I don’t go far past the porch. I can’t. And I wouldn’t, even if I could.

I just need to calm down.

My heart’s pounding, fur is prickling my back, itching like hell, and I’ve got too many teeth in my mouth. I pace up and down the path. I need a run. I need a fight.

And then I scent a male on the wind. Close. A little more than a yard away.

Yes. He’s dead.

My claws snick through my fingertips, and I relish the pain. It clears the garbage from my mind, the sourness in my gut. It mutes the pain flowing through the bond.

“Come out...