It doesn’t feel like a new shape.
It feels like all my life I’ve been wearing somebody else’s skin, and now I’mme.
Like my brain has always been wired forthisbody, and I’m only now finding out.
Like I was born for this.
My ears swivel, marking the birds that flutter away ahead and Morgan’s quiet footfalls behind me.
She’s fast.
But I’m faster.
I spill downhill into the sprawling gardens, avoiding the path and the crunch of the gravel, sticking to the grasses and bushes where my instincts keep me weaving, ducking, flowing.The forest beyond calls, and I answer.
I think this is what a runner’s high is supposed to feel like.
As I surge into the dense trees, Morgan’s footsteps go quiet, and I thrill with pride, knowing that I’m putting more and more distance between us.
I leap across the basin of a waterfall, diving into shadows on the other side of dusk.
Then there’s a split second where I see her, pouncing from the darkness, before the wall of muscle and claws that is Morgan Hunter collides with me and tackles me to the ground.
For once, I don’t panic. I was moving fast enough that her grip isn’t secure yet, and I get my feet under me and wriggle away.
I bound two paces before her leap overtakes me again, claws grasping my shoulders, yanking me down to the ground.
We roll, crashing through a row of bushes, each scrambling for the upper hand. She’s stronger, but I’m quicker, and I keep slithering away at the last second, my slender wrists slipping through her grip.
She pounces again, making a cage around me with her hands and knees.
I twist and kick, gaining leverage and clawing at Morgan’s chest before her hand catches one wrist and then the other, pinning them above my head.
I pull my feet up and get one against Morgan’s chest, pushing hard, but her hand around my wrists doesn’t budge. We grapple again, and my newfound strength makes her work for it, but every time I think I’ve made some room for myself, she closes in tighter.
I yank and tug and claw against her, but she’s iron. Her claws pierce my skin, tearing as I struggle, releasing the coppery tang of blood into the air. It feels too good to stop, like there’s an itch I’ve spent my whole life trying to scratch, and it’s deep, deepunder my skin.
My stomach flips, and that runner’s high turns to straight heat.
Finally, I can’t move anymore, and I lie there panting, face down in the dirt, Morgan’s breath washing over my back. She pins my wrists overhead, and her shins brace into my calves, keeping my legs spread. She’s so much heavier than me, I have no hope of escaping now.
No quip finds my tongue, nor any word at all—just a primal growl as I continue struggling.
Because it’s not about escaping.
It’s about being absolutely, deliciously sure that I cannot.
Morgan lets out a low snarl that sends my back arching as she grinds her hips against my ass, her cock quickly growing along the small of my back.
Where before Morgan was all control and torment, now she is primal, aching need.
She drives into me with no warning. My ass is still slick from earlier, and she slides easily in. Her knot is only starting to rise, so it drags through my rim, igniting fireworks in every nerve.
I try to pull away and predictably fail.
Morgan lets out a possessive growl that does something deep and chemical to my brain.
Her fangs drop to my collar, biting hard, and the pressure is too much to bear. Not because of my breathing, which comes out in choked gasps, but because of the needy, visceral ache at the base of my neck.
