Page 7 of Tide Touched

We gaze out at the expanse, and I try to ignore the nervous tightening of my stomach. The Water Pack’s blue tent takes up plenty of space, and I’m surprised to the see them perched on chairs as though they’re ready to watch some live entertainment.

Shit.

I’m the live entertainment.

I glance at Moira, who takes a step back to look me up and down. ‘You look stunning. You got this. March your ass over there. Ignore everyone else.’

Apart from Moira, there’s only been one thing keeping me in this miserable place I call home: getting my wolf. I swallow and nod. Bad Ass mode activated. I head straight for the Tide Witches

I’ve never seen wolves from one of the other packs before. Water Pack are our ‘allies’, but Earth and Air are under the care of the Starlight Witches. I wonder what it would be like to meet them one day. Not that I expect to.

I expect to get a boring mate—if I’m lucky—and live out my days here, probably ignoring my husband if I can, and sneaking out to the beach with Moira, swimming in the dark, and likely still checking out shirtless guys who run along the beach.

Zarah smiles when she sees me. ‘You look lovely, dear.’ She slightly dips her head to Moira. ‘Come, now. You must be excited.’

Hello, has anyone seen my life? There’s really not much to be excited about. I glance around those who have gathered, the eligible bachelors, so to speak.

Our Alpha, Declan, stands over six feet, and resembles a statue, the breeze not daring to rustle his neatly trimmed beard or hair. His arms are folded over his massive chest. He doesn’t nod or smile. I may as well not exist for all the attention he pays. That’s about right. His brown eyes land on the Water wolves, his jaw set, as though displeased by their presence.

Killian stands by his side, a smaller, slighter version of his tree-trunk-built father. His gaze slides to me, warming me from the inside. I wish I had the shell he had given me to touch, to caress the familiar smoothness. But I’m wearing a stupid dress which doesn’t have pockets. Why don’t dresses have pockets? One of the most confounding universal injustices.

The Tide Witches approach, tall and elegant in long robes of reds and purples. Zarah stands at the front, her robes the richest. ‘Katherine, welcome.’ She inclines her head.

I bow low. ‘Great witches of the Tide, I present myself to you and pray that you will bestow me with my wolf.’

My hair spills over my shoulders as I bow, my torso nearly parallel to the ground. I bite back any smart ass comments about asking them if they’d like me to kiss their shoes while I’m at it. This bowing stuff is ridiculous. We don’t bow to Declan.

My toes squirm within the cool blades of grass. If they notice I’m not wearing shoes, they don’t seem bothered. When the high priestess sets a hand on my head, a small sigh of relief puffs into the air.

‘Good child, you have our blessing. Run.’ The hand is removed.

I stand up straight and smile brightly, then turn to Moira. My best friend takes my hand as the moon’s light fills me up.

My first Shift.

Without meaning to, my eyes find Killian as nerves bubble up my throat. I am not looking forward to this.

As though reading my discomfort, Killian gives me a hint of a smile, a slight nod I take to be encouragement.

Moira squeezes my hand, drawing my focus as something ripples through my body. It’s time.

The snapping of my bones comes all at once, and before I can blink, I’m on my hands and knees. A scream builds in my chest, but what tumbles out of my mouth is a loud, echoing howl that reverberates through my body, sending my bones vibrating.

Pain flows through me as warmth and fire sizzle my blood. A Fire wolf. I howl again as my spine curves, and my paws hit the ground, russet in colour, catching the moonlight as I breathe heavily.

Beside me is Moira. Or, wolf-Moira.

My own wolf is giddy inside me. Thrilled to meet me. She pounces on my friend playfully, and we tumble about for a few moments. I hear the amusement in the Tide Witches’ murmurings.

Now’s the time. I meet Moira’s gaze, and she nods.

We run.

Moira has had three months with her wolf, learning how to shift. I have had five seconds, so I shouldn’t be surprised when I try to run—on four legs—and it doesn’t work out. I face-plant into the soft grass and a growl erupts from my throat. Super smooth, Katie. Trying to get up, my wolf whimpers and somehow I kick myself in the back of the ear, my claw scratching it a little. I get up and try to follow without falling again, my insides burning, knowing everyone saw my super graceful display.

The noises of the world are magnified as I run. The whispering of grass blades dancing beneath my paws, the distant lapping of waves on the shore. The voices of the people at my back.

A voice speaks so softly I could have imagined it. ‘Well done, Katherine.’ Killian’s voice, just a whisper on the breeze, meant only for my ears, newly acute.

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