Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Lotta
The hairs at my nape stand on end. My fingers tremble around the stem of my paintbrush, making my lines jagged and rough.
The jade wolf eyes on the six-foot canvas stare back at me with accusation.
Wolf Ridge High is dark except for my art room–the only place I have right now with enough space to paint on such a large canvas. I prefer to paint in daylight, but with the new teaching job, that’s impossible. Temporary job, I keep reminding myself to stay sane.
I attempt a few more strokes, but the trembling keeps messing up my lines.
Fuck it. Creative genius isn’t happening tonight. I drop my brush into the glass jar of paint thinner.
The yips and howls of the pack out on their full moon run carry down the mountain and through the cracked window, sending goosebumps racing up my arms.
Why?
Am I supposed to join them? My stomach knots into a fist.
I haven’t been on a full moon run in over four years. I don’t know if the fist-feeling is my wolf, angry for not letting her out, or my gut telling me not to do it. That if I indulge in my true nature, I will lose all my dreams.
Wolf Ridge will become my permanent reality. The four colorful years of art study in Chicago will wash out into nothingness like the paint on my brush. I swish the brush in the jar, watching the blue swirl before the entire jar’s contents turn to gray.
That’s how my life is beginning to look since I returned. My plans muddied and stained. Tainted with the pains of the past.
The howls grow closer. The pack shouldn’t be off the mountain, but it sounds like they’re coming this way. Probably Wolf Ridge High students, eager to mark their territory on campus.
My legs start to shake. I look out the window.
Don’t do it, artist-me growls.
She’s fierce. More fierce, even, than my wolf.
It took me nine months to master keeping my wolf in while living among humans in a big city, but I did it. My hair grew dull, and my complexion sallow. I lost ten pounds, which I didn’t have to lose in the first place. My parents begged me to come home, but I refused. Not even for the summers. Because once I had my wolf suppressed, I couldn’t chance her getting a taste of freedom again. I’d have to go through withdrawal all over again in the Fall. It wasn’t worth it.
Now, though, I’m getting hot and feverish. The need to get out there and join my pack has my feet dragging me to the door.
I feel like crying and puking at the same time.
“I can’t,” I moan out loud, catching the doorframe to stop myself from leaving the studio.
It’s no use. I sense the change coming over me. If I don’t strip out of my clothes, I will rip them. It’s like being a teenager again.
I strip off my clothes in the dark hallway, shedding them piece by piece as I run for the back doors.
I barely make it there before I shift. My two front paws hit the door handle, and the door swings open. I burst out into the cool fall air. The urge to run has never struck me this strong. I race down the football field, staying on the shadowy side in case any humans are driving by. Dirt flings from under my paws as I round the turn that leads out of the schoolyard.
I race up the hill, keeping to alleyways and back streets until I hit pack land. My wolf led me straight to the pack. Without any conscious thought of my own, I fall into position at the rear. I don’t recognize any wolves, but it’s been a while. Even as a teenager, I didn’t let my wolf out often.
We run up and around the mountain, climbing higher. After a stretch of no-thought, one appears in my head.
It’s pleasure.
Deep, deep pleasure. It feels incredible to run this way. To be my wolf-self. To feel the rocks under my paws. The bionic strength in my legs. The breeze across my muzzle.
And that makes me want to weep. Like I’ve betrayed artist-me.
But I quickly forget because a male wolf shoulders me, shoving me off to the side.
I turn and snarl at him. He’s a huge black wolf with a white patch of fur on his chest and around his face. His green eyes are strikingly beautiful. His scent is unfamiliar to me, but it tickles my nose, intriguing me.
He shoulder-butts me again, shoving me off to the side, away from the pack. I bare my teeth. He nips my hindquarters, showing his dominance.
My body instantly responds, not with submission but with heat.
Everywhere. It tingles and pools in my belly. Floods down my inner thighs.
He nips me again, and my core contracts. I’m suddenly aware that I wouldn’t be able to resist if he tried to overpower me.