Stop calling me stupid. This is a lot. Give me a break. And what do you mean, not a werewolf?
I swear I can feel her eyes roll.Werewolves, myth. I am wolf. Shapeshifter.
Okay, whatever. I don't have time for semantics.Can you turn back? Can I have my body back?
I can feel the wolf's resistance, but then something changes. That restless feeling that I get sometimes, that wouldn't leave me alone last night when I was walking home to my almost-demise, it builds beneath my skin.Ourskin.
The feeling intensifies, breaking out in ripples across my arms and legs. It's painful, and I can feel her stress as the change takes hold. Her stress is my stress, and we collapse on the ground. She starts panting, struggling. The pain is there, but it's like a muscle cramp. Aching and unused. Relentless, it goes on and on. Several minutes pass, this push and pull, a violent transformation bending and reforming my bones. It should hurt worse, I know it should, but it feels more foreign than anything.
I feel my fingers first, and I instantly curl them into the ground, holding onto something real. There's so much relief in the familiarity of long, skinny, fleshy fingers, then my toes change back, and just as the transformation completes, I can feel my face reforming, and I bellow out as my naked human body curls into a sweating mess on the floor.
And then I start bawling.
I can feel her soothe me, as if to say,there, there,with a pat on my head, even though she's doing none of those things.
I suck in a breath. It even tastes bad—how can air have taste?—but I swallow it like it's my salvation, sucking in hungry breaths. And I lay there and I cry. Feeling sorry for myself. Overwhelmed. Confused.
Minutes pass. Ten, twenty, an hour, I've no idea. I don't feel cold, even though I'm naked, the heat is always on the fritz, and it's the middle of winter.
It takes Herculean effort to lift myself up off the ground, my limbs shaking as I crawl to my hands and knees. I know what sore limbs feel like. I've spent my entire life exhausted and aching.
But this feels different.
I feel tired, but… strong.
Well, stronger than normal, at least. I wouldn't be able to fight him off if that guy came back. The memories threaten to take over, panic rising again when I picture his face, remembering the feel of his teeth tearing into me. But the wolf inside me somehow pulls me back to the present.
"Thank you," I whisper.
She doesn't reply, but I can feel her there, hovering in my mind, supporting me. My legs wobble as I come to a stand. I grab the door handle to hold me up, then leave the bedroom.
The blood is the first thing I see.
And I'm on my hands and knees again, vomiting, before I can stop myself. The smell is strong. Overpowering.
Everything is. Things I couldn't smell yesterday.
The mold in the walls, the ceiling, the water stain. The coffee I left out yesterday. The blood. And him. I can still smell him, only it's stronger now. Deep, rich earth and citrus. Lemons andoranges. Rain. But the scent of my vomit is stronger, reminding me of what he did. That fucking asshole. Thatmonster.
Tears and pain and fear and bile, I retch it all out. I almost died last night. That wolf covered me in bite marks, let the blood drain out of me, and why? Was he trying to kill me? To turn me intothis?
Not turn, she says, but I ignore her.
"So I can just hear you now?" I ask the empty room.
Yes.
"Wonderful."
Too many questions. I don't bother asking one. Instead, I look down at the mess, at the vomit and blood, mostly dry, but pooled and likely staining the floor. My landlord is going to kill me.
I need help. I don't know what to do. And though I feel weak, while simultaneously stronger than I ever have in my life, my head feels like it's going to explode. I need to call my dad. Or the police.
And say what?
The proof is right there in the blood on the floor. It's my blood. And yet… I look down at my arms. And my legs. I feel my neck. The bite marks are there, but healing, as if they were weeks, not hours old. My hands shake. Goosebumps erupt across my naked flesh.
What will happen to me if the police come? Will they take me away? Or kick me out of the city? There must be a reason humans and werewolves don't interact.
