Page 77 of Howl You Doin?
His expression tightens in thought. “Aye. That’s alright, then.”
I bow my head, regarding the pair of stockings and my single shoe on the ground near my feet as a shudder runs up my spine. I’m soaking wet, god knows how far beneath the ground, still freaked out, and freezing. My adrenaline is finally waning, and my energy is depleting fast. I want to go to sleep so I can wake up and discover this is all some kind of whacked-out dream.
I went from the best sex of my life with my boss, or boyfriend—boywhateverhe is—to shivering in front of a stranger with tingles coursing over my body like fur might grow from me again any second. Not how I really wanted this night to go.
“Do you know what I am?” I find myself asking, sensing he will tell me the truth.
“Yer a shapeshifter.”
“I’m not a werewolf,” I murmur defiantly with a pout, just to repeat it to myself. Oh god, what if this is just like in the movies?
He peers at me curiously. “Has Connor not told ye? Werewolves are massive, ye ken. Nothing like ye both.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask. “You know... between a shifter and werewolf?”
He folds his arms and looks off to the side like he’s thinking. He shrugs, as if whatever went through his head was easy for him to get over. His voice is calm and uncaring as he speaks.
“A werewolf is a mortal being who is cursed tae forcibly shift intae a humanoid wolf during the full moon. They’re generally loners. A wolf shifter is a mortal being who can choose tae turn intae a dog-shaped wolf via many means, like a special bloodline or a spell, and they often live in packs and talk telepathically. Then ye have what Connor is, and presumably whatyeare. Very rare species, and I think ye would be called lycan shifters: immortal beings that canchoosewhen they turn intae a humanoid wolf. Werewolves are generally much bigger than a lycan, and ye have control whereas they don’t. They’ll rip their own brother tae shreds, and the only people they’re protective of are their mates and offspring. Wolf shifters, on the other hand, are quite a feisty bunch, but they’ll sniff ye out afore deciding tae tear yer throat out.”
Oh my god. My brain can barely take in everything he’s just told me. It’s like every wolf shifter book I’ve ever read slammedall into one. How can humans not know about this? Or maybe they do, and that’s why there’s so many books about them!
“Are there people who hunt what we are?”
There’s a story in our family. One everyone tells their children as they grow up, about how our distant relatives hunted werewolves like in those silly novels. I always laughed and thought it was nothing but fun, like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Just silly little stories to make our childhoods more entertaining. But if werewolves and shifters are real...
The hair on my arms raises at the prospect of that being true. It’s a fun little family story. That’s all I want it to be.
His head goes up at that. “There’s always been barmy people who chase after myths and tales with pitchforks. They often harm innocents.”
“Right.” No shapeshifter hunters to worry about then, I think, since his response wasn’t really clear.
I frown at him and stretch my arms out, showing off my new power as I do. I stare down at my large frame. I’m pretty big, maybe a tad bit taller, but definitely no four legs.
Lachlan clears his throat. “The wolves will not want ye, ye ken, but I suppose Connor will tell ye all that.”
Connor has been sneaking into my room for weeks, sleeping in my bed every night, and he is some sort of Lycan. I’ve shared so much more of myself than he has. I’ve told him about my plans for the bakery at least, and even some details of my failed marriage. I’ve tried to open up to him, while all this time it’s been like pulling teeth to get answers from him. He at least knows about some of my baggage, while I know very little about him. Much less than I thought.
I do realize he had his reasons for hiding what he is, and I suppose no one would go around sayingI’m a werewolfif they were one—or a shapeshifter, rather. I most certainlywouldn’t. But it doesn’t justify him turning me into this with no explanation at all.
My stomach flip-flops with dread at having to confront Connor about all of this. My hands curl into claws and a sound that’s a half growl, half groan leaves my mouth. I want to see him, but I have no idea what I want to say to him when I do see him.
“Can I be turned back to normal?” I flex my hands in front of me and take a swift step back at the anger contorting his features.
“Och, lassie! Yer beautiful, and exactly as ye were born tae be. No running or hiding from it.”
I frown at the seriousness in his tone and look at my hand, eyeing it as if it might reach out and eat me. “I wasn’t born this way.”
“Neither was he, and that doesn’t matter. It’s fate,” he says as he rises to stand. He starts toward me, his hand outstretched and his brows pulled low. “Have ye even seen yourself in that form yet? When did he bite ye?”
I run a hand over my throat and shiver, remembering how his teeth had bitten into my neck. I frown, then my face heats in reminder of why he bit me, and I have no intention of telling Lachlan it was because I was being rammed against a wall as my head bounced and I was moaning for more.
“J-just before I jumped into the moat.”
Lachlan laughs. “Finally gave ye his first good tupping, aye?” At the twinkle of playful mischief in his eyes, like he knows all, I squirm in embarrassment. “I can scent it on ye. I never got your name, lass.”
“It’s Whitley.” My voice is multilayered, and I dart my hand up to my snout. I’ve changed again without meaning to!
Power hums beneath my skin lightly, and I can tell it’s whatever comes out and covers me in fur. And I have a funny feeling it’s responding to my embarrassment.
