The world grew vibrant and intense. Scents surged around me, forming an intricate map of fragrances. The fresh scent ofponderosa, the earthy aroma of granite, the faint residue of last night’s flames, and beneath it all,him. The path emerged vividly, his essence entwined in the very fibers of the grass and soil, hanging heavy in the air.
I bounded off the porch.
Running on four legs was still disorienting, but less catastrophically than the first time. My brain was learning to interpret the signals my eyes sent while in wolf form, and while I still misjudged distances, I didn’t actively collide with anything right away. That felt like progress.
The trail led through the clearing and into the forest. I followed it at a loping pace that felt natural, my paws finding purchase on ground that would have been treacherous for human feet. The morning air was cool against my fur and I could smelleverything.
Especially my mate.
The scent of him led me deeper into his territory, and I found him in a meadow half a mile from the cabin. He was in wolf form, massive and dark-furred, his attention focused on something at the far edge of the clearing. As I approached, he turned his head and those amber eyes fixed on me with an expression that was somehow impressed and annoyed both at once.
I slowed to a trot, then stopped about ten feet from him. My tail, which I was still learning to operate, gave its best attempt at a wag.
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Then he turned deliberately away and resumed whatever he’d been doing, which appeared to be investigating a patch of disturbed ground where something had dug or scratched at the dirt.
I padded closer. The scent hit me before I saw it—the faint, residual chemical stink of the skinwalker, fading but still detectable. This must have been part of its territory, or a place it had marked or something.
I circled the patch once, nose to the ground, then looked at Silas.
He was watching me again, his ears forward.
I felt my wolf grin. I didn’t know wolves could grin, but apparently they could, because my mouth was definitely doing it.
I nipped at his shoulder.
Not hard. Playful, testing, the way puppies did when they wanted attention.
I needed attention too, but of a very different kind.
Silas went very still.
Then he turned his head and gave me a look that would be best described as scolding.
I nipped him again.
He spun faster than something his size should have been able to spin and caught me by the scruff. He held me there for a split second, his eyes boring into mine, making a point.
Then he released me and turned away again.
I was not deterred.
I bounded around him in a wide circle, kicking up dirt, then darted in and nipped at his rear leg before dancing back out of range.
His ears flattened.
My tail was wagging now, fully committed. The meadow was mine, the morning was mine, and this enormous grumpy wolf was also mine, and I wasn’t going to be ignored.
I feinted left, then right, then lunged forward and caught his tail in my teeth.
That did it.
He whirled and hit me broadside with his shoulder, knocking me completely off my feet. I tumbled into the grass and he was on me before I could scramble up, one massive paw planted on my chest, his weight pressing me flat against the ground.
He held me there, amber eyes inches from mine, his breath hot against my muzzle.
