Page 36 of Tide Touched

Moira glares, so I turn, the girls at the little bonfire at my back.

Chapter Twenty

Katie

I squeeze Moira’s hand, glad for her company. I stare up at the sky for a moment, glad to be outside, out of that room. The trees provide good cover, the stars winking between the long branches. I close my eyes, my mind and body still reeling.

I’ve escaped, relatively unharmed. And Killian is my mate. He came for me. He couldn’t not come for me, he’d said. As though it were obvious.

I reach up, pressing a finger to my lips. I was half-conscious when he’d kissed me—given me mouth to mouth—but I’d felt him. His lips, soft and warm. Tender. So different to Carter’s.

Killian’s didn’t feel like a wall, pushing down on me.

His felt… right.

My fingers trail to my chest, over my thumping heart. I thought I was mated to Carter. I was so physically drawn to him. But this is… so different. Like a missing puzzle piece finally slid home.

I let my mind float, finding sleep. Even though Killian is nearly a stranger to me, I’m glad he’s here. Watching over us. I feel happier, safer, from the last five minutes with him, than the last several days with Carter.

I wake in the shade, the morning sunlight filtering in through diagonal branches, shaped to form a point. I sit up with a frown, looking at the makeshift tent formed around me. A few rays of light leak through the slight gaps. I blink a few times. I don’t remember the last time I slept that well.

There’s a note under a rock. I pick it up. It’s from Killian, asking me to stay put. That he and Moira have gone in search of supplies. I make a face. ‘Stay put.’ I scrunch up the note. ‘I’ve had enough of “staying put”.’ I climb out of the little branch-tent and stretch my arms wide, groaning as my muscles start to ache.

My new, sensitive wolf’s nose finds the little package of food they cooked and left for me. I pick it up and give a sniff. More roast rabbit. Where’s coffee when you need it? I take my bag of breakfast and find a sunny spot in which to sit and eat, splaying out on the grass.

I slip off my shoes, waggling my toes in the soft blades. It’s not as nice as sand, but it is glorious. I peel strips and chunks of the rabbit away and nibble on the still-warm meat, tilting my head back to bask in the light, the air.

In the that moment, a tendril of anger unfurls. Carter kept me away from this. Away from something as basic as fresh air and grass under my feet. Then his cool skin under my hands overtakes the anger; the look in his eyes when he’d told me to hit him. The bruises on his body. How he’d mournfully stood by my window. You should be allowed to run.

My anger slips away. I don’t think it was Carter’s fault at all. I think he is as much of a prisoner in that place as I was, locked doors or no.

I want to shake my thoughts away, so I peel off my clothes and try to shift. I’ve only done it once—at the behest of the Tide Witches, no less—so I don’t know how to trigger it. I close my eyes as the morning breeze caresses my bare skin.

I concentrate on my wolf, writhing inside me, eager to be free. Come on, I coax her. After a moment, a prickling wave washes over me as fur begins to sprout over my body. I cry out as my bones start snapping, reforming. I choke on a sob as I land on all fours, and soon the pain fades.

My wolf looses a resentful howl, furious as I am to have been locked up. I’ve only had a brief time with my wolf, still soulmates, yet strangers.

I take a tentative step forward. Last time, I ended up on my face. Four legs are harder than two. Even walking slowly, I can feel my wolf smile, stretching her legs. The fur on my skin—which I might have thought would feel strange—feels warm, pleasant. Like a favourite blanket wrapped around me.

One paw in front of the other, a slow walk, becomes a steady pace—only slightly tripping now and then—until I lose track of how far I’ve travelled. My senses are overwhelmed with crystal-sharp vision. I stare up, into the trees, spying a far-off birds’ nest as the small creatures wake and begin their song.

The strongest sense is smell. I inhale, exhale sharply, the mixture of a hundred scents overpowering to the point I wish I hadn’t eaten so much, my stomach turning.

My head on a swivel, I’m bombarded with aromas of earth and dirt, of the crisp scent of new, sprouting leaves of infant plants. Of the older aromas of bark and wood of ancient trees, their roots set deep within the ground.

My throat goes dry when I catch the scent of fresh, running water. My wolf lurches toward it, racing through dense woods, jumping over thick roots and avoiding sharp-looking rocks. In that moment, my wolf takes over, as though taking care of my primal need to drink, to bathe, letting me sit back and relax.

It’s one thing for my wolf to surge within me when I’m in human form, but shifted like this, when she wants something, she can go for it.

I come to a stop on the edge of the river bank and stare up at the rushing waterfall, my wolfy mouth hanging open, panting slightly. I pad to the edge, careful not to fall in, and dip my head to take a drink. For the first time in my life, I see myself as a wolf in the reflection of the water.

A little buzz of fear jolts through me before I remember it’s me. Wolves are big and strong and overpowering—even females. I reach out and paw at the water, sending the image rippling. I never quite connected the two images, that of wolf and me together.

I duck down and keep drinking, my longer tongue lapping at the water. Well, that’s different, I think, but my wolf seems to know what she’s doing.

Something darts under me, and before I know what I’m doing, my wolf swipes a paw into the water. I catch a glimpse of a tail as the fish swims away. I smile to myself. This feels like me. Finally.

Still in wolf form, I pad around the river toward the waterfall. Something inside me stirs, pleased to be by a large body of water, like the ocean. I pause just opposite the waterfall and try to shift back to human form.

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