Skinwalkers could move fast. Legend said they could keep up with speeding trucks, even fly, and Jamison’s heart beat wildly in fear that the creature would simply turn and chase Naomi. But the skinwalker stalked Jamison, flicking into the human form of the Alpha Changer Jamison had known for two years.
“I never trusted you,” the Alpha hissed.
Jamison morphed back into his own human form. “Looks like you had good reason. Why pretend to be a Changer? Why fool everyone for so long?”
“Changers have a pack. Skinwalkers are alone.”
Was it that simple? Jamison wondered. The skinwalker was lonely?
“And as an Alpha Changer you could control others,” Jamison said. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“You were always resistant to the rules. Why? Did you know what I was?”
“The others are sheep,” Jamison said in contempt. “They’re too scared to exist in the world alongside human beings, they were happy you provided a place they could hide. I didn’t want to hide.”
“You love your human mate. Pathetic. Changers are stronger when they mate with Changers.”
“You inbred the pack down there so much you weakened them. You liked that, so they’d be subordinate to you, and you could continue your charade.”
“They could be an army.”
“An army afraid to leave their caves? I was surprised to see Matto and Lira up here, but I guess you convinced them I was dangerous to the pack.”
“You are dangerous. To me. You die now.”
Jamison was morphing back into his cat form before the skinwalker finished his sentence. The skinwalker snarled and lunged at him, the Alpha’s form gone now, but instead of fighting, Jamison turned and raced out the back door.
The skinwalker laughed. It came after him, faster than thought. Jamison slammed open the studio and plunged into the darkness inside.
Tables of Jamison’s equipment crashed to the floor as the skinwalker charged in behind him. Jamison felt the skinwalker’s hands around his neck, yanking him off the floor. The skinwalker began to squeeze while Jamison scratched and fought.
With the last of his strength, Jamison raked him with his back claws, then twisted away, morphing to human as he landed.
The pain of the sudden change sent him to his knees. The skinwalker grabbed him in the dark, and Jamison kicked him away frantically.
He knew by heart where everything in his studio lay. That way, when he worked in a creative frenzy, he could reach out and pick up the exact tool he needed without having to search for it.
He knew how far he had to reach to close his hands around his acetylene torch and lighter. He cranked the torch on full blast right into the skinwalker’s face.
The skinwalker screamed. The blue white light of the torch lit the room in a blinding flash. Jamison screwed up his eyes, but kept the torch on the skinwalker.
The skinwalker caught fire. He flailed, screaming, straight into Jamison. He knocked the canister from Jamison’s hands with amazing strength, and the torch exploded into flame on the floor.
The wooden sides of the studio caught quickly, fire licking the dry wood. The copper and glass roof groaned—it wouldn’t burn, but if the walls went, the hot metal would crush everything beneath it.
Jamison crawled toward the door, choking on smoke. Behind him, the skinwalker stayed upright, roaring and burning. The creature lunged at Jamison, catching him in his fiery hands. Jamison struggled, but the smoke was suffocating him, flame scoring his flesh.
The studio walls collapsed slowly around them. Jamison morphed back into the mountain lion, fire singeing his fur. The heat was unbearable, his once peaceful studio an inferno.
With a tearing sound, the roof came down. Jamison kicked away from the skinwalker and flattened himself against the stone floor, his body raging with pain. Pieces of glass and wrought iron flew past him like hail.
A section of roof bowed in front of him, scattering the remains of a wall. Jamison leapt for the flame-filled tunnel it created, letting his mountain lion instincts take over. The cat squeezed through the tiny opening, scrambling for the cold desert night.
But the opening was too small, and his cat’s body became wedged in the rubble. He was burning, dying, smoke filling his lungs. At least the skinwalker wouldn’t make it out, he thought in some satisfaction. And he’d saved the mountain lion sculpture for Naomi.
He dragged in one more breath, feeling his oxygen-starved limbs tingle, his heart trying to beat. His vision went dark.
Hands on his shoulders hurt like hell, and he regained enough strength to snarl. Then his body was being dragged out into the cold, and he heard Naomi swearing and crying.