legs. I am, too. I’ve only shifted twice, and neither one of those instances led to anything fun. Even though I’m at odds with my wolf most of the time, I need to become one with her. Shifting will hurt less, and plus, it would be nice not to fight with myself over every little thing.
There are horror stories about shifters who’ve gone mad because they never bonded with their wolf. I shiver at the thought, and my wolf reassures me with a gentle nudge.
After that, I try to read the manual like a good little Greystone Academy student. I really do. But now that the temptation is out there, it’s hard to ignore. We get restless, my wolf’s back arching as if she’s already limbering up. I read a whole page and realize I was never paying attention, so I start it three more times before giving up.
“You want to run? Let’s run,” I finally say, sighing as if this is the greatest hardship.
My wolf sees right through my bullshit.
Since I was little, I dreamed about traipsing through the woods near my house, chasing after my parents. When they used to go out, I’d watch them shift from inside the doorway, envy pulsing through me. Since I’m here, family outings have been taken away, at least for the time being, but the idea of running for fun shouldn’t be stolen, too.
A quick peek outside tells me it’s still early. The sun hangs low in the sky, burning a bright pink-orange in the tree line. I toss my manual to the side and leave the room, heading toward the main doors. I smile at other students who happen to be milling around the building, and almost unbelievably, they return the favor.
I’m on such a high when the warm air welcomes me as I step outside. Anticipation burrows into my stomach, popping my nerves in excitement. I make myself walk casually to the south lawn. Luckily, a row of little changing huts are lined together. I’ve seen similar things around Lunar back home. They’re places to get naked so you spare your clothes during the shift.
Spotting an empty one, I step inside. A whole set of directions and rules is posted on the interior of the door, most likely so students can’t feign ignorance. Everything the paper says is already explained in the manual I just read, so I carefully peel my clothes off and set them on the bench. My heart pounds. Butt naked, I stand in the center of the room and reach out to my wolf. “Ready?”
Like that’s even a question. By the time we’re old enough for our initial shift, our wolves are panting for it. The only reason there are rules against shifting early is so a true bond can take place between human and wolf. Shift too soon and the wolf can take over and run free, never returning to human form. Try to suppress the wolf and you’ll never be able to shift.
It’s a constant worry I’ve had over the years, but luckily, my wolf is as strong-willed as I am.
She doesn’t let me prepare for the shift before she rushes to the surface. The tingling in my arms from my coat coming out to the breaking of my bones happens in a split second. A scream rips through me as I fall to the ground.
Thanks for that, I grumble.
Tongue lolling, my wolf smiles now that she’s in control.
She pushes free of the swinging door and trots through the grass, claws sinking into the damp earth. The wind rustling through the trees tickles her auburn coat. The blades of grass tickle her feet.
Then, a familiar smell hits her.
My wolf immediately perks, her ears standing at attention. That sweet, sweet aroma captivates her very being.
She smells him.
8
Her copper paws dig into the ground as she races. The wind whips through her fur, making it ripple all the way to her tail. His scent is faint, but she follows it anyway. Nose in the air, she sniffs the wind to gain direction.
There are a bunch of cool things about being a shifter, but one of the negatives is that when human-Kinsey is walking around, I’m in the driver’s seat, completely operating our form. However, when we’re shifted, my wolf is in control. I can try to talk to her like she does to me, but it’s of no use. As we get to know each other, we’ll become one being, one mind, but that’s not the