Carly glanced at him as she drove, and sometimes she’d catch him looking back at her, his eyes enigmatic but holding heat.

Shiftertown lay behind the old airport, in houses no one had wanted even before the airport had closed down and moved to where the Bergstrom Air Force Base used to be. When Shifters needed a place to live, the Shifter Bureau and the city had designated the area exclusively for them.

Shifters had moved to the Austin Shiftertown from all corners of the globe, because most countries didn’t want Shifters living in them at all. Obviously the Morrisseys had come from Ireland. But Tiger? Carly couldn’t place his accent. American but neutral. Not from Texas or anywhere in the South anyway.

The sun was just coming up as Carly drove into Shiftertown. She expected to find slums, but after she passed a few derelict stores, a boarded-up gas station, and an empty field, she found old bungalows, neatly painted with equally neat yards, bathed in early-morning sunlight. Some houses were placed one behind the other, with driveways that served both houses.

She followed Connor to a two-story bungalow that looked little different from the one next door to it. The two houses shared a driveway, which was nothing more than two strips of concrete. A small white pickup, another nice Harley, and a smaller car were parked in this driveway. Connor halted the motorcycle next to the other one, and Carly pulled over at the curb and stopped the car.

Tiger was out before she could emerge, and Connor scrambled off the bike, heading to the trunk. Tiger grabbed Carly’s wrist as she was about to push the remote to pop the latch.

“No,” he said in a stern voice. “He’s almost free.”

“What? How on earth could you possibly know that?”

“Smell is different. Connor, get Liam.”

Tiger put himself between Carly and the trunk as Connor ran for the house, but Tiger made no move to dig inside and stop Walker from breaking loose.

“You know, you could just knock him out again,” Carly said.

Tiger shook his head. “If I touch him again, I’ll kill him. Liam will want him to stay alive.”

Carly stopped, the odd phrasing striking her. “What do you want?”

Tiger looked down at her, his eyes becoming fixed. She read confusion in them, puzzlement. “I don’t know,” he said.

His perplexity touched her. Tiger knew his instincts, and was fighting them, but he was obeying orders, not thinking the problem through for himself.

Carly took his hand and squeezed it. “We’ll figure this out.”

Tiger went even more still, his gaze riveted to her. It was unnerving, being pinned by the yellow stare, but at the same time, Carly wanted to hold on to him even harder.

She spied movement behind Tiger and took several rapid paces back. “Too late. He’s out.”

Walker had kicked his way into Carly’s backseat. He opened the car door on the side opposite from her and Tiger, rolling out and coming to his feet in one movement. Pieces of duct tape hung from his wrists, but he’d managed to remove everything from his legs.

Without changing expression, Walker took in his surroundings, then turned and went for the most vulnerable person within his reach—Connor.

Connor had come out of the house he’d entered, but had returned without Liam or anyone else. He’d been jogging over to the house to its right, the one that shared the driveway, when Walker caught him.

Tiger let out a roar. He gave up on self-control, launched himself over the car, and went for Walker.

“A little help here!” Carly shouted. She ran after Tiger, though she didn’t know what she could do. She had no weapon, wasn’t a black belt in anything, and could probably lose an arm-wrestling match with a seven-year-old boy. She was used to dealing with artists, some of whom were emotionally delicate, but she’d never had to body tackle any of them to Armand’s gallery floor.

Walker had Connor in a headlock, spinning Connor around to face Tiger. The muscles in Walker’s arm bulged as he held a snarling Connor around his neck, not letting go even though Connor was beginning to shift.

Tiger’s hands sprouted immense claws, his face transitioning to a snarling tiger’s. “Don’t. Hurt. The cubs.”

He went for Walker, Carly still yelling for help.

The door of the second house opened, and someone emerged, but Carly didn’t clearly see who it was until a tall man who looked a lot like Sean got his hands around Walker’s neck and jerked him backward.

The momentum made Walker release Connor, now a young lion with the beginnings of a black mane, who fell to all fours, panting.

The rescuer spun Walker around and delivered a tight, efficient blow behind Walker’s ear. Walker had balled up his fist to punch first, but his hand went slack, and he collapsed at the newcomer’s feet.

The man looked Walker over, then shifted his gaze to Carly, giving her the same assessing stare. He was an older version of Sean and Liam, with similar blue eyes, but his dark hair was going gray at the temples. The difference was in the absolute stillness this man could achieve; it was even more acute than that which she’d observed in the Shifters at the hospital, or even in Tiger.

This Shifter looked at Carly, all the way through her, as though he knew every thought inside her head—the ones now, every thought she’d had in the past, and every one she would have in the future. His nostrils moved the slightest bit.

“Who is she?” he asked, voice deadly quiet. Not asking Carly—oh, no. He wasn’t even asking Tiger. The question had been directed at Connor.

The young lion shook himself. He sat down on his haunches, not turning back to human. The man’s blue gaze flicked to Tiger, waiting for him to answer. But Tiger remained in place, though his face and hands became human again, still protecting Connor.

Carly stepped forward into the silence. “I’m Carly Randal,” she said, trying to sound both bright and firm, as she did when arrogant people came to the gallery to sneer at brilliant paintings. “And you are?”

“He’s Dylan,” Tiger said. “Used to be Shiftertown leader.”

“Retired, are you?” Carly asked. “That’s nice.”

Dylan’s eyes flared with white-hot anger. Carly understood in that moment what it was like to be a rabbit under the gaze of a mountain lion right before that lion put out a paw and ended the rabbit’s life.

Then Dylan’s rage dissipated, and the corners of his lips quirked into a small, ironic smile. “I gave over the running of Shiftertown to my son. Who is that?” He pointed at Walker on the ground.