“This is an equal opportunity moment,” I said.
She grinned and walked closer to the cage. She had to roll onto her toes to see through the bars, and as she did so, my eyes wandered along her shoulder. In the dim light, I noticed fine silver lines running from her neck and down to her ribs. With a shock almost visceral, I recognized claw marks—not as many as Chris had, but on her they seemed a thing of beauty, like someone had drawn on her skin with a fine silver marker. They stood testament to the fierce fighter she was—enforcer, to the core.
Her face was solemn when she turned from the cage, but she caught me looking at the scars and an eyebrow tweaked at me.
“Hey.” She drew my attention back to her dancing gray eyes. “You. Mr. Equal Opportunity. Eyes up.”
Caught, my face heated. “Yes, ma’am. Just admiring your scars.”
“Better than ink,” she said, as her jaw began to change. As though taking the hint, mine followed, the bones creaking as they stretched, the teeth sliding into place. I snarled in pain as the wounds on my shoulders and arms broke open, the blood dripping from my clawed hands.
One by one, they dropped to all fours, except me. I stood before the bars, gritting my teeth as my legs thickened and the tail burst forth, watching Peter.
His body twitched as the wulf took over, silver hair chasing the change down his spine to his tail. His legs thrashed, and with a suddenness that made me flinch, he flipped off the cot and landed on all four feet.
Heavy breathing beside me announced the arrival of Chris, fully transformed. He twisted his head on his thick neck, rolled his shoulders, and met my gaze before looking at Peter.
Sapphire eyes looked back at us and blinked. My pulse raced, the wulf within wanted to run, to howl, and it made me tremble. But the man in me squinted at the silver wulf in the cage, looking for Peter in that pale gaze. I saw acknowledgment of my presence—or was I imagining it?—and as the blue orbs scanned Chris’s face, something that could be pain. Chloe, I thought. I’m sorry, Peter.
And then the silver wulf stood up and the mouth opened, “Lium.”
I dropped to all fours and danced in a circle like an overjoyed dog, getting my silly long legs tangled up and almost falling over. Sam came over and poked me with her nose, and Chris wrestled the cage door with his wulf fingers to swing it open.
When Peter walked stiffly out on all fours, I almost knocked him over with my enthusiasm. His jaw dropped, tongue lolling out.
“Lut’s run!” he said.
I let go of the human and gave over to my wulf, who took me out of the barn on unsteady legs. Sam stayed on one side of me, using her shoulder as a brace when I wobbled, and Peter on the other. I pushed on, getting the rhythm of my strides, finding it easier to move. I curled my spine, brought my long hind legs ahead of my forelegs, and hit the ground, launching into a huge, joyful bound. I focused on the physical process, extending my spine in midair as I leaped, gulping air through gaping jaws, snapping my forelegs down to nail the landing, coiling my backbone as the air left my lungs, and pulling my hind legs forward. As the trail took a turn, I dug in with my foreclaws—one side more than the other—leaned into the turn, twisting to stagger the fall of my hinds, my body curving as I sprang. I missed a tree by inches, but my forefeet landed on the trail.
From my side, Sam chuffed approval, her russet coat shining red in the moonlight. As we ran and leaped, I abandoned myself to a world devoid of planning and forethought and lived each moment in a rush of sensory input—the rich, diverse layers of scent and sight and sound. My blood sang, and my heart soared.
We are alive.
As we ran, we spread out, traveling in near silence through the forest. I remained aware of every move my new friends made through the barest rustle of leaves or their musky scents carrying on the cool night air. The russet wulf darted through the branches, appearing to nudge me with her nose or shoulder and then vanishing again like smoke.
My nose caught a scent and I slid to a halt as my brain struggled to match it with an image. Sam must have been watching me, she materialized to drop her muzzle alongside mine. Our shoulders brushed and my heart accelerated.
“Martun,” she identified with a lupine grin.
A rustle from the other side, and a silver wulf appeared. Peter stopped and made an odd huffing noise. As I sensed Sam stiffen beside me, I saw his ears flatten and a lip lift, revealing a fang.
“Petur?” I tilted my head, uncertain. The wulf in me wanted to snarl back and I had to clamp down on the urge.
“Who ur yu?” Peter growled, his sapphire eyes sliding from me, to Sam. “Gut awuy frum hur.”
While I stood stunned, Sam took a step toward him. “Petur. It’s Lium.”
His vivid wulf eyes darted from her, to me, and with a sinking heart, I read the confusion in them. “Lium?” He took a deep sniff in my direction. “Lium’s a wulf?”
“Just new,” I added. He’d seen me change. Brought me to Chris after Dillon infected me. Why didn’t he remember?
Peter broke eye contact with a shake of his silver-maned head. “Rught,” he said, and spun to vanish into the forest, leaving me frozen with worry.
Sam’s silvery gaze locked with my own. I caught an echo of her own concern in them, before she touched her nose to mine, and her warm tongue swept out across my jaw.
Was
