Page 32 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
He smiled, and the thick hunk of wood crumbled to splinters in his grip.
His breaths heaved, only…
It wasn’t only his breaths.
His shoulders and arms strained against his shirt. His thighs bulged, renting the fabric of his trousers.
Holding shards of branch, I could only gape as hegrew. Seven feet tall… eight. His clothes couldn’t keep up and fell around his feet in tatters.
Except they weren’t feet anymore, but something between feet and paws, clawed and covered in fur. His legs, too, they weren’t… entirely human… entirely fae… Their joints were in the wrong places, pointing the wrong way, like an animal’s. Sleek fur covered them, doing nothing to hide the solid muscle beneath. The stripes I’d seen on his skin continued in his fur—gold and russet—fading to a cream belly and chest, the same colour as the streaks in his hair. Not a style choice, but part of his true nature.
His narrow hips gave the impression of speed before his torso widened to a broad chest and wide shoulders. Where before he’d been large and well-built, now he was massive. A solid wall of muscle and sinew.
And his face?
The gold eyes watching me were familiar, but the rest…
Not quite fae, not quite feline. His nose had grown broad, and a slit ran down to his mouth where two long canines dimpled his lips, too long to remain hidden. Large cat’s ears pricked, alert to every sound.
Somewhere between man and beast, he stood there, like a werewolf from stories I’d read as a child, only feline rather than lupine.
I didn’t run. Couldn’t.
Couldn’t blink, either.
But my bones screamed at my muscles to move—move. It was only when my shoulders hit a tree I realised they’d backed me away.
Those long fangs bared fully as his upper lip curled.
Slowly, slowly, he stalked closer. His tail, now furry and thick, swished side to side.
Fear had hold of my lungs. Grey nothingness formed blotches on the edge of my vision.
Some corner of me was still sane and registered my throbbing scrapes and bruises. I’d lost my other slipper in the struggle. Half my skirt was missing. Twigs and needles clung to my hair and coated my cheek where he’d pressed my face into the ground.
But that part of me didn’t have the power to make my body move.
At last, the prince reached me. His claws, now even bigger, traced the edge of my cheekbone, my jaw. He used his thumb to tilt my head to one side, then dipped his face close. “You ran so well, little bird.” Each word blew into my ear, the heat a sharp contrast with the fear flooding my veins. A purr rumbled through his voice in this beast-man form. “I like your fight. I’m going to like it even more when I break it.”
I was ashamed he didn’t have to hold my wrists or wrestle me into stillness. What was the point in trying to hit him when he was this huge, this strong? Even my malicious compliance seemed foolish now—a drop in the ocean compared to his power.
How had I ever thought I could win against a fae? A prince? A creature who could change its shape to something so monstrous?
His hand—something between a hand and paw—slid down to my throat and closed.
This was it. He was going to strangle me.
With any luck, it would be quick.
I’m sorry, Zinnia. Tears welled in my eyes as his grip tightened—just enough pressure to make me aware of it, but not so much that I couldn’t breathe.
He nuzzled below my ear. His fur tickled, drawing my muscles tight.
Maybe he wouldn’t strangle me but sink those elongated teeth into my flesh instead.
“I could rip your throat out,” he said, as though understanding where my thoughts had wandered. “These teeth were made for just that. I already know your blood is delicious.”
I hated myself for guessing right.
