Not Himself
Murph had plenty of great relationships. He communicated regularly with colleagues, and he moderated an etymology forum. Maybe other people needed more than virtual Scrabble to feel connected, but he was content.
He was .
He still always did the daily crossword. Even Sunday’s. In pen. And in his loftier daydreams, he coined a word that would someday be added to the Oxford English Dictionary. But while he appreciated human drama, he preferred to watch it unfold from safe distances. In print. On the stage.
Yet here he was, clumsily kissing star reporter Levity Jones.
He wanted her so much, it felt like a need. And that need drew a rumble from some hitherto unknown depths in his chest. All very animalistic and uncanny. He wished it would just stop … right up until Levity responded in kind, her answering rumble gentle as a purr.
Well, now.
Maybe things were going rather well?
Except … oh, help. Hadn’t that been a fang?
But then she hummed in an appreciative way, and all of his priorities shifted. His new senses fixated on Levity in a way that left Murph unsure if he even recognized himself. Which was terrifying.
“Shh, Murph. Look at me.”
“Really rather not.” This wasn’t like him. He hadn’t imagined he was capable of … this. “What am I even doing?”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to look, but will you listen?”
He tucked his chin over her shoulder, hiding his face in her hair. Which may have been a mistake because he kept trying to place the scent of it. That made it hard to listen. He wished to file a protest. “We are not the sort of friends who engage in frivolous intimacies.”
“Certainly not. I’m imposing, and I apologize. We’ll get you a better companion for this. Mare Blazelock might know someone. Maybe Shep could steady you.”
“Talk sense, please.”
“I will if you’re ready for more.”
He straightened, then lunged for his quilt, then dabbed at damp lashes with its border. “Should I be relieved that there’s more? Or wary?”
She huffed and reset herself, offering both hands again. “With the firm and mutual understanding that we’re not the sort of friends who engage in frivolous intimacies—at least, not usually—I’m going to have to ask again. Do you trust me?”
“That all depends. Your breakfast recommendations are consistently excellent. I trust those. Your comma usage is a trial. Your grasp of idiomatic phrasing is stellar, and given the literature you can quote off the cuff, I’d probably trust your taste in books. But, Levity … I have no context for this. No alphabet. No syllabary. No cypher.
He could have gone on.
But she distracted him by hiking up her skirt and doing a little shimmy. “We were headed this way anyhow. Well, not us exactly. But I can do this much for you. And I’ll vow it by all the moons, your secret is safe with me.”
Then she was taking his hand and guiding it, holding his gaze all the while.
And he just knew, even before his fingers bumped fur that was somehow invisible … but entirely tangible. A tail. Like his. Like him.
“It’s simple, Murph,” Levity said. “You’re part wolf.”