Page 19 of Trick Me
Then my body arches without warning, spine bowing. The change is violent and undeniable. I should be terrified by the sound of my bones breaking and re-forming, but the thing inside me is singing with freedom once more.
The world explodes into sensation like the firstchange.
Ash’s scent dominates, but beneath that, I pick up the deer that passed not long ago. Colors fade but contrast sharpens. Every leaf, every shadow, every tiny movement becomes crisper. The night isn’t dark anymore; it’s graduated shades of silver and gray that show more detail than human daylight.
I push myself onto my side, scrambling onto all fours again.
Panic floods through me because I have zero control.
Is this how it feels for shifters?The thought is mine but echoes strangely, bouncing off this new presence that seems amused by my confusion.
I sniff the air, and Ash’s scent has me salivating. Which should be concerning but mostly just makes me want to get closer, to rub against him, to mark him with my scent so everyone knows?—
What the hell am I thinking?
I prowl forward, lips peeling back to show teeth. My reflection glints in his eyes, and I see myself for a moment—huge white wolf, bigger than any natural wolf has a right to be, eyes glowing gold in the darkness.
“Easy,” Ash says, voice dropping into something commanding that makes my spine tingle. “Now, back off.”
My legs lock, refusing to move forward despiteevery instinct screaming at me to pounce. I push against the compulsion.
“Sit,” he demands in that same tone, and my ass hits the ground before I can process the command. What the hell?
“Roll over.” He grins, enjoying himself.
I’m on my back, paws in the air, belly exposed, before the fury washes over me. The position is submissive, vulnerable, everything the wolf in my head hates. How dare he? I’m not a dog doing tricks for treats. I’m not his pet to command.
The wolf agrees, insulted by the casual dominance, by the assumption that we’ll just obey because he has a nice voice and authority issues.
I scramble onto my feet, tail stiff behind me. My ears flatten as I start to circle him slowly, deliberately, each paw-step silent against the forest floor. The wolf wants blood. Or at least pride. Maybe both.
Ash watches me, brow lifted like this is all very amusing. “Okay. Take it slow. Sit.”
I bare my teeth.
“Stay?”
A warning growl rumbles in my throat.
His smirk twitches. “Play dead?”
I lunge a step closer, lips peeled back over fangs, and that’s when something shifts in his gaze. The amusement drains, replaced by focus. He takes a step back. Then another.
“All right,” he mutters. “Message received.”
Too late.
I surge forward, claws outstretched. He dodges fast, but not fast enough. My claws catch his shirt, ripping fabric as he spins away and bolts into the woods.
“This is not how this is supposed to work!” he shouts, vaulting over a fallen log with impressive grace.
I chase because the thing inside me loves to hunt, lives for it, was born for it.
Ash is fast, dodging trees with inches to spare, sliding under low branches. But I’m faster now, four legs better than two.
“Stay back!” he shouts, that commanding tone again. “Stop!”
The compulsion flares over me like a wave, trying to freeze my muscles, to force obedience. But I push through it, drawing on every ounce of stubbornness that’s ever made me argue with ghosts who insisted they weren’t dead. The wolf lends its strength.
