspicion: the gawking pedestrian stood transfixed, still recording.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Thora muttered, though the bystander couldn’t possibly hear her. “Mind your own business.”
The momentary distraction cost her. The leopard shifter had gained ground, now racing toward what appeared to be a maintenance shed near the far edge of the building. Beyond it, Thora could make out the zigzag of a fire escape—his planned exit route.
She straightened and broke into a sprint, closing the distance with powerful strides. The gap between them shrank with each second. Pride surged through her veins. Five years hunting shifters had given her an edge that even natural shape-changers couldn’t match—the perfect blend of tactical thinking and physical prowess.
Victory within grasp, Thora accelerated for the final push.
And crashed full-speed into a structure she hadn’t noticed in her focus on the target.
Wood splintered around her. Startled squawks filled her ears as a flurry of gray-white wings exploded into the air. Feathers floated down like bizarre snowflakes as Thora stumbled through the wreckage of what had, until moments ago, been someone’s rooftop pigeon coop.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she sputtered, batting away a particularly aggressive bird that seemed determined to exact revenge by flying directly at her face. “Move!”
The pigeon swooped past her ear with an indignant squawk before joining its flock in their scattered flight patterns above the rooftop. Feathers clung to Thora’s hair, shoulders, and the front of her leather jacket—transforming her from sleek predator to what looked like the unfortunate victim of a pillow factory explosion.
A distant clang of metal drew her attention back to the mission. The fire escape. Her quarry was making his escape while she stood here playing unwilling host to a feather convention.
“Perfect,” she growled, plucking a feather from her hair and flicking it aside with exaggerated precision. “Absolutely perfect.”
The sound of footsteps on metal stairs galvanized her into action. She rushed to the roof’s edge and spotted her target already halfway down the fire escape, moving with the quick, fluid motions typical of his kind.
No time for the stairs. She grabbed the railing and vaulted over, dropping to the landing below with a resounding clang that reverberated through the entire metal structure. The leopard shifter glanced up, alarm flashing across his features when he registered the feather-covered bounty hunter standing between him and freedom.
“Maxwell Rourke,” Thora called down, casually removing another feather from her sleeve. “Imagine running into you here.”
His features contorted, momentarily shifting toward his leopard form—pupils elongating, canines extending—before he forced himself back to human appearance. “How do you know my name?”