Page 59 of Bewitching the Wolf

I dry my face on my t-shirt, marveling at how easy and effortless this process of shifting was.

The last time I came out of a shift, I fell deeply unconscious. Thankfully, there’s no dizziness, no sign of passing out. Instead, I’m energized, focused, and alert.

I’m probably never going to understand the magic of shifting. I guess there’s no need to fret on something that is beyond my comprehension. What is important is that I find Tippy and that we talk, openly, honestly. And after that…

With a lightness in my step, I stride back toward the den, rehearsing what I’m going to say. A few wolf men and women greet me, and I respond with a salute, a hand to the brow, in true Trojan fashion.

It comes naturally now.

Things feel… different. My wolf isn’t tugging at my insides like it wants to burst out of me. It’s settled in my chest, almost as if it’s curled around my heart.

When I think loving thoughts about Tippy, my wolf remains respectfully silent, just listening, in sync with my thoughts.

I’m going to tell her how making love to her would make me the happiest guy in the whole Labyrinth. That I want to make her come over and over, just like she did earlier, keening at my touch. That I want to wake up beside her every morning and go to sleep with her in my arms each night.

And boy, I want it to start right now, tonight.

I almost break into a run.

And then I catch sight of a small group walking along a path toward the center of Wolftown. They stand out from the wolfen folk.

Of course they do.

A huge fucking minotaur, his horns at odds with the wolf folk here, holding the hand of a pregnant blonde human.

And trotting along beside them is the cutest little redhead, with pointed ears and the sexiest white-tipped tail. Dressed as if she’s going out for the evening.

Tippy.

My Tippy.

I remember suddenly that we were supposed to be having dinner with Arlo and Sammy. I was supposed to tell her… before everything went pear-shaped.

I feel my wolf wake up and scent her. For a moment, I’m on alert, hoping it doesn’t make any vulgar remarks. But it just lets out a small whine of pleasure.

I stroll over, my movements loose and easy. My wolf’s presence isn’t causing me stress now. I trust it around her. At last, we are on the same page.

Tippy’s amber eyes widen as she spots me.

Arlo lets out a holler, then bounds over and claps me on the back. I look at Sammy’s big belly and can’t help remarking, “Wow, Blondie, that’s one big bump.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sammy laughs. “No-one has called me Blondie since I last saw you, Jax, and I miss it soooo much!” Now it’s her turn to hug me. I feel the roundness of her belly like a huge basketball against me. “I have to push this out in another four months,” she says ruefully, rubbing her low belly like she’s got the biggest prize inside her.

Which I guess, knowing this is the first hybrid youngling in recorded history, is pretty close to the truth.

Arlo grins like the proud father to be that he is. There’s a reason humans wanted the enzyme in his sperm so badly. Arlo truly is a magnificent specimen of a bull man.

Finally, I turn to Tippy. Her eyes are huge, and there’s uncertainty in their depths. Her cheeks burn bright and I hope my eyes tell her what words can’t right now. But perhaps they don't, because she crosses her arms and taps her little foot, frowning fiercely. “Where the hell have you been?” she says gruffly (as gruff as a small wixen can be, that is).

“I went for a run.”

“For nearly three hours?”

“Yeah, I had to burn off some energy.”

She flushes deeper, but still she studies my face, her eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a big bruise just below your left eye.”

“Have I?”