Page 2 of The Witch's Shifter
Bears are common in this area, and I know wildcats make their home in the forest as well, but they don’t usually come around, opting for solitude instead. I don’t know of any other predators large enough to cause a fuss. What could have Harrison so upset, then?
A moment later, I hear something moving through the brush. My fingers wrap tightly about the handle of my basket, and I’msuddenly wishing I hadn’t wandered so far from the cottage. But nothing has ever threatened me in these woods before—not even when I was a child—so fear isn’t something I associate with the trees.
The low growl that rumbles out of Harrison’s throat has me almost ready to run. I take one step back, eyes still searching the forest. But the thing that steps from the shadows of the trees turns my veins to ice, freezing me to my spot.
I’ve never seen a wolf before, but I’m almost certain they’re not supposed to bethatbig. Even on all fours, the canine must be at least up to my shoulders. Its head is massive, and I imagine it could end me in one swift bite with those powerful jaws.
Harrison hisses, and the wolf growls in response, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates in my chest. But then its eyes find me, and they’re such a vibrant blue that for a moment I feel as though I’m being sucked into them, am getting lost in a world of sparkling sapphire, and I forget the fear crawling just beneath my skin.
The creature takes another step forward, snapping twigs beneath its paw. When it moves into a patch of dappled sunlight slipping through the trees overhead, I see for the first time that its midnight-black fur is matted along its shoulder and chest, like it’s coated in...
Blood.
It’s injured.
Another step, and this time I see that the wolf’s gait is troubled, hitched. It’s protecting itself, walking slowly. It continues toward me in spite of Harrison’s violent hissing. I want to take a step back, to abandon my basket of wild delicacies and sprint from the trees as fast as my bare feet will carry me, but something prevents me from moving. The fear? Certainly. But there’s something else too: a curiosity, perhaps even a feeling of sympathy for the creature.
I want to help it.
The wolf pulls its lips back in a snarl, and once more, I see blood. It drips over its sharp teeth, stark in contrast against the gleaming white. Whatever happened to this animal, it’s probably lucky to be alive.
“Run, Aurora!” Harrison yells at me.
But I can’t. The wolf is holding my gaze, keeping me captive with that intense stare.
And despite the fear and panic coursing through me, I’m still standing there when the wolf lets out a pained whimper and collapses forward into the leaves.
Chapter 2
Aurora
FOR A MOMENT, ALL IS silent. I’m holding my breath, and Harrison has ceased his hissing and low growling. The wolf lies crumpled in the leaves, its black fur tangled with twigs.
“We need to leave,” Harrison says.
Still gripping my basket, I take a tentative step toward the beast.
“Aurora!”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, holding my hand out to Harrison. He’s so puffed up that he looks twice his size. “It’s hurt. It needs help.”
Harrison growls deep in his throat, but he doesn’t abandon me, choosing instead to hunch low in the crinkly autumn grass.
A few more steps, and now I can see that the wolf has deep gashes down its shoulder. It’s a bit difficult to tell from this distance, especially given the shadows, but I think there are more wounds on its chest and throat. What could’ve caused such damage, especially to such a monstrous creature? The thought makes me cast my gaze about the dark forest, but I see nothingmoving amongst the trees, and Harrison hasn’t alerted to me anything else’s presence.
A shuffle of leaves makes me jump back from the wolf with a gasp. And as I watch, the wolf’s body begins to move. Its long snout shrinks, and its black hair retracts, leaving rich brown skin behind. The paws and claws transform into clenched hands. Its legs contort and shift, as does its spine. And as I blink, the creature undergoes a full metamorphosis.
Now, lying in the leaves, naked and unconscious, is a man.
His skin is mottled with dirt and blood, his long black hair hanging over his broad shoulders like a veil. As I stare at him, his ribs expand with a shallow breath, and he lets it out in a strained grunt. Still, his eyes don’t open.
I look back at Harrison, who’s peeking over a tall clump of grass, green eyes narrowed.
“What is it?” Harrison asks.
My gaze flicks back to the man. “I think he’s... a shapeshifter.”
I learned about them at Coven Crest Academy, a school for witches and warlocks. Our professor invited a shifter in for a demonstration, and I’ll never forget the way the woman moved, the sound of her bones rearranging themselves beneath her skin. It still makes my stomach turn. If it were earlier in my pregnancy, I might’ve lost my breakfast onto the forest floor at the very thought of that memory.
