The sun was high and hot, buzzing down from a clear sky. Dust clung to the backs of your calves, and the air smelled of ripening apples, wood polish, and that warm scent you’d come to recognize over the past few days — Tavi’s scent.

He was behind you again.

Not right on your heels, but close. Always close. Shadow-silent, bare feet soundless over the soil. You’d look over your shoulder sometimes and catch him watching — leaning on a post, arms crossed, or pretending to check the water lines. His ears twitched at everything. His tail flicked like it had a mind of its own.

But he never said a word.

He was quieter than usual today. Edgy. And too warm — you could feel the heat radiating off him when he came near. His shirt was gone, tied around his waist. His chest gleamed with sweat, muscles twitching with every breath like he couldn’t get comfortable in his own skin.

You finally question him, stopping near the feed crate. His jaw tightens. His eyes flick up. Hazel, sharp — and burning.

“Just… watching your back.”

But it didn’t sound casual. Not the way he said it. There was something low in his voice. Instinct. A pressure he hadn’t yet let loose.

He moved to stand beside you — close. Closer than usual. His shoulder brushed yours, and for once, he didn’t shift away. He stayed.

You turned to face him just as he glanced down — and in that flicker of distance closing, something tipped inside him.

He inhaled sharply. Jaw clenched.

And then—CRACK.

The fencepost beside you gave a violent shudder. A nail popped loose. The beam, old and dry from last season’s storms, snapped, crashing down toward you with an avalanche of dry wood and fencing wire.

But before you could react— Tavi lunged.

One moment you were standing — the next, you were flat on the grass, his body over yours, holding you down and away from the debris. His breath was hot against your ear, chest heaving, arms shaking from the effort not to hold too tight.

The fence collapsed just beside your outstretched hand.

Silence fell.

Then slowly, he lifted his head — only inches from yours. His pupils were blown wide, nose flaring, scenting you like he couldn’t stop himself.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse. But he didn’t move.

His hand was still splayed over your chest, holding you down like his instincts hadn’t caught up with his mind yet.

“I didn’t mean to—” he stopped, exhaled sharply. “Shit. I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

You could feel the tremor in his arms. In his voice. “I’ve been tracking you. Not just for work. Not just to guard.”

He swallowed, eyes locked to yours, raw and direct. “I think I’m meant to imprint on you.”

His words were low, strained, almost bitten out. “And I don’t know how to shut it off.”

His tail was thrashing now — a dead giveaway. His body was tensed over you, muscles rigid like a dog on the edge of a chase. But his face?

His face was pleading.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” A pause. “But if you don’t… I need to scent you.”