Night folded over Bayou Mounds like a heavy blanket as Derek Brown steered his pickup down the quiet back road leading toward his storage unit. The air was warm and still, the kind of deep southern silence that usually meant nothing was waiting out there.

  Tonight, something was.

  He slowed at a red light, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. The glow of the traffic signal washed the cab's interior in red. In the mirror, two headlights appeared where there had been none before, gliding too smoothly through the dark.

  A black Suburban rolled up behind him.

  Before Derek could react, another identical vehicle swung around the corner and screeched to a halt in front of him, blocking the road completely.

  His chest tightened.

  The trap snapped shut.

  The doors of both vehicles opened at once.

  Michael Sorrenson stepped out first, jacket unzipped, eyes cold. Beside him stood another man, tall and broad, holding a taser in both hands like a coiled snake ready to strike.

  “Derek Brown,” Michael said. “You are coming with us.”

  Zach Myers lunged forward with the taser. Derek shifted left in his seat with inhuman reflexes, caught Zach’s wrist in midair, twisted it, and slammed his hand against the frame of the door. The taser clattered to the pavement.

  Derek swung his door open and stepped out.

  The mercenaries moved fast, confident, rehearsed. They poured out of the two Suburbans in a half circle, weapons and restraints raised.

  He moved faster.

  The first man rushed from the side. Derek grabbed him by the vest and hurled him like a dead weight through the windshield of the suburban, blocking the road. Glass exploded outward, raining across the hood.

  Two more operatives tackled him from behind, trying to pin him to the asphalt. Derek braced his palms against the ground, roared through clenched teeth, and threw both men off him in opposite directions. They hit the pavement hard, skidding across the street.

  Michael darted forward again, swinging the taser. Derek snatched one of the dazed operatives from the ground and shoved the man into the taser’s path.

  Michael shocked his own teammate.

  The smell of burning cloth rose through the air.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  A low growl began to rumble in Derek’s chest.

  His pupils constricted. His breathing sharpened. His muscles tightened in waves beneath his skin. His body trembled, not from fear, but from something ancient waking up with hunger.

  Michael took a step back.

  “No,” he whispered.

  Derek’s eyes burned yellow.

  His shirt split along the seams. His spine arched as muscle surged beneath the skin. The bones in his feet lengthened until his shoes burst apart on the pavement. Fur spread in black waves up his arms, his chest, his shoulders. His jaw cracked outward, sharpening, lengthening, sculpting itself into a wide and predatory snout.

  The street emptied of sound except for the wet crack of bone and the stretch of growing muscle.

  When it ended, the night belonged to something else.

  An eight-foot-tall werelion towered beneath the streetlight, mane black as oil, claws curved like obsidian blades, eyes glowing gold in the dark. The mercenaries froze in place, their confidence evaporating in an instant.

  Then panic took over.

  They opened fire.

  Muzzle flashes lit the street as bullets hammered into Derek’s chest, shoulders, and ribs. The rounds flattened into his fur and dropped harmlessly to the asphalt.

  He stepped forward, unbothered.

  He seized a man by the throat with a single hand, lifted him clean off the ground, and snapped his neck with a twist. The body fell limp. Another mercenary screamed and fired wildly. Derek swung his claws in a wide arc. The man’s stomach opened in a hot red bloom, and he fell to the ground.

  A third mercenary tried to run. Derek caught him from behind, crushed him in a chokehold, and bit down, tearing through flesh and bone. The body collapsed at his feet.

  Michael and the last two survivors stumbled backward in terror.

  “Go,” Michael shouted.

  They dove into the suburban behind them and peeled away, tires screaming as the vehicle fishtailed up the road. They did not look back.

  Derek lifted his head from the torn corpse beneath him, fur dripping with blood. His chest rose and fell in heavy, controlled breaths. His ears twitched at the sound of movement behind the damaged suburban.

  Zach was still there.

  He stood trembling, hands raised, eyes wide with panic. His voice collapsed inside his throat as Derek approached, shadow swallowing shadow.

  Derek grabbed him by the collar and pinned him against the side door with one massive hand.

  “Who are you?” Derek growled, his voice a deep, thunderous rumble that vibrated through the vehicle's metal frame.

  “I… I am with Dairfax,” Zach stammered. “We came to capture you and bring you to New Era. They have your mother.”

  Derek’s grip tightened.

  “Why did they take her?”

  “To make more of you,” Zach blurted. “More werewolves. She is the key. They are recreating the soldier program. They want an army. You have to ask Lucas about the rest.”

  Derek studied him for a long, cold moment. The werelion’s breath steamed hot against Zach’s face.

  “That is all I needed.”

  The grip around Zach’s throat crushed inward. His legs jerked once, then fell still. Derek dropped the body beside the others and turned toward the remaining suburban.

  He ripped the rear door off with a single pull.

  Inside, he found advanced communication equipment, maps, notes, and a tranquilizer rifle. Derek tore out every piece of hardware and loaded it into the back of his truck.

  Only then did his muscles begin to shrink. The fur receded. His jaw reset. His body folded back into human shape, shaking with adrenaline and fury.

  He lit a match and tossed it into the suburban’s interior. Flames crawled along the seats, then roared upward as the vehicle ignited.

  The sky flickered orange as he climbed into his truck.

  Dairfax had failed their third extraction.

  Now Derek knew why they had come.

  And he knew exactly where he was going next.