The world's last note was a perfect chord in a symphony of scent and sound, and she would fit herself into it. Through that cheap wood door, her odour was an maddeningly beautiful torture for the beast. Yes, the smell of lilac and rain, but it was much more. It was the smell of her fear, a sharp, coppery tang that the beast very craved. It was the smell of her skin, warm and alive. It was the smell of home. This singular truth had driven it across miles of hostile, bewildering urban landscape. All the noise that the hunt produced-the screech of metal,the screams of panicked people, and glass shattering-was nothing; it was merely noise on the way to this particular, sacred spot: here, at her door. The beast pressed its huge, furry head against the wood and inhaled. A fluttering, bird-like rattle came from her beating heart. Air was leaving her lungs, but the fabric was quietly sliding against one another as she pressed herself to the far wall. She certainly seemed terrified. This knowledge sent the creature into confusion. The primal, possessive instinct was satisfied. Fear was a form of respect. She understood the shove it could deliver. But another part, a deeper, more ancient instinct tied to the concept of the mate, was distressed. A mate should not be afraid; a mate should be safe.
Thick as daggers, yet sharp like a knife, its claws scratched against the door impatiently. This barrier could be easily breached, torn apart. This was the real annoyance; the whole thing was nonsensical, an illogical obstacle. Why was she hiding from it? The low whine that rumbled in its chest was not a threat; it was a question, a plea. Let me in. Let me see you. Let me protect you. But there were no words, only sounds of hunger and power coming from the creature that she could only interpret as monstrous. Such frustration mounted in it, the need to be by her side, to see that she was safe: a great, physical command. It reared back on its powerful haunches, muscles coiling like immense springs. The door was nothing. All it warranted was a single, brutal shove to free it from any hinge. The wood would explode inward, and it would be inside. That would be all.
Yet as the beast was gathering its strength, something else-flickered deep in its amber eyes. A ghost in the machine. The name rippled in thought. Dust off the memory of a man in an instinct's ocean. He was a prisoner behind his own dream, looking at the worst nightmare in the world. "You can't see me without all but one person he considers worth forgetting. Now terrorizing the one." He saw her through the monster's eyes-cowering, all alone, listening to the monster he had become trying to break down her door. The warning he'd given her would not be enough. There was nothing good for her. No! The human thought, weak but absolute, screamed into the primal void. Stop! You're scaring her! Protect her! The strain resonated with a different, but equally powerful, lupine instinct: the Alpha's protections for the pack, including the mate. The true danger to the mate was not outside. It was right here, poised to crash the door down.
The beast froze up, its muscles tangled in savage indecision. It snarlingly released a guttural moan, an internal war cry; it was two natures at war within one body. Again, all fours. With the new, imperative command of keeping the mate safe screaming at it, it cacophoned inside its head the horrible need to get inside. Then came a sound from the other side of the door. A fragile, quavering whisper floated into the chaos. "Damien?" His name. Spoken in her voice. A bolt of lightning in the felled consciousness of the man. An anchor in the storm. For a sound, it momentarily hushed its rage. The beast pressed its ear to the heavy wood, straining to hear it again. Still heavy in the air was that scent of her fear, tampered now with something else-some streak of recognition, some thread of question. She knew he was in there, somewhere inside the monster. This realization fortified the last remnants of Damien's will. He couldn't control the body, not completely. He couldn't transform back; but he could steer the storm. He could force a retreat. With monumental effort, the human mind pushed one last, desperate command through the primal fog: Leave. To protect her, you must leave her.
Then the beast gave forth one last mournful whine, the sound of tremendous loss and using one's effort to seek that loss. One step backward, one further step back. To turn one's back on her smell was the hardest thing it had ever done. It got one miserable scrape on the steps saying farewell. The last barrier was pushed away as the entryway broke before him. The myth kind of melted away behind the shadow of the hallway, across the street. The pull was so strong that he couldn't go far. He would find the deep darkness between two buildings and hide there, the spot would give him a clear view and an amazing position to see her window. The beast settled onto the ground, its massive form hidden from sight. The hunt might be over, but the vigil had just begun. Here would amass a watchful guardian, monstrous in silence, above her until sunrise burnt the curse away. Not for a fraction of a second did those glowing amber eyes, filled with both predatory instinct and a man's aching heart, move away from her window