Moonbright

Chapter 10

The sun drops and the wolf stirs.

Not the wanting. Not the pull toward the stream. The other thing, older. The animal rising under my ribs. Pressing up through muscle and bone.

Hours. Maybe less. The light's already dropping—copper in the trees, sun lowering fast.

Axan meets me at the clearing's edge. Already stripped to the waist. His shoulders tight.

"Hella's got the younger wolves. She'll keep the pups close."

"And Kestria."

"Fed. Resting. Dara checked her wound—said it'll hold through the shift." He glances across the open ground. "The human?"

"What about her?"

"She know what's coming?"

"Kestria told her."

"And?"

"And what?"

He folds his arms, waiting.

"She should stay inside."

I grunt. "Are you going to tell her that?"

"Keer."

"She'll do what she does." I pull my shirt over my head. Fold it. Set it on the bench.

"She'll probably end up out here anyway."

"Probably."

Axan snorts. "With the chicken."

"Probably."

Whatever he thinks of it, he keeps to himself. He nods once, and goes.

The open ground changes at dusk. Voices dropping. Clothes being shed—folded, stacked, set in doorways. Bodies moving to open ground.

Kestria's at her dwelling. Sitting on the step, arms around her knees. She straightens when she sees me, wincing.

"Don't push through the pain."

"I've been shifting since I was a child, Keer."

"You've never shifted with a healing wound."

"It'll hold. Dara packed it fresh." She meets my eye. "I'm fine."

She's not. The bond hums. Her pain muted but there. She'll grit through it. Always does.

"Stay near Hella tonight." The stab wound closed but the tissue underneath is still knitting. Poison slows everything.

"I was going to stay near Mel."

"Kestria."

"She doesn't know what's coming. Not really. Hearing about it and seeing it are different things." She stands slowly, careful, hand braced on the doorframe. "I'll be near her dwelling. In case she needs someone she recognizes."

"Your wound—"

"Will hold better lying down in wolf form than sitting up in human form. You know that."

Inside her dwelling, a thud. The bird. Then her voice, muffled through the wall—high, fast, scolding the chicken for knocking over whatever the chicken knocked over.

Don't turn.

I turn.

Kestria's eyes are already on me when I look back.

"Stay off your feet."

"Already planned on it." She smiles, small and knowing. She saw.

I nod. She goes inside. The camp is quieter now—fewer voices, fewer footfalls. Just the breathing of people waiting for the change.

The light bleeds out of the sky. Orange to red to gray to nothing. New moon. No light at all. And underneath my skin, the wolf pressing harder. Closer. Inevitable.

Her pulse from across the camp. Inside her dwelling. Fast.

I walk to the edge, to my spot. The same ground I've always stood on—facing outward, back to the pack. Alpha watches.

The last of the light dies.

Pressure and heat all at once, bones snapping and jaw extending and spine lengthening in one long wrench. My hands hit dirt—paws. Black fur pushing through skin, the world tilting, colors draining to gray and silver. Smell exploding into everything.

The camp opens up. Scent first. Every wolf. Every heartbeat.

The pups tumbling near Hella, still clumsy in their new-moon forms. Axan settling at the western edge, gray coat silver in the dark. Kestria nearby—woodsmoke, the sour edge of a wound still healing, lying near her dwelling.

Her dwelling. Her pulse loud and close and fast. Awake, moving inside, the pink bird making noise—sharp clucks, panicked, wings hitting walls.

I face the treeline. Eyes on the dark, ears back toward the pack. Her pulse through the wall won't let me hold still.

The rhythm in her chest spikes.

The first shift outside her door. Kestria. The wet crack of bones, the groan that comes out wrong—half human, half animal. Her breath catches through the wall.

Then the rest. All of them. The camp filling with sounds of bodies breaking and reforming. Wolves where people stood. Pups yelping. A young wolf howling—too loud, no control, shushed by a growl from Hella.

Inside her dwelling, a crash. The bird.

Her heartbeat hammering now. Faster. Sharper—

Minutes pass. She doesn't slow. My pulse shouldn't be tracking hers. I should be listening for anything that doesn't belong.

Warm bread and chamomile. Cutting through pine, cold dirt and every wolf between us.

The wolf turns its head.

Her door opens.

She steps out. Small. White hair loose. The pink bird clutched against her chest.

She stands in the doorway and looks at the open ground full of wolves.

Doesn't run. Doesn't scream.

Just stands there. Pulse pounding, hands tight on the bird. Looking.

No fear-scent. She doesn't have it. Scent coming off her—adrenaline. Heat.

Kestria lifts her head from the ground near the dwelling. Brown coat, amber eyes. A low whine, soft and steady. Melori looks down at her.

"Kestria?"

A soft chuff.

"Okay." High and thin, steady. "Okay. You're—yeah. Okay."

She crouches. One hand leaving the bird, reaching out. Slow. Kestria's ear. She scratches behind it, and my sister's tail moves once against the dirt.

"You're still you." Quiet.

Steady voice. Hammering pulse.

She straightens. Looks across the open ground.

Finds me.

The largest shape. Alone. Facing the dark. She's looking at me. Her pulse catches. Skips.

Don't move.

The wolf wants to. Every muscle pulling forward.

She sets the bird down. Nugget ruffles, clucks, waddles around and stops. A wolf near the fire pit lifts its head.

Nugget clucks at it. The wolf puts its head back down.

She crosses the open ground. Barefoot on cold dirt, arms wrapped around herself, picking her way between sleeping wolves.

Not afraid. Not careful enough—she nearly steps on a tail, catches herself, keeps coming. A pup lifts its head. She pauses. Lets it sniff her hand, then licks her fingers. She wipes them on her shirt and keeps walking.

Stop. Turn back to the treeline. She doesn't need—

Five paces.

She stops. Two feet away. Looking at me.

I'm sitting. She's standing. We're almost level.

"Hi."

My chest vibrates. Deeper than a growl.

Her eyes go wider. But she doesn't step back.

"You're really big." Her hands tighten around her elbows. "I mean—I knew that. Objectively. But this is—you're very large. This is a lot of wolf."

Her voice. I have no words. Just the pull.

She reaches out.

Everything goes still.

Her hand. Hovering. Inches from my jaw. She's watching my eye. Reading it. Looking for permission I can't give with words.

Her fingers touch my jaw. Below the missing eye.

Small fingertips against the coarse fur. Her scent warms. Sharpens underneath.

Pack members don't touch me. Kestria tries when she can. Not often.

Her fingers run over the ridge of missing fur where the skin healed wrong. Gentle. Exploring. I hold still.

"You're not so scary. Even with the one eye. You're just—big. And grumpy. That's not the same thing."

A growl rolls through my chest. Low.

She laughs. Short, bright, startled out of herself.

"Oh no. My mistake. You're very scary. The most scary." Her hand hasn't moved. Hasn't flinched. "Terrifying, actually. I'm shaking. Can you tell? I'm definitely shaking."

Her blood didn't change. Not even during the growl.

She scratches behind my ear.

The sound that comes out of me is low, spreading through the ribs. I lean into her hand. Press the scarred side of my face into her palm. Her fingers move—behind the ear, down the side of my face, into the thick ruff at my neck.

"Yeah." Softer now. "That's what I thought."

The vibration fades. My muscles unlock. One at a time.

She sits down. On the cold ground. Two feet from me. Her hand still in the ruff at my neck, scratching slow.

"This is insane." Same voice. Same not-waiting-for-an-answer. "You know that, right? I'm sitting in a field of wolves petting the Alpha and I should be terrified. I should be in my dwelling with the door shut. That's the smart thing."

I lean closer. Her hand moves deeper into the coat.

"But you're not going to hurt me." Not a question.

"You've had about a hundred chances to hurt me and you haven't.

You held a branch for me on the walk here and you didn't even turn around.

You stood in the mud and told me no one's sending me away.

And I keep waiting for the—I don't know, the part where it stops making sense?

Where you do the thing everyone's always done and I go oh, right, that's why you don't trust people. But it just keeps—you keep being—"

She stops. Huffs at herself.

"Anyway. You can't argue with me right now, which is honestly ideal. I should do all my important conversations while you're a wolf. No interruptions."

Her free hand moves to her eyes. Wipes quickly. Hoping I didn't see.

I saw.

Her hand stays where it is. Doesn't tighten. Doesn't pull. Just waits.

She's still scratching slow. I haven't moved. The camp around us quiet, every wolf settled. I settle with them.

"See, that's what I mean." Her fingers find the base of my ear. "You just checked on everyone in two seconds and came back. That's not scary. That's just—you're working. Even right now. You're always working."

Her hand pauses.

"And now you're sitting here guarding your pack in the dark and you turned your head when I came outside. I saw that. You were watching the treeline and you stopped."

"I'm not afraid of you. I don't know if that makes me brave or stupid, but I'm not afraid."

Her hand against my neck. Fingers buried in the thick coat. And I press into her touch. Can't stop.

She can't smell it. Human nose. Every wolf still awake can scent what's pouring off me. Can't crush it in this form. Don't have the man's—

Her other hand comes up. Both now. Scratching down the sides of my neck, into the heavy ruff at my chest. Fingers working through the tangles. I drop my head, chin on my paws. Her hands keep moving.

"You need a brush. This is—there are actual knots in here. When's the last time anyone—oh. Right. Nobody touches you." Quieter. "That's a long time to go without being touched."

My eye opens. She's looking at her own hands in my coat. Face soft.

She'd fix this too.

A sound from the trees. Head up. Alert. The dark—still, nothing. Wind through the pines. A branch settling. My weight shifts forward, hindquarters tensing, ready to—

Her hands stop. Flat. Weight balanced. Ready to move out of the way if I need to move.

She made herself lighter.

Nothing. I lower my head. The hindquarters ease.

"False alarm?"

A breath through my nose.

"Eloquent." Her hands resume. "Very informative. Thank you for that detailed report."

And I'm letting her. Pressing closer. Head dropping. Curling toward her.

People stop talking when I enter a room. Lower their eyes.

She's scratching my ears and telling me I need a brush.

A whimper from across the camp. One of the pups—the smallest, brown and clumsy. Limping on a front paw. Rock or thorn.

Her hands stop.

Her body angling away.

"Aww, poor guy." Her voice drops. Not to me. To herself. "Probably nothing, though. Could be a thorn. I'll check in the morning."

She turns back. Hands find my neck again.

A shiver runs through her. Then another. Small, trying to hide it.

She's cold.

The weight shifts. Toward her. My body pressing against her side, then folding—chest against her thigh, head coming to rest across her lap. Heavy. Too heavy for someone small. I start to pull back.

Her hands catch my shoulders. Press me down. "No—stay. That is a lot of wolf on me, but in a good way. You're warm. You're very warm. Stay."

I stay.

Her hands settle in the coat. The shivering slows. Stops.

"Oh." Smaller voice. "That's—ohhh."

Heat building where my body covers hers. Her fingers tighten in my ruff. Loosen.

"This is the most ridiculous thing that's ever happened to me." Quieter. "And I have a pink chicken."

Her shoulders drop. Muscles letting go.

"Keer." Barely a whisper. "M'not falling asleep."

She's falling asleep.

Her hand slows in my coat. The beat in her chest shifts—sharp and fast to long and slow.

She tilts forward. Cheek coming to rest against the dense coat over my shoulder. Small. Her breath against me.

Don't move.