gift.”
“Please, Jem.”
The tightening of muscles worked against my vocal chords, and my
voice came out deeper than planned.
I should have
walked away then, given her the damn necklace and run, or yanked
the blasted trinket from her hand and been done with it.
Yet, I could
not bring myself to use force against her, and one final tussle
achieved the worst possible outcome.
Jem’s hand
slipped from her pendant, and as it broke apart in our hands, she
flew backward with a cry, landing on her rear—leaving me holding
the necklace.
However, the
breaking of the clasp split the locket open, allowing a liquid to
escape. Although a tiny amount, it trickled onto my hand, sifting
through my pores. It took less than a second to locate my
bloodstream, where my panicked heart pumped it through my body at a
speed that brought immediate consequences and unbearable pain.
Wolfsbane as a
liquid—I had never heard of it before.
I knew how fast
my change came, could see it reflected in the terror in Jem’s eyes.
My cries at the poison shooting through my veins did not sound
human for long.
Jem did not
move—perhaps her body refused to—but her rapidly moving chest
portrayed her fear.
My limbs
struggled to provide support during the excruciating
transformation. The tearing of fabric broke through the roaring in
my ears, both sounds uniting with the splitting of my skull.
Through those,
I distinguished the small sobs that accompanied each rise of Jem’s
chest. Each thudded beat of her heart.
I desperately
wanted to tell her not to be afraid, that I wouldn’t hurt her, but
I knew how we looked during a change and understood her justified
reaction. I also knew it would be an unguaranteed assurance.
When my
features shifted and hair pushed forth, she appeared to grasp will
power from somewhere, and her feet finally scrambled her backward,
kicking up dust that clouded my vision. Thick bramble stalled her
crawled escape long enough that, with the final stretch of
repositioning, realigning, restructuring behind me, I growled from
my change and stood before her.
As wolf.
Gaze on hers, I
gave a low whimper.
As though her
cue to leave, she clambered to her feet, but fell, then pushed up
again. She only looked away from me when her feet broke into a
run.
Her flight, her
fear-drenched scent, immediately categorised her as prey to my
wolf’s mind, and as the predator within urged me to hunt, my head
whirled to follow her escape as my paws took steps, my lips pulling
back to reveal my excitement.
Just as fast,
something within—like a plea for her safety—dominated my natural
instincts, and I screamed at myself to halt.
My chest
lurched forward, my claws grinding into the compacted dirt. A small
growl of frustration—confusion, too—escaped from me, but I quickly
reined it back in.
Remaining where
I stood took effort, control, as my need to protect battled my
natural instincts. Whilst her scent penetrated my mind, the
yearning to pursue swelled within me, and my paws danced out my
eagerness, my whines begging for relief. However, each disobedient
step was met with the demands of my inner self to obey, until I
felt sure it would drive me mad.
Needing at
least some kind of relief, I tossed my snout skyward and expelled
my emotions in a howl piercing enough to reach the far stretches of
the forest—but what I usually found beautiful became nothing more
than a forlorn song of failure, and my call just as quickly
dwindled until only the sounds of the forest remained.
Turning away
from that which I desired but refused to take, drawing even more
control from what little reserve I had left, I hunkered down and
willed my change to reverse.
8
The reversal
took longer than usual, the forced change having torn at some of my
muscles and tendons, adding further pain to the already agonising
process. Coated in sweat, I remained in my crouch, my mind whirling
over the situation.
Two people knew
of my secret. I knew not how far Jem’s
“Please, Jem.”
The tightening of muscles worked against my vocal chords, and my
voice came out deeper than planned.
I should have
walked away then, given her the damn necklace and run, or yanked
the blasted trinket from her hand and been done with it.
Yet, I could
not bring myself to use force against her, and one final tussle
achieved the worst possible outcome.
Jem’s hand
slipped from her pendant, and as it broke apart in our hands, she
flew backward with a cry, landing on her rear—leaving me holding
the necklace.
However, the
breaking of the clasp split the locket open, allowing a liquid to
escape. Although a tiny amount, it trickled onto my hand, sifting
through my pores. It took less than a second to locate my
bloodstream, where my panicked heart pumped it through my body at a
speed that brought immediate consequences and unbearable pain.
Wolfsbane as a
liquid—I had never heard of it before.
I knew how fast
my change came, could see it reflected in the terror in Jem’s eyes.
My cries at the poison shooting through my veins did not sound
human for long.
Jem did not
move—perhaps her body refused to—but her rapidly moving chest
portrayed her fear.
My limbs
struggled to provide support during the excruciating
transformation. The tearing of fabric broke through the roaring in
my ears, both sounds uniting with the splitting of my skull.
Through those,
I distinguished the small sobs that accompanied each rise of Jem’s
chest. Each thudded beat of her heart.
I desperately
wanted to tell her not to be afraid, that I wouldn’t hurt her, but
I knew how we looked during a change and understood her justified
reaction. I also knew it would be an unguaranteed assurance.
When my
features shifted and hair pushed forth, she appeared to grasp will
power from somewhere, and her feet finally scrambled her backward,
kicking up dust that clouded my vision. Thick bramble stalled her
crawled escape long enough that, with the final stretch of
repositioning, realigning, restructuring behind me, I growled from
my change and stood before her.
As wolf.
Gaze on hers, I
gave a low whimper.
As though her
cue to leave, she clambered to her feet, but fell, then pushed up
again. She only looked away from me when her feet broke into a
run.
Her flight, her
fear-drenched scent, immediately categorised her as prey to my
wolf’s mind, and as the predator within urged me to hunt, my head
whirled to follow her escape as my paws took steps, my lips pulling
back to reveal my excitement.
Just as fast,
something within—like a plea for her safety—dominated my natural
instincts, and I screamed at myself to halt.
My chest
lurched forward, my claws grinding into the compacted dirt. A small
growl of frustration—confusion, too—escaped from me, but I quickly
reined it back in.
Remaining where
I stood took effort, control, as my need to protect battled my
natural instincts. Whilst her scent penetrated my mind, the
yearning to pursue swelled within me, and my paws danced out my
eagerness, my whines begging for relief. However, each disobedient
step was met with the demands of my inner self to obey, until I
felt sure it would drive me mad.
Needing at
least some kind of relief, I tossed my snout skyward and expelled
my emotions in a howl piercing enough to reach the far stretches of
the forest—but what I usually found beautiful became nothing more
than a forlorn song of failure, and my call just as quickly
dwindled until only the sounds of the forest remained.
Turning away
from that which I desired but refused to take, drawing even more
control from what little reserve I had left, I hunkered down and
willed my change to reverse.
8
The reversal
took longer than usual, the forced change having torn at some of my
muscles and tendons, adding further pain to the already agonising
process. Coated in sweat, I remained in my crouch, my mind whirling
over the situation.
Two people knew
of my secret. I knew not how far Jem’s
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