Fear skitters down my spine, but Ryan’s hand is rubbing circles on my thigh, and the familiar fear of discovery I’ve been living with slowly ebbs away.
“I haven’t… I haven’t turned, or is it shifted?” I ask, and he nods encouragement. “I haven’t shifted in years. Not since the first time. I’m not even sure how to. That time, I couldn’t stop it. I tried, but nothing worked. I was so afraid of anyone finding out and what would happen to me if they did.”
“Oh, Kitten,” he whispers, pulling me onto his lap and wrapping me in his warm arms. “I can’t imagine how awful it must have been to suppress her like that. She must have been itching to get out all the time. How did you keep yourself sane?”
I snuggle into his chest and breathe him in. “It was so hard,” I say as the memory floods back.
Fifteen years ago
“Maya, sweetie, you don’t look good,” Mom says, then gasps when she checks my temperature. Panic mars her features, and she wrings her hands before rushing to the door. “Oh, you’re burning up. We need to go to the hospital. Frank, come quick.”
“I’m fine,” I groan. I’m never sick. Never even had a cold before. Is this what being sick feels like? It’s awful. My joints ache, and my skin burns, but I feel like I need to move. Like I can’t stay in this house a second longer. “I’m going to go for a run.”
“You have a temperature of 106, Maya! You’re delirious.” She goes to the door and calls for my dad again. Then she steps into the ensuite and comes back with a damp cloth that she presses to my forehead while waiting for Dad. “She’s really sick. I think we need to call anambul—”
“I said I’m fine!” I roar at her, and it’s so unlike me that Mom jumps back and clutches her chest. I need to get out of here. I need space. I need to run.
My head spins as I climb to my feet and stumble forward. My dad grabs me by the shoulders and tries to talk to me. He’s telling me to get back into bed, but I can’t. I shake him off and push him away. He falls back against the wall, a look of shock on his face—as if I shoved him much harder than I intended to.
“Your eyes,” he gasps, and I turn to the mirror. My usually dark brown eyes are glowing yellow, like how an animal’s eyes glow in the dark. The aching pain that’s been there all day grows heavier and sharper.
I suck in a breath, but I can’t get enough oxygen. Sharp pain shoots through me and I let out a scream, loud and visceral. My legs snap, and I fall forward onto my hands and knees. Mom is screaming, and it's so loud, so goddamn loud. I turn to ask her to stop, but my voice comes out in a snarl, and when I glance down, claws are pushing out of my nails.
Fear threatens to drown me, but the pain keeps me rooted in the moment, unable to focus on anything else. What’s happening to me?
Stop fighting it,a voice in my head tells me, and I choke out a sob. I need to wake up. This isn’t happening. It’s a fever dream. It’s—
A scream that turns into a roar rips out of me, deep and powerful. My spine cracks, then feels like it’s growing, tearing, stretching into something new and terrifying. My clothing rips.
Pain. Everywhere. All at once. There’s so much pain. Time has no meaning anymore. I can’t think. I can only feel as my body rips itself apart.
I lie on the floor, unable to move, wishing for it to be over. I squeeze my eyes shut, and after what feels like forever, the pain fades away, and the world comes back into focus. Except when I open my eyes, I see so much more.
Without the pain to block out everything else, sounds are sharper, and my vision picks up tiny details I never noticed before. And my sense of smell… there’s something acidic that I somehow know in my soul to be fear emanating from my parents.
They sit on the floor, frozen and clutching each other. Dad’s mouth hangs open, and Mom is shaking as tears stream down her face. Their salty tang settles in my nose. I move to reach for them, but my hand is not a hand anymore.
A strangled roar tears from somewhere deep in my throat. My parents flinch and cower as I push to a stand, wobbling on four legs as I gaze into the mirror on the back of my wardrobe.
Yellow eyes framed in black stare back at me. Orange fur striped in white and black replaces my skin. I cock my head to the side, and my reflection does the same. I open my mouth and take in the razor-sharp teeth. The tiger in the mirror repeats every action.
I’m a monster.
You are majestic, comes that voice inside me. Louder now. It is more difficult to ignore than it has been since I started hearing it a couple of years ago.
“Maya?” Dad asks, and I turn to him. Pain contorts his kind face. What will they do with me? This isn’t what they signed up for when they adopted me. They wanted a baby. Not a freakshow. Not a fucking tiger. “Can you… Can you come back to us?”
But how? My room is so small now. I can barely move my much larger form. How is this possible? I need to get out of here. I need to keep them safe. I walk toward my door, step into the hallway, and awkwardly amble down the stairs. Pippa is sitting at the table, headphones in, as she works on her laptop. Oblivious to her sister turning into a freaking tiger.
Mom and Dad follow behind, shuffling around the table to Pippa. Dad shakes her shoulder, and she throws him an aggravated look before her face falls as she takes in their serious expressions. She takes off her headphones and then follows their gaze until she sees me. She screams and scrambles out of her chair.
Dad wraps his arms around her, and I’m hit with an almost unbearable longing. Is this my future now? Will I always be a tiger? Or will I turn back? And what will I do either way?
I need to get out of here.
I cock my head toward the back door, but no one moves a muscle. My family stays as still as statues on the other side of the kitchen table. The table where we have eaten dinner together every night.
I can’t stay here now. They’ll throw me away like my birth parents did. Or call the cops and lock me up. They won’t want me anymore. That’s for sure. A low whimper escapes me, and I drop to my belly.
