Page 12 of Mated

“Oh, don’t worry, I always carry a spare!” Our good Samaritan laughs and pulls a dog collar out of her cavernous, brightly colored woven bag. It is a handmade, long slip collar, but it looks like it will hold well enough.

“I’m appreciative of the help,” I say as I slide the collar and leash combo over Kira’s head. The odds of her walking nicely back tothe apartment are low—she’s not leash trained. My guess? As soon as she finishes her next treat, she’ll be off for more food. I run the real risk of being dragged around this park by what everybody will consider an unruly dog.

Bardo has caught up with us. He stops at a distance, arms folded over his chest, his head cocked to the side as he takes in this scene. Bardo is what some people call a gentle giant—though I have known him to be much less than gentle.

He stands damn near seven feet high, with long dark hair and a thick beard and mustache. He has very dark brown eyes, nearly black. His expression, when it can be read, can best be described as grim. I’m sure he smiles sometimes, but it would be hard to tell beneath that dense pelt of facial hair.

He must have been working out. He’s wearing gym shorts and a tight tank, and looking concerned. The most humiliating thing that can happen to a wolf is to end up on a leash, but I truly don’t have a choice, and I don’t think Kira actually cares. A collar seems appropriate for her.

“Come on, girl,” I say. “We need to get you a proper meal.”

I don’t know how much Kira is able to understand right now. Some shifters maintain a great deal of their human consciousness when in their wolf form. Others are closer to basic animals, especially at first.

“Thank you,” I say again as the woman moves on.

Bardo comes up, his expression solemn. “This is your mate?”

“Yes.”

“She’s a dilute.”

He’s referring to her coat color. Her pale coloration indicates her parentage is only part shifter. That is relatively common in our kind, though not in the Denholm pack. Full-blooded shifters are becoming increasingly rare, but our pack has maintained a high percentage over the years.

Bardo is looking at me with a little reproach in his gaze. He’s trying to hide it, but he can’t help it. I know what he is thinking. It’s the same thing everybody will think. The alpha should only ever mate with a pure-blooded female from one of the four original families. The bloodlines should be kept pure and strong. These are old-fashioned beliefs I’ve never questioned before, but they’re going to be questioned now, because this is my mate, and there is no changing that.

“I need you to get me some snacks,” I say. “My mate is hungry.”

Bardo nods and does as he is told. He is back in short order with an armful of snacks and treats.

“Thank you. I’ll call you.”

He takes that as the dismissal it is. So far, Wolf Kira has been relatively easy to handle. She is hungry, but she’s not flailing at the end of the leash the way I had feared. She’s sitting next to me, looking up at me, licking her lips, and panting alternately.

I feed my mate bodega chips all the way back to the apartment. It looks innocent enough to the world at large, much to my relief. This is nothing more than a walk in the park with some snacks. She licks my hand eagerly every time her mouth ceases to be full, indicating she is submitting to me, looking to me for sustenance and leadership.

“You are such a good girl,” I praise her, running my hand over her head and scratching her behind the ears.

She really is very dilute. In her case, it might mean more than the mere fact that she has a lighter coat color. For Kira, it seems to mean that she has some temperament quirks that make her seem more like a domestic dog than a wild wolf. That has saved the pair of us today, but it will raise eyebrows at the next pack gathering.

I run out of treats for her just before we get back to the apartment. As we wait to cross the street, she lifts up on her hind legs and nuzzles me more firmly with her nose, lifting a paw and pulling at my arm.

“We are almost home, and I will feed you properly then,” I tell her. “Sit down until then.”

She stays up on her hind legs for a long moment, testing the order.

“Down,” I say firmly.

She sits with a little whimper.

What a good girl.

Later, Kira sits nicely in the kitchen as I fry steak after steak. I was going to feed her raw, but having seen her in action, I am starting to wonder if her gut will be able to handle it. She’s a bit sensitive, and that sensitivity might very well translate to her tummy.

Before I can plate her meal, she starts to whine as if she is in pain. It could be because she’s consumed half the junk food in the city, or it could be because… oh the poor thing. She drops toher side and starts to writhe as her wolf form starts to slide away from her.

Staying in the animal form for long periods of time is not easy. It takes energy at first. Over time it will become something she can do, but for the moment, she is subject to the capacities of her flesh.

Shifting hurts. It is a brutal process that involves the complete transformation of blood and bone. The first transformations are the hardest. Over time, her body will adjust, but for the moment, the sight is one of mild horror as her fur falls out around her, a complete coat shedding in a matter of minutes. Her body twists and shrinks in some ways, extending in others.

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