Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Every eye in the place is on him right now. He commands our collective attention easily, naturally. There’s a certain adoration from us all, not quite like love, but something more animal. We trust him implicitly. We’d follow him anywhere. And we’d do as he said.
“Alright! Let’s do this!”
Trent throws back his head and whoops. Immediately the other dozen or so of us reply to his call. Sounds of excited, drunk people fill the barn and reverberate off the walls.
“We’re going to celebrate the full moon, bitches!”
As the words full moon come out of his mouth, they warp as his face begins to change shape, lengthen, and become furry. No matter how many times I see this happen, it’s always incredible. It happens quickly, but dramatically.
One moment the big, tattooed guy is holding us in thrall, the next there’s a massive wolf in the middle of the circle, surrounded by almost a dozen others. A couple of the other girls and I haven’t been able to shift because we haven’t met our mates yet. Female shifters don’t actually shift until their fated mate finds them.
The pack of wolves circles in the middle of the barn for a moment, some of the subordinate wolves licking at Trent’s face. There’s a lot of whining and excitement.
Trent allows it for a moment or two, then turns tail and heads out of the barn at full speed, the pack streaming out behind him in an incredible display of animal alacrity.
I’m so deeply jealous. I wish I could do that. I wish I didn’t have to wait for some fated mate’s magic cock to unlock my ability to shift. It’s so unfair, but it’s the way it works for whatever stupid reason. Some people say it’s because it protects us from being discovered by normal men, keeps our true natures and identities from being known. Males start being able to shift around thirteen, but they often end up outcast.
It feels like I’m never going to shift. Sometimes I wonder if I actually have it in me, or if they were just kind enough to take me in. It’s quiet in the barn now. The others and I pick up the red Solo cups and pick at the remnants of what’s left from the barbecue. The pack will hunt tonight. They’ll take down a deer, they’ll feed, and they’ll come back and pass out in a big naked pile.
I guess I might as well go to bed.
Everybody sleeps up in the hayloft when they stay here. I bought a sleeping bag, because being pricked by the bits of hay all over doesn’t feel great. Even with the bag I’m probably going to have lots of little pricks and bites. Worth it.
This is real freedom, I tell myself as I start cleaning up. For some reason, my mom comes to mind again. I keep thinking of her tonight. I wonder why. It almost makes me want to go and call her now, but I don’t have reception out here. I’d have to get a ride into the nearest town to get cell service again.
Maybe she wouldn’t be mad about this. She was always hovering when I was growing up, because she grew up as an orphan and it made her super protective of me. But I think she knew I had to get out on my own, and even though this isn’t the education I was supposed to be getting, it’s still an education. Every day brings some new revelation. I’ve found that I make friends kind of easily, and that people like me for who I am. When you’ve spent a lifetime trying to fit in, doing your best to pretend to be normal, it’s a relief to find out that maybe none of that was ever necessary.
My mom might lose her mind if she knew I was asleep in the loft of an old hay barn with a bunch of shifter strangers, or maybe she’d be proud that she produced someone who can handle herself in a place like this. I’m stronger than I thought. I’m more adaptable than I thought. And I’m going to survive no matter what.
Creeeeaakkkkk.
My eyes are closing when the sound of one of the barn doors opening downstairs makes them fly open. The other girls are asleep already. We’re camped out around the loft in various places, each according to where we are most comfortable.
The pack hasn’t gotten back yet. They wouldn’t come back in a creaking, creeping way. They’d return with full noise. I feel as though someone is in the barn with us, but I can’t see down off the loft and something in my body tells me not to move.
Everyone else is asleep, I think. They don’t stir. I don’t make the mistake of making myself stand out. I stay very, very still, I hardly breathe, and I keep my ears pricked. There are footsteps down there for sure. Someone is in the barn with us. Someone who isn’t part of the pack. Someone who doesn’t belong.