Page 156 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

But I’m lower to the ground. The world towers over me now. I’m covered completely in charcoal fur.

I can see it coating my… paws. Four of them, tipped with claws that dig into the forest floor. My tail moves without my conscious control, tucked between my legs in fear.

Wait—what the fuck. I have a tail?

I try to look down at myself but my neck doesn’t bend that way anymore. I can’t see my own body properly.

“Can you understand us, Wolf?” the mage asks, crouching to my level.

His face is too close. I can smell everything about him. The component herbs in his spell reagents. The faint scent of fear buried under confidence.

He’s afraid. Good.

I bare my teeth, try to say ‘fuck you.’ It comes out as a snarl.

“Perfect. He’s all there, just... repackaged.” The mage stands and brushes dirt from his robes.

“This is brilliant!” the archer exclaims, still laughing.

I want to kill him and tear out his throat. The urge is more intense than any human rage I've ever felt. It’s instinct and emotion mixed together into something overwhelming.

I lunge at him, or try to.

My new body responds differently than I want to. I’m aiming for his throat but my angle is too low. The archer sidesteps easily and I crash into a tree.

Pain explodes across my skull and stars burst across my vision. The archer laughs harder at my failure. I hear his heartbeat underneath it, steady and amused.

“He’s still getting used to it,” Quinnlan observes, watching me shake off the impact. “Give him a few days, he might actually be dangerous.”

“Doubtful,” the archer scoffs. “Should we leash him?”

“No need for that, Stark.” The mage pulls out something from his pack.

A black leather collar with runes etched in silver. It’s a fucking collar.

“This will do,” Quinnlan says, approaching me with calm confidence. The writing pulses faintly in the fading light.

I back up instinctively.

But I can’t run far. My muscles are still sluggish from the transformation and fail to coordinate properly. The collar clicks shut around my throat.

It burns the moment it touches my fur. The magic sears straight through my skin and muscle, branding itself into my very essence.

I feel the compulsion.

The collar doesn’t just bind my body like chains or ropes. It is far worse. This thing burrows into my mind and wraps around it like a parasite.

“Come,” Quinnlan commands.

My body moves, following him. Every part of my consciousness fights against the movement. But my paws keep walking.

No, I don’t want to do this.

I plant my feet, trying to resist. The collar tightens. I dig my claws into the earth and refuse to move.

I will not obey him.

But the magic squeezes my throat from the inside, choking off air until black spots dance across my vision. I take a step forward and the pressure releases.