I clattered against him, and we rolled across the wet dirt of the riverbank together.
As we clattered together, rolling and skidding to a stop, I felt the pulse, the ripple of the shift beginning.
Ashford was the first to howl in pain as he contorted on top of me, his claws still slashing for me, narrowly avoiding my face.
My own shift back to human began, cracking down my spine, tearing through my legs.
As the last remnants of the waves of transformation and pain receded from me—before I had a chance to fill my lungs with air again—Ashford’s hand was around my throat like a fist, dragging me up.
I clawed at his hand; he batted me away with his other.
“Give up!” he roared.
“No,” I said, the word scraping out of my throat in a hoarse whisper.
He spat in my face and threw me away from him in rage.
I crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, my windpipe feeling half-crushed.
I looked up at him and wiped his spit from my face with the back of my hand.
It was cold. So much colder without my fur, and warmth leaked from me, streaming down my right shoulder and over my breast.
But I smiled when I saw his chest heaving, the ripple of his abdominal muscles. There were four red, bloody, angry gashes marring his tanned skin.
I did that.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked, sneering at me like I was something disgusting to look at.
“That’s going to scar,” I told him, looking pointedly at the slow stream of blood that made its way down his abdomen to the hair at his crotch.
He laughed.
“Like what you see?” he asked, and his member twitched.
“You repulse me,” I told him, for the first time saying the truth. If all the times he made me physically vomit weren’t enough for him to know already.
His anger returned, and he crouched down in front of me, grabbing my jaw tightly in his hand.
I struggled, trying to pull away, but I was too weak, too cold.
“Do you remember the last time we were like this, naked, in a forest?” he asked and laughed. “You were all bloody then, too. Weak. Pathetic. Begging for my help. Thanking me.”
I stared back at him defiantly.
“I’m not begging you for help now,” I said and coughed. Red droplets spattered across his face.
He growled and slapped me, releasing my jaw, and stood.
My ears rang, and everything blurred in and out of focus; my head hit the ground.
I pushed myself back up, trying to stand and falling again.
He grinned as he watched me.
“You’ve been more trouble than it was worth,” he said. “I’d thought you’d be grateful. You’re a fucking omega; you should have known your place,” he continued, his voice rising in indignation. “Everything played out like it was meant to. And you were grateful, so grateful, weren’t you?” He laughed. “For a while, at least. Then I had to become the bad guy, had to remind you constantly,” he screeched, “who you belonged to.”
“What?” I asked, trying to follow his outburst.
