Shapes emerged from the shadows. First, a younger male, barely more than a cub himself but already showing the heavy muscle of a hunter. Then an older female, lean and scarred, followed by another male at the edge of the clearing. They all stared at Mike—a vulnerable, easy target.
The ranger saw the young male lick his chops. He saw the female crouch low, ready to spring. The death he’d dodged twice already was back, just in a different form. But once again, the big cougar stepped between Mike and the threat.
He was larger than the young male, more experienced than the female. He was the king of this ridge, and he made sure they knew it. The roar that erupted from his chest was so powerful it seemed to vibrate the very ground. It wasn’t a challenge; it was an order. The young male was the first to back down.
He retreated slowly, never breaking eye contact, until he vanished into the brush. The female lingered a moment longer, looking from Mike to the big male, weighing her chances, before she too turned and disappeared. Mike saw the jagged, uneven scar on the big cat’s right shoulder—the mark from the surgery eight months ago.
He remembered how his hands had trembled as he’d set those stitches, terrified the cub wouldn’t survive the night. And now, here was that same animal—strong, wild, and free. Mike slowly, very slowly, reached out a hand, his fingers trembling with emotion.
He touched the base of the cougar’s ear, where the fur was softest, and ran his palm along the scar on his shoulder. The cat didn’t flinch, standing as still as a statue. Only his eyes—those incredible amber eyes—looked into Mike’s with a sense of understanding that transcended words.
Mike pulled his hand back, wanting to say something, but his throat was tight. Instead of words, tears of relief and gratitude tracked through the dirt on his face. The cougar stood for another moment, let out a soft huff, and turned away.
He walked off without looking back, his powerful body flowing through the trees with a grace no human could ever match. Within seconds, his tawny coat blended into the autumn leaves, and he was gone, dissolved back into the mountain that was his home. Mike was left alone, sitting by the oak, staring into the quiet woods.
The rope had left deep, bloody welts on his chest and arms. His skin burned and his muscles ached, but he forced himself up. He had to move. He had to get back, call for backup, and get the law on those poachers. They’d be back eventually, and if he didn’t stop them, they’d kill everything that moved on this mountain.
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