I answered him, my voice rough, thick with tears and failing. “I will. I promise. Now go inside and lock the door.”
He went. Closed the door. Ben’s wolf and I were left in shining moonlight. Quickly now, I peeled off my sweatpants. Let it come quickly, flowing like water, slipping from one form to the other. I kept an eye on Ben—he raised his wolf’s head and watched me—until my vision blurred and I had to shut my eyes—
Opens her eyes to the moonlit world.
The scent of another fills her first breath. She recognizes him, knows him—she’s claimed him as pack, which makes them family, and they’ll run together, free this night.
He lies stretched out, unmoving, and gives a faint whine. He’s weak, he’s scared. She bows, stretches, yips at him—she has to show him that he’s free, that this is good. Still he won’t move, so she nips at him, snapping at his hind legs and haunches, telling him to get up, he has to get up. He flinches, then finally lurches to his feet, to get away from her teeth. He looks back at her, ears flat and tail between his legs.
He’s just a pup, brand-new, and she’ll have to teach him everything.
Bumping his flank with her shoulder, she urges him on, gets him to walk. His steps are hesitant—he’s never walked on four legs before, he starts slowly. She runs ahead, circles back, bumps him again. As they pace into the woods of her territory, his steps become more sure. He starts to trot, his head low, his tail drooping. She can’t contain her joy—she could run circles around him all night. She tries to get him to chase her. She tries to chase him, but he only looks at her in confusion. She has to teach him how to play, bowing and yipping—life isn’t all about food and territory.
She shows him how to run. And how to hunt. She kills a rabbit and shares it with him, shows him the taste of blood. The eating comes naturally. She doesn’t have to teach him how to devour the flesh and break the bones with his jaws. He does so eagerly, then licks the blood that has smeared on her muzzle.
He’ll kill the next one, on another night.
They run, and she shows him the shape of their territory. He tires quickly though—his first night on four legs, she understands. She leads him home, to the place where they can bed down, curl up together, tails tucked close, and bury their noses in each other’s fur so they fall asleep with the smell of pack and safety in their minds.
She hasn’t felt so safe in a long, long time. She’ll keep her packmate close, to preserve the safety. He is hers, and she’ll look after him forever.
chapter 9
The thing was, Ben was part of my pack before this ever happened to him.
I might have been alone, a werewolf on my own, but I had people I could call. People who would help me if I showed up on their doorstep in the middle of the night. Ben was near the top of that list. Yes, he was my lawyer and I sort of paid him to be there for me. But he’d handled the supernatural craziness in my life without blinking, and as far as I was concerned that went above and beyond the call of duty. He could have dumped me as a client anytime he wanted, and he didn’t. I could count on him, and that made him pack.
I didn’t sleep well, waking before dawn. I was nervous— I wanted to make sure I woke up before Ben did. I had to look after him.
As the sun rose, I watched him. I curled on my side, pillowing my head on my bent arm, just a breath away from him—close enough to touch. Even in sleep, his face was lined, tense with worry. He’d had an exhausting night; the evidence of it remained etched in his expression. Shifted back to human, he lay on his back, one arm resting on his stomach, the other crooked up, the hand curled by his shoulder. One of his legs was bent, the foot tucked under the opposite knee.
His build was average. He didn’t work out, but he wasn’t soft; it was like he’d been thin as a wire when he was a kid, and was only just now filling out to a normal size. He had a stripe of hair running down his sternum. The hair on his head, still damp with sweat, stuck out, mussed and wild. I held back an urge to brush my fingers through it, smoothing it back. I didn’t want to startle him.
The bite wounds on his arm and shoulder were completely healed, as if they’d never exis
ted.
Almost, I dozed back to sleep myself, waiting for him to come around. Then, his slow, steady breathing changed. His lungs filled deep, like a bellows. His eyes flashed open, and his whole body jerked, as if every muscle flinched at once.
He gasped, a cutoff sound of terror, and tried to get up, tried to crawl back as if he could escape whatever it was that had scared him. His limbs gave out, and he didn’t go anywhere.
I lunged over and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him to the ground. I had to lean my whole weight on him— that average build was powerful.
“Ben! Quiet, you’re okay, you’re okay, Ben. Please calm down.”
He stilled quickly enough, but I kept hushing him until he lay flat again, his eyes closed, panting for breath. I knelt by him, keeping my hands on his chest, keeping him quiet, and watching his face for any reaction.
After a moment his breathing slowed. He brought a hand to his face, covered his eyes, then dragged it across his forehead. “I remember,” he said in a tired, sticky voice. “I remember the smells. Running. Blood—” His voice strained, cracked.
“Shh.” I lay next to him so I could bring my face close to his, brush his hair back, breathe in his scent, let him smell me, let him know that smell meant safety. “We’re safe, Ben. It’s okay.”
“Kitty—” He said my name with a gasp of desperation, then clung to me, gripping my arm and shoulder, kneading the skin and muscle painfully. I bore it, hugging him back as well as I could. He was so warm in the freezing winter air; holding each other warmed us.
I kissed the hairline by his ear and said, “You’re back. Two arms, two legs, human skin. You’re back. You feel it?”
He nodded, which gave me hope because it meant he was listening.
“Wolf is gone, it’s not going to come back for another month. You get to be yourself until then. It’s okay, it’s okay.” I kept repeating it.