“It is,” I agree, surprised he’s seeking me out.
Hudson has always been polite, but our interactions have been limited. I’d almost started to wonder if I’d done something wrong.
He moves to stand beside me, and we watch the lake in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The only sounds are the gentle lap of water against the pilings and distant birdsong.
“I was going to walk around the property,” he says finally. “Check the perimeter. Would you like to join me?”
The invitation catches me off guard. “Me?”
His mouth quirks up at one corner. “Unless you see someone else here.”
I smile back. “I’d like that.”
We follow a narrow path that winds along the lake shore. The grass tickles my bare feet, but I don’t mind. There’s something freeing about walking without shoes, feeling the earth beneath my soles.
“You seem happy here,” Hudson observes after we’ve walked a while.
“I am. It’s… easier to breathe here, somehow.”
He nods as if this makes perfect sense. “The mountains have that effect.”
That’s when I feel her.
My wolf.
It’s overwhelming.
I grab Hudson’s arm and look up at him. “I think… I think my wolf wants to come out.”
I’m excited and scared, but mostly excited.
I hurry to remove my beautiful dress before I tear it, and I almost don’t make it. My claws come out, and my body snaps.
It’s painful as hell, and then it’s pure ecstasy.
Everything is different.
The world explodes into layers of scent and sounds that my human senses could never detect. I can smell every wildflower in the clearing, hear the heartbeat of a squirrel ten feet away, and feel the subtle variations in the earth beneath my paws.
My paws!
They are tiny but cute.
The thought sends a thrill through my new body—I have paws! I flex them experimentally, feeling claws extend and retract.
Holy shit, I did it. I actually shifted.
I look over at Hudson, who has also transformed. His wolf is enormous—a massive white beast with intelligent eyes.
Beside him, I feel tiny and delicate.
I glance down at my own body, trying to get a sense of myself. My fur looks silvery in the shaded sunlight, similar to my haircolor. My legs are lean and quick-looking, built for speed rather than the raw power Hudson’s form displays.
I take a tentative step forward, then another, getting used to the strange four-legged gait. It’s awkward at first—like learning to walk all over again—but there’s an instinctive knowledge guiding me, my wolf lending me her understanding. Within moments, I’m moving more confidently, circling Hudson with growing excitement.
He watches me with what I swear is amusement in his eyes. He lets out a soft bark that somehow translates in my mind as encouragement.
Try running, he seems to say.
