Page 39 of Rejected Bullied Mate

Fuck.

I groaned, letting my head fall into my hands as I remembered the feel of Samson's hands on my body. I couldn't stop thinking about it. And the worst part? I wanted him again. Even though we'd spent most of the night fucking, I still felt empty.

Instead of laying in bed and dwelling on it, I showered after Samson left and decided to do something I'd sworn to never attempt again—shift. I hated to admit that Samson was right, but I was older and way more in control of my magic. I needed to try and use it to shift, especially if we were going to be in danger. I could defend my son a thousand times better with teeth and claws than I could with two fists.

I let out a long breath and closed my eyes.

"You can do this, Kiera," I murmured to myself.

I focused on my magic, letting it spread through my body. I'd partially shifted before, and it was an awful experience. Every inch of my body hurt, and I'd had to stop more than halfway through because I couldn't bear it. I knew if I shifted, I'd have to keep going until my wolf was fully formed, or I risked not being able to shift back.

And I didn't want to be stuck as a half-wolf for the rest of my life.

The only time I'd ever shifted, I'd been so distraught and overwhelmed by the pain that I blocked most of it from my mind. This time, I would go slower. There was no rush.

The quiet of the forest was comforting, grounding. I reached inside, searching for the well of magic I knew was there. I had used it for years, harnessed it, molded it to do what I wanted. But I hadn’t tried to shift in so long. Not since I was fourteen, not since the harvest moon when everything had gone so wrong.

But that was the past. Now, I needed to do this. For me. For Kit.

I reached deeper, calling for that magic, and felt it, flickering at the edge of my senses like a distant flame. When I called it forward, it came willingly, filling me with the warmth of its power. This was the easy part. It was the deeper, wilder part of me that would be difficult.

The part that terrified me.

I took another breath, trying to keep calm as I pushed myself to reach deeper. There, hidden away and curled up in sleep, was my wolf. She wasn't as close to the surface as I had been expecting, but I knew she was there. I could feel her presence, strong and steady.

With my magic, I reached out for her, coiling the strands of my power around her to pull her forward. There was a faint shift in the air, a cool breeze that passed over me, but nothing else.

Frustration bubbled up in my chest. Why couldn’t I do this? Why was it so damn hard?

More and more, I wrapped her in my magic, until she was almost cocooned in it, and I pulled. My wolf stirred, coming forward, guided by the power I had fed into her. Hope flared, but just when I thought I'd succeeded, the magic flickered out.

I was so close—but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t pull it together. The power was there, I knew it, but it felt too scattered, too tangled. My mind raced, trying to sort through the mess of emotions, the memories, the fear that had held me back for so long.

But as the frustration mounted, a knot in my chest loosened slightly. I was doing this for a reason. I wasn’t just doing this to prove something to Samson. Or even to myself. I was doing it because Kit needed me.

With a sharp exhale, I reached out again, my fingers twitching. The magic responded, just a little this time. It felt like it was finally starting to unfurl, like a flower blooming in the dark. My body started to tingle, and I swore I could almost feel the shape of the wolf inside me stretching, clawing, pushing against the cage of my skin. I felt the beginnings of the change, the first flickers of something that could break free.

The searing, horrifying memory of my first botched change tried to surface, but I pushed it back with all my strength. The energy in my body felt like a wild, burning thing—like it could rip me apart if I wasn’t careful. The strain of trying to hold it all in, the way it pulsed inside me like it wanted to get out, was too much. I gasped, my hands shaking. This isn’t how it was supposed to feel, I thought, panicked. But I couldn’t stop now.

I stumbled forward, bracing myself against the nearest tree, my breath ragged in my chest. I could feel the magic—my magic—slipping out of my control, its wildness suffocating me. The sensation was painful, but not in the way I had expected. This wasn’t the shifting pain I remembered. This was the weight of not being able to connect with it, not being able to make it happen.

With a groan, I let the magic fade, pulling back with every ounce of willpower I had left. It wasn’t the shift I needed, but it was something. A reminder that I still had a piece of it left. That I wasn’t as broken as I thought.

Still, I'd failed. I didn't want a damn piece of my wolf, I wanted all of her. I wanted to shift, like my son, like the mate I should abhor, but I wanted to impress anyway.

Frustration and exhaustion settled heavily in my chest as I sank to the ground, my knees giving way. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just sat there, letting the silence of the forest drown out the noise in my head.

Dammit. I'd been so damned close.

As the sweat on the back of my neck dried and I caught my breath, I thought about how Samson had explained helping Kit through the change. He tapped into the power of the pack to do it, so maybe that would be the key for me, too.

My wolf wasn't the problem. I was. I couldn't untangle my witch magic from my wolf, and it was keeping me trapped.

But what else was there to do but try again?

I took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in my bones, preparing to try to shift once more. Before I could begin, though, the sound of crunching leaves interrupted my concentration. At first, it panicked me—was it the attackers again? But it only took a second for me to pick up their low voices and identify them.

It wasn't the attackers, but it was the second worst option—Pete, Curt, and Francine. What in the hell were they doing out in the forest behind Samson's house? I quickly ran through the mental list of my choices: I could run back to the house, stay put, and hope they passed me by, or confront them and just hope for the best.

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