Page 115 of Bewitching the Wolf

Silas is designing a new library we will build for all species to keep learning and studying.

Today is probably very like one of those Medieval festivals, I decide. A day of celebration and fun. Of love.

The Spring Moon Festival.

Already the Earth is teaming with monster species milling about with curiosity and reverence. The elves are doing a good job of showing them around. Since the spell has been broken that kept us in the Labyrinth, there is nothing to stop everyone coming out and quite literally taking the air.

There was a huge feast earlier in the day, and stalls of wares are set up, home made jams and cakes, and crafts. Mom and my sisters have set up a stall of crochet beanies, and knitted socks and gloves near the opening to One Moonbeam Cave. Sales have been brisk as Earth evenings can be cool, we’re finding.

It’s been a little more difficult for Sammy and Clem to spend time up here. They’re still learning to breathe, and have to use the breathing apparatus some of the time. But even with those contraptions on, they look happy, up here with Arlo and Otis at their sides as they explore the grassy knolls and woody nooks.

But now the evening is drawing in. Dusk has arrived, the sun dipping behind the distant hills and the world readying itself for darkness. Tiny stars multiply in the velvet sky above my head.

I wait expectantly near the edge of the woods, my breath hitching.

It will be easy to get lost in all this thick undergrowth.

Then found.

And rutted.

Above the bank of trees, the moon rises, strange to my Labyrinthian eyes, a huge pale orb shining down out of the vastness of a darkening sky. It casts an eerie silver light.

But it is not dangerous. I’m not fearful. And at some primal level, it speaks to the vixen in me. The one that would hunt, and forage food for her cubs, in the days before the apocalypse.

A little shiver runs down my spine. This is it.

The chase will soon begin.

The thrill of running from a huge beast. Of being caught. Even if that beast is the guy I love. The darkness, the smell of pine needles and leaves, the sound of night birds, cicadas—all of it makes me almost giddy with anticipation.

And then I hear a rustle. My ears twitch. Heat stirs at the nape of my neck.

“You better run, little foxy lady.”

It’s a growl, more wolfen than human.

I feel the tickle of his breath, the fur of his pelt against my bare skin.

A paw lands on my neck, and a claw gently scrapes along the muscles of my spine. It’s delicate, sensual, but hums with danger. It could harm me if it wanted to.

And then… I realize I’m shifting. Into my vixen. My snout extends, I am bent forward by a sudden force and suddenly I land on four paws, crunching the leaves below them. My beautifully made outfit is shredded. Only my tail and ears remain recognizable, but even they have taken on the beast in me and are more attuned to my surroundings. I bound off, whiskers twitching, my upturned snout catching the scent of wolf pheromones, my body responding with primal fear.

But it’s a fear that is thrilling. Joyful.

And so I run.

I wend my way through bracken and jump over streams, and behind me I hear the heavy footfall of a big animal, not far away.

When I reach a clearing I stop. There is no sound here. It’s so quiet, not even the insects chirp. A moonbeam filters through the trees.

I stand, one paw raised, my snout scenting the air.

I feel the thud of my own heart, the pounding of blood in my ears. The air at my nostrils, my pupils dilating to take everything in.

Suddenly there’s a low growl, and then a great shadowy form leaps from the side. Landing on me, winding me.

Rolling me.