“Holy crap, Nuria.” He jerks the wheel, skidding onto the shoulder, and he unbuckles himself, trying to dodge my muzzle and my claws. I’m tearing up the upholstery. My good back leg nails the window and it cracks like a spiderweb.

“Stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” It’s an alpha command. I fight harder, and I manage to rip his shirt, scrape his shoulder and draw blood.

It’s sweet. It’s what we want. We lunge again.

He throws open his door, and as fur sprouts on his exposed skin, he uses his claw to cut me free of the seatbelt, wrestling my writhing body out of the cab and then pitching...