“If I could change, would you still want me?” she whispered.
I laughed, surprised. “If you could change, I’d never let you go.”
She sat up then, and there was something fierce in her eyes, something that didn’t belong to this world or the last.
“Then watch,” she said.
She pulled a handful of herbs from the pouch at her waist—yarrow, plantain, the bitter comfrey. She crushed them between her palms, the smell sharp and green in the air. She muttered words I didn’t know, words that sounded like a song but felt like a warning. The candle guttered, shadows climbing the walls.
Then she bit down on her own wrist, hard enough to draw blood, and smeared it across the bandaged ankle. I watched, half-horrified, half-aroused, as she pressed her palm to the floor and arched her back, the muscles standing out in her neck.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the air changed, electric and thin. Her limbs started to twist, the joints popping as the bones shifted underneath. Her eyes went wide, lips drawn back from her teeth.
I wanted to help her, to do something, but she shook her head, wild and defiant.
“Stay back,” she gasped.
I did. I sat there and watched as her body shrank in on itself, her spine curving, the skin along her arms and legs going silver with hair. Her face pulled forward, nose darkening, eyes going gold and bright in the candlelight. She shuddered, then let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a growl. Her dress tore along the shoulders, and what was left of it fell away, leaving her naked, the fur spreading over every inch.
She collapsed onto the floor, the transformation complete. Where Scarlette had been, now there was a wolf—small, lithe, but unmistakably her. The eyes, when they found me, were the same as before, but clearer, less burdened.
She padded over, circled me, then sat back on her haunches, tongue lolling in what I swore was a smile.
I didn’t know what to do, so I followed her lead.
I let the wolf inside out.
It was easier this time, less pain, more instinct. The bones knew where to go, the muscles remembered the way. The skin split, not with agony, but with a rush of relief, as if I’d been holding my breath for years. My hands became paws, my teeth grew long and sharp. The world went sharper, every sound and scent a note in a symphony I’d only ever heard through a wall.
I stood, shook the dust from my fur, and met her eyes.
She darted toward the door, pawing at it, and I followed. Together, we burst out into the snow. The night was blue and cold, the moon a silver coin above the trees. We ran, she quick and darting, me heavy and sure. We crashed through the undergrowth, leapt over fallen logs, and chased each other in dizzying circles.
The smells were overwhelming and consisted of moss, rot, and the faint copper tang of distant blood. The cold on my tongue was delicious, the snow in my fur a new kind of pleasure. We ran until our bodies burned, then ran some more.
She led me, always just out of reach, her tail a white banner in the dark. I chased, loving the chase, loving her for making me work for it.
At the river, she stopped, drank, then spun and tackled me, teeth bared, but not in anger. We tumbled, rolled, bit, licked, and nipped at each other, rough and wild.
When we returned to the hut, the storm had passed. We changed back, slowly, painfully, but with laughter echoing in the rafters.
Scarlette remained on all fours and crawled away, looking back, eyes an invitation. I crawled toward her, sniffing the air, sniffing her ass, sniffing her cunt when she spread her legs. We were no longer wolves, but we might as well have been,
I licked at her cunt, and as I did, she slid down to her elbows, ass high. She whined, shivered beneath me, and pushed her ass higher, tailbone twitching like she wanted to wag it. There wasno room in the world for language, no space for thought—just the soft fur between her legs, the taste of her, and the need that pulsed through my whole body like a fever.
She rocked back against my face, bold and greedy, grinding herself on my mouth until I had to grab her hips to keep her from bucking away. Her skin was hot, the muscles under it tensed and ready to run, but she didn't run. She stayed and took what I gave, clawing at the straw, panting in harsh little bursts. I felt every line of her vibrating with need, every tremor a message I didn't need to read to understand.
I shoved my face against her, my tongue lapping at her clit, my nose buried between her ass cheeks, pressing against her puckered hole. She groaned and covered the scream working its way to her mouth, her climax violent. I grabbed her ass and held her in place, shifting my tongue higher, plunging into her ass. She shook again, a second wave overtaking the first. I knew then she’d never been taken this way, much less pleased.
Spent and sweaty, Scarlette glanced back as I squatted behind her, my cock throbbing from both want and the need to release. I slid into her cunt, the hole wet and warm. I groaned, hands bracing on her hips, the tight wet heat welcoming and overwhelming at once. The world shrank to that sensation, the snap of my pelvis against the backs of her thighs, the animal pull of her body drawing me in deeper. Scarlette twisted, planting her face in the furs, and braced hard as I moved inside her, fast, knowing I wouldn’t last. I held nothing back, fucked her like I was made for it, like my bones would snap if I tried to resist.
She came again before I did, her body going rigid, her cunt clenching so hard I saw stars. When I followed, it was with a short, stupid howl, a sound I’d never made in bed or anywhere else. Maybe I’d always been part wolf; maybe it just took the right woman to bring it out.
Afterward, we lay side by side, chests heaving, the cold biting at the sweat along our backs. She rested her head on my arm, hair spilled across my chest in a tangle that smelled of victuals and wildness and a little bit of blood. I wanted to say something, but the words felt like too much.
She beat me to it, the way she always did. “Did you mean it?” she said, her voice so small I almost missed it under the wind creaking the boards loose above us.
“Mean what?” I asked, tracing my finger down her back, not sure if I wanted her to answer.
