Chapter 32 #2
I want to run, Anya whimpered. I need to run. I have to run.
Pack. Pack. Pack.
I need my pack.
Roderick shot up as the strange call of the loons they heard on the beach rang out.
Ordinarily, he would have found it rather obnoxious at this hour.
But now the call reminded him of their moment on the sand, the boundless glee in her laugh as he poked her toes in the sand, and the tender kiss she’d pressed on his probably-too-scruffy cheek.
The memory soothed the sudden jolt from the dream.
His knightly training quickly took over, prompting him to do something.
Anything. So he stood and walked the perimeter of their pitiful camp a few times, staring into the shadowy woods.
As a knight, he was taught to guard against the dark, question what waited around every corner.
Have your sword at the ready, for the unknown is your biggest enemy.
But now, he could see why Anya loved the dark. It had a sort of softness to it. The moonlight caressed everything under its wing with a gentle glow, bringing life to something he once thought cold, worth little more than the detritus of the tide the moon washed ashore.
The truth was all the more beautiful.
He cast a glance at Anya, who was curled up under the lean-to in a rather dog-like position. A smile curved his lips. He couldn’t say that aloud.
His face paled as he caught her twitch—no—writhe.
“Agh…” Anya groaned softly, almost inaudibly, then growled low in her chest. He crept quietly to the facade of the shelter, not wanting to scare her if she woke with a start.
His eyes grew wide at the sight of wolf teeth jamming their way into her gums and patches of fur spreading on her neck.
Her claws grew longer, then receded, then dug into the ground as she whimpered.
Roderick cautiously knelt beside her, but his pulse kicked up. A twig snapped under his knee. Anya’s golden eyes popped open, pupils thin as needles.
“Don’t look at me,” she hissed through gritted teeth, voice hardly more than a growl. The muscles under the sleeves of her dress rippled and flexed, bursting the seams.
“What’s happening?” He tried to calm the panic in his tone, but failed spectacularly as a quiver broke his words. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
“It’s the…moon…It’s stronger here…but I can control it…give me…a minute…grrah…” Fur sprouted on her cheeks and hands like grass in a barren field.
A little ease worked through the tension in his shoulders. She wasn’t dying, or sick, or even in danger. She was fighting the wolf beneath her skin tooth and nail.
She was fighting herself.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Let it happen. This is who you are. If you want to run, I’ll make a way for you. If you want to howl, I want to listen.”
Her were-voice flowed into his mind between words. Anya whimpered and hid her face with furry, clawed hands.
I don’t—
“—want you to see me…” she rasped, voice low and garbled.
…at my worst…
“…because if you do—”
—your feelings will change…
“Look at me.” He gently pulled her hands away, cupping her fur-patched face before diving deep into her fearful, golden eyes. In any form, her spirit was still in there. He wouldn’t let anyone stifle it, not even herself.
“Nothing will change how I feel about you. Nothing. I’m not going anywhere.”
He brushed his lips on hers, then rested their foreheads together.
His confession seemed to ease her agony. Her breaths became panting huffs as she shifted the rest of the way, tearing her one and only dress to shreds.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
Ahh…A satisfied sigh released the visible tension in Anya’s haunches as she collapsed to the ground. The sight of her peace-filled eyes evaporated the last of his lingering fear.
“Do you want to run?” he asked, brushing a hand through her golden fur. He’d give anything to watch her revel in the moonlight, jaws wide and happy. Maybe he’d even run with her. He would run until his lungs burned if it brought a smile to her face.
Anya shook her head and yawned, showing off her toothy maw.
I want to sleep…I want to sleep, just like this.
With my pack. With you…She curled around him, settling in right below the skylight he’d made for her.
He couldn’t resist the simple addition to the shelter.
Earlier, as he lined the skylight with sticks, he’d imagined Anya gazing up at the stars until her eyes grew heavy, falling asleep with a contented smile curving her lips.
But instead, he now found himself staring up at the stars with his head on her warm flank, losing himself in the steady rise and fall of her breaths.
Was she calling him her pack? Or was she still foggy from a dream?
The thought of Anya considering him pack made a warm glow spread in his chest. It was a single word with a depth of meaning—a meaning he understood now that the Lupus Star had welcomed him into theirs.
It meant she felt safe with him. She felt home.
She felt accepted and cherished and cared for—like she was finally able to blossom and reach for the life she wanted.
And that was exactly what he aimed to give her.
I’ll be your pack, Anya.