Clapping cut through the trees.
Slow. Measured. Deliberate.
Not rushed. Not impressed. Mocking in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck lift. The sound didn’t come from anywhere urgent. It came from someone enjoying himself.
I turned toward it, muscles still coiled tight, claws only half retracted, heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. Adrenaline still buzzed under my skin, sharp and restless.
A man stepped out of the brush like he had all the time in the world.
He was big. Not just tall, but solid in a way that suggested strength built for function, not show. Around twenty four, maybe. Six foot six at least. Broad shoulders. Thick muscle packed into his frame without the bulky stiffness I’d seen in pack enforcers. Brown hair brushed his shoulders, tied back
