Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The beast stirred beneath Baylin’s skin like a living thing, pacing behind his ribs, clawing at his control.
He’d never felt this way. Never felt the hot surge of want, the instinctive need to claim and possess, the ancient pull of something far older than reason.
Liora lay beneath him, her golden hair spread across the pillow like spilled sunlight, her eyes wide and curious and completely unafraid.
That was the problem. She should have been afraid.
His fingers were still threaded through her hair, his body pressed against the softness of hers, and every point of contact was electric.
The kiss they’d just shared had pushed him closer to the edge than he’d been in decades.
He could taste her on his lips, as sweet and warm as honey, and his beast wanted more.
More. Ours. Claim her.
The thoughts weren’t quite words. They were a primal demand that thundered through his blood with every heartbeat.
“Baylin?”
Her voice was soft and curious. She was looking at him with those impossibly blue eyes, gold flecks catching the moonlight, and he realized with a start that something about his face had changed.
He could feel it now. The subtle elongation of his features. The prickling across his scalp as his hair thickened. The ache in his jaw as his fangs extended.
Fuck.
He pulled back immediately, putting distance between them, but the damage was done. She’d seen. She’d watched his beast rise to the surface, watched his control slip, and any moment now she would—
“Your eyes,” she breathed. Not with fear. With wonder. “They’re glowing.”
He squeezed them shut, and tried to force the beast back. But it was like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands—the moment he’d let himself want her, truly want her, the barriers had begun to crumble.
“I need to go,” he said roughly, his voice deeper than usual. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t apologize.” The bed shifted as she sat up. “What’s happening? Is this the Vultor thing you mentioned? The consuming desires?”
A harsh laugh escaped him. “Yes. Among other things.”
“What other things?”
He opened his eyes. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching him with an expression of pure fascination. Not terror. Not disgust. Just that same boundless curiosity that seemed to define her.
“When Vultor feel... strongly,” he said carefully, “our beast comes closer to the surface. We begin to shift. Partially, at first. Our senses sharpen. Our instincts intensify.” He held up one hand, and even in the dim light, he could see the way his claws had started to emerge.
“If I lose control completely, I’ll transform. ”
“Transform into what?”
“My beast form. It’s—” He struggled for words. “Larger. More powerful. Less... civilized.”
“Can you show me?”
He stared at her, stunned, certain he’d misheard.
“You want me to—”
“Transform. Yes.” She was practically vibrating with excitement now, eyes shining. “I’ve read about shapeshifters in some of the old texts, but I’ve never seen one. Never even imagined I would. Please, Baylin. I want to see.”
“It’s not...” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “You don’t understand. The beast isn’t like the male. It’s more instinct than reason. Stronger. More dangerous.”
“Would you hurt me?”
The simple question cut straight through all his careful warnings to the heart of the matter.
“No,” he admitted. The beast snarled in agreement—a surge of protective fury at the mere suggestion. “Never. I would never hurt you.”
“Then what’s the danger?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. Or rather, he had too many answers, none of which would make sense to a female who had spent her entire life alone in a tower.
How could he explain that the danger wasn’t physical?
That it was the danger of wanting too much, too fast?
The danger of his beast deciding she was his and never letting go?
“Please,” she said softly. “I want to know all of you. Not just the parts you think are safe.”
Something cracked inside him.
He’d spent so long keeping his beast carefully leashed because that was what was what was required. Outside of his pack, a Vultor warrior was only useful if he could suppress the wildness that made them what they were.
Liora wasn’t asking him to be useful. She was asking him to be real.
“All right,” he heard himself say. “But you should know that the beast might not be... gentle. It might be more intense than you expect.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I know.” And that was the problem. She should have been afraid. The fact that she wasn’t made his beast purr with satisfaction.
Brave mate. Strong mate. Ours.
He silenced that thought viciously and stepped back from the bed, giving himself room.
The shift was always painful.
Not the kind of pain that left marks, but a deep, cellular agony as bone and muscle and sinew reshaped themselves into something new. He’d learned to accept it and let the pain wash over him without fighting it.
Tonight, with her watching, the pain seemed almost secondary.
He closed his eyes and released the chains he’d kept wrapped around his beast for so long.
The transformation swept over him like a wave—dark silver fur rippling across his skin, his spine curving, his limbs lengthening and strengthening.
His clothes fell away as his body expanded, and he heard her sharp intake of breath.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was different.
Colors were muted but the details were sharper. Sounds were crisp and clear—the rustle of fabric as she shifted, the distant hum of the tower’s systems, the frantic scrabbling of tiny claws against stone as something fled the room.
Pip. The little glider had been sleeping next to her. Now it was racing for cover, chittering in terror as it scrambled up the wall and disappeared through a ventilation grate.
A low whine built in his throat. He hadn’t meant to frighten the creature.
“Pip!” she called. “Pip, it’s okay! Come back!”
But the glider was gone, and he couldn’t blame it. In this form, he was even more massive, covered in that dark silver fur that absorbed the moonlight. His claws were the length of human fingers, curved and razor-sharp. His fangs could pierce bone.
He was, by any objective measure, a nightmare made flesh.
And she was sliding off the bed and walking towards him.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh.”
He held perfectly still, every muscle locked, as she approached. Part of him wanted to retreat—to put space between them, to protect her from the monster he’d become. But the beast wouldn’t allow it. The beast wanted her closer.
Mate. Our mate. She comes to us.
She stopped an arm’s length away, her head tilted back to look up at him. In this form, he towered over her even more than usual. She was so small. So fragile. One swipe of his claws could—
Her hand reached out and touched his chest.
The contact jolted through him like lightning. Her palm was warm against his fur, her fingers gentle as they spread across the hard muscle beneath. No hesitation. No fear. Just that same boundless curiosity that seemed to drive everything she did.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
A sound escaped him—half growl, half whimper—that he would have been embarrassed by in human form. But the beast had no room for embarrassment. Only the overwhelming sensation of being touched by this impossible female who saw something beautiful where others saw only monster.
“So soft,” she murmured. Her other hand joined the first, both palms pressing against his chest as she explored the texture of his fur. “I thought it would be coarser. But it’s like... like the silk cushion in the library.”
He didn’t know what to do. In all his years of existing, no one had ever touched him like this while he was transformed. His packmates had sparred with him, fought beside him, but that was different. That was combat. This was something else entirely.
This was acceptance.
Her hands traveled up his chest to his shoulders, tracing the heavy muscle there, then down his arms to where his claws hung at his sides. She lifted one of his hands—massive in hers, the claws longer than her fingers—and examined it with scientific interest.
“Can you retract these?”
He focused for a moment, and the claws slid back into sheaths that hadn’t existed a second before. A small transformation within the larger one.
“Fascinating.” She pressed her thumb against the pad of his palm, and his claws extended again involuntarily, a reflex he couldn’t control. She laughed. “Ticklish?”
Another sound escaped him. Definitely embarrassing. But she was laughing, and the beast was preening under her attention, and he found he didn’t care.
“Can you understand me like this?” she asked. “I mean, properly understand? Or is it just instinct?”
He nodded. Speech was difficult in this form—his mouth wasn’t shaped for human words—but comprehension was unaffected. If anything, his senses were sharper, his understanding more acute.
“Good. Because I have so many questions.” She released his hand and stepped back, circling him slowly.
He turned his head to track her movement, a low rumble building in his chest. “How much larger are you? Half again your normal size? More? And the fur—is it always this color, or does it change with the seasons like some Earth animals?”
She was treating him like one of her specimens. Like a fascinating new discovery to be studied and catalogued. And somehow, instead of feeling objectified, he felt... seen.
Her circuit brought her back to his front. She looked up at him with shining eyes, completely unafraid.
“Thank you,” she said. “For showing me. For trusting me.”
He lowered his head, pressing his muzzle against the top of her hair. Her sweet floral scent filled his nose and the beast purred with satisfaction.
Mate, it insisted again. Ours. Protect. Keep.
This time, he didn’t silence it.