You are changing

Vic's heart pounded in his chest as he glanced down at the injury on his ribs. Just one look, and he could tell—the wound was from the shifter's claws. The more he stared, the clearer the memory became, each moment replaying in vivid, excruciating detail.

It had happened so quickly. The shifter had lunged at him, its claws slicing through the air with terrifying speed. Vic had managed to swerve to the side at the very last second, barely dodging the full force of the attack. But in that chaotic moment, he hadn't realized one of its claws had grazed him.

He hadn't noticed the scratch at first. Even when Silas had been interrogating him, Vic had been clueless. He hadn't known that Silas was right—that the shifter's claws had, in fact, marked him.

"Damn it. This is not good." Vic swallowed hard, his entire body slick with sweat. His pulse raced, thundering in his ears, each beat a deafening reminder of his growing dread.