“I’ll go get you some water,” Louie said, bouncing up and going into the kitchen.
“Sorry I’m being such a bother!” Quin shouted after him, grimacing. His face grew warm with embarrassment at his own stupidity. Trust him to be unable to drink a cup of tea without ruining it.
Mabel was looking up at him with worried eyes. “It’s okay, girl,” he said. “I’m just being an idiot.”
Louie came back out in a hurry. “Here,” he said, shoving a glass of water into Quin’s hands. Quin almost dropped it—the glass was slick with moisture—before he steadied it with his other hand.
“Thanks,” he said, painting on a smile. The water soothed his mouth, even if he would have healed naturally from the scald in a short while.
He chatted some more with Louie, staying only long enough to be polite. After another hug with Mabel, he gave them both a wave and went on his way.
The butcher’s was old-school, with organised rows of red meat under the glass display units, interspersed with little sprigs of green plastic herbs. Quin’s nose twitched when he entered the shop, and he salivated as he inhaled the aroma.
“Afternoon,” the shopkeeper said. The man wore a navy and white striped apron, and his skin was of a similar shade to his fare. “What you in for?”
Quin blew out his cheeks as he surveyed the offerings: sausages, burger patties, thick cuts of bacon with enough fat to cause an immediate coronary. A tantalisingly large hunk of prime rib caught his attention, and he eyed the leg of lamb, until he decided.
“The pork shoulder, please,” he said, pointing to the cut of meat that was perfectly pink, and larger than his head. It would last him a while, for sure.
“How much you wanting?” the butcher asked, pulling it out.
“The whole thing.”
He got nary a raised eyebrow in response. The shopkeeper wrapped the meat in paper and string, tying it off in a jaunty bow before handing it over. “Enjoy.”
Quin fought to keep his voice under control. “I will. Cheers!” He might have sounded alittleraspy, but nothing that would raise the alarm. And if he held the meat more closely to his chest than others might, then that was only his business.
Meat secured in the boot, he popped to the Co-op to grab some other supplies: bottled water (terrible for the environment, but a necessary evil for the convenience), energy bars (dry as a desert, but useful for a quick refuel when he changed back), and a ninety-piece bottle of spearmint chewing gum (because raw meat was awful for his breath).
He stuffed everything in beside his emergency bag, which he kept stocked up thanks to the time that, as teenagers, he and his cousin Sage had run out of petrol when attempting to go wild camping. Quin’s dad ended up coming to rescue them. Ever since sitting through the ensuing fond but firm bollocking, Quin had always driven with spare blankets, a medical kit, and a petrol can.
Happy with his purchases, he returned to his house with plenty of time to go until nightfall. His good mood lasted until he saw the messages on his phone. Several members of his family had texted, wishing him well. It was a crash back to reality. They’d left him to it so far, giving him space to get settled, but apparently the moratorium on contacting him was over.
And, because Quin’s mood hadn’t been ruined enough, Lark had also messaged. He stared down at the little preview of the text, not wanting to open it. Since he hadn’t updated Lark’s contact photo, he was assaulted with an image of the two of themtogether. Ignoring his churning stomach, Quin clicked on the photo, intent on changing it.
Compared to Lark, who had his chestnut hair tucked behind his ears, posing with his freckled face turned towards the camera, Quin looked unkempt. Photo Quin had the same dark, overgrown beard he had at the moment, his hair in dire need of a cut. The worst part, however, was the way he was looking at Lark; like Lark was the only thing in the universe worth staring at.
Quin wondered if Lark had ever looked at him with such desperate longing and unguarded affection.
It didn’t seem likely.
Because it was so out of the way, Quin had to park some distance from the spot he planned to use for his change. He’d make the same journey there and back three days in a row, as long as the space worked out.
The weather was mild, the sweet coconut scent of yellow gorse filling the air. As the evening drew close, Quin’s senses went haywire.
His skin itched, his bones ached, and his teeth throbbed. He’d been chewing gum all afternoon, which at least quelled the instinct to gurn. He toed off his shoes and socks, needing to walk barefoot for the last mile or so. Direct connection with the earth helped, but he couldn’t shake his edginess.
This was his first change without the pack. Without the familiarity of home. Without the area being steeped in the scent of family. His own decision, of course, made in a hasty and hungover moment the morning after drowning his sorrows over Lark. A decision that made him question his own rationality.
It had been a statement: a way of wrestling back his sense of self. Quin hadn’t felt in control of his life for longer than he’d like to admit. The change would rip away that control from him, too. Though only full for scant moments, the moon would draw his beast out of him, leaving him subject to his instincts and driven by his beast’s desires.
He strode through the trees of the forest he’d found, puffing out a breath. The area appeared untouched by human hands and had plenty of small critters for his beast to hunt once released. The meat he carried would go far in satisfying its hunger, but Quin knew that his beast also liked a chase.
Hefting his bag off his shoulders as he arrived at his new spot, he took out everything he’d need, setting it all down on a blanket. He ran his tongue over his teeth. It wouldn’t be long before the moon forced the change upon him, so he stripped and put away his clothing.
Quin didn’t have to wait. He felt it deep in his core first, a fire building within him that spread along his limbs. He fell to the ground on his hands and knees, letting the searing waves wash over him. Even twenty years on from his first change, it still felt as world-ending as it had the first time. It was like his skin melted off his bones as his body broke and reformed in what seemed like an endless cycle.
The worst, as always, was his jaw. It unhinged and elongated itself to make space for the rows of teeth that sprouted in his mouth.
