God, how she wanted more.
But that wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t really his mate, after all. It was all just pretend.
And I have to remember that.
Maybe an evening away from him would help. Filled with renewed determination, Honey pulled on sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt—not a camp staff shirt, but a pink one from home, emblazoned with the Chicago skyline. It was about time she reminded herself where she really belonged.
Slinging her towel over her arm, she left the shower block, heading back to her cabin. The front light was on, attracting a flurry of longing moths. Estelle, Flora, Beth and Claire sat across the steps like a small, mismatched barricade, completely blocking the way.
“Hi girls,” Honey said as she came up to them. “Could you move over, please? I can’t get to the door.”
None of them budged. They all wore matching serious expressions, like a tiny board of directors. Honey felt her chances of a nice, relaxing evening slip away.
“Honey,” Estelle said, “How come you never go out to shift with the other counselors?”
… I should really be used to this by now.
At least this time she had enough presence of mind to prevent herself from blurting out something stupid. Keeping her expression carefully neutral, Honey draped her towel over the porch railing to dry, buying herself a moment to think.
“That’s a strange question.” She sat down on the step below the girls. “Why do you ask?”
The girls exchanged looks, as though hoping someone else would answer.
“Well…Director Zephyr always says that it’s important to be ourselves,” Beth said. “Ourwholeselves, not just the human part or the animal part. He says it’s not healthy to stay in one shape for too long.”
“If I don’t shift at least once a day, I get wangry,” Flora chipped in. “That’s what my moms call it. Like hangry, only with a wombat.”
“Well, not everyone is like that,” Honey said. “Different people have different needs.”
And you kids can’t find out how different I am.
“Yeah, but everyone knows it’s not healthy tonevershift,” Estelle said. She heaved a tragic sigh. “That’s why I’m so little. Not being able to shift is stunting my growth.”
“It isnot,” Beth said. “I’ve seen your baby pictures. You were about the size of a kitten. You’re just naturally tiny.”
“Well, my unicorn won’t be,” Estelle retorted. “When I can shift, I’m gonna be way bigger than your pegasus, so there.”
“Guys,” Flora muttered. “Come on. We practiced this.”
“Oh, right.” Estelle reassembled her expression of grave concern. “The point is, we’re worried that you’re not letting your animal out enough. I mean, even Claire shifts more often than you.”
This was news to Honey. “Really? I didn’t think you shifted at all, Claire.”
“Sometimes,” Claire whispered. “In private. Where no one can see.”
“But we know you don’t, because you’re always either with us or in your room or with Buck,” Flora said, which was unfortunately true. “And obviously you can’t be shifting withhim, because he can’t. I mean, not deliberately.”
“Even Buck shifts at night and flies around,” Beth said earnestly. “He doesn’t want to, but his animal makes him do it anyway, no matter how hard he fights it. And we all know that’s his real problem. If he didn’t resist the shift so much, he’d be able to control it.”
“He’s wangry too.” Flora frowned. “Though he’s not a wombat, so I guess he’s zangry.”
“You mean thangry,” Estelle corrected.
“We are still not doing either zapdog or thunderhound,” Beth hissed at them both. She turned back to Honey. “The point is, shifters need to shift. So we’re worried about you.”
“I appreciate your concern, girls, but there’s no need to worry.” Honey rose, gathering up her things. “I promise you, I’m fine.”
None of the girls moved.
