I won’t let go of the cleaver.
It’s different for bitten versus born. That’s what we’ve always been told in Ironwood. Born wolves are the only true shifters out there. It makes me being moonlocked so much worse.
I swallow down my bullshit to focus on Grayson.
“My younger sister went through her shift early. She was terrified. She kept trying to run and hide like it would somehow help her escape the change but the moon always holds sway,” I tell him in an undertone.
The pack would brutalize Grayson now. Dad booted him out without thinking, assuming the human would die during his first shift.
We’d been monitoring him, sneaking around, waiting. Waiting is the worst part.
Waiting for him to change so I can finally see if he’s been cursed. Another shudder races over his skin and his jaw breaks and lengthens. His gums bleed.
All perfectly normal responses.
“I’m here with you. You aren’t alone,” I say. “That’s the worst part, trying to do this yourself. You don’t have the pack behind you but you have me and I’m not running.”
I adjust and slide closer, elbows on my knees and my legs screaming from crouching.
His gaze pleads with me for space, for privacy, for room where he isn’t worried about hurting me.
I brace myself for whatever is going to happen but I won’t leave him. Everyone deserves to have someone to watch their backs through the tough messy bits. Everyone should have a person who refuses to shrink.
He’s the reason I distanced myself from the pack these last few months. Poor Grayson, who didn’t want to be bitten, who didn’t ask for any of this, deserves better than whatever fate whipped up for him.
And if he’s moon-mad?—
I plaster a fake and fraying grin across my face and stretch my hand out toward the half-shifted man. “It’s going to be fine. Trust me.”
He shakes his head and lurches to the side, his limbs elongating faster than he’s able to process. He slams into the side of the couch and sends it screeching across the floor.
Another gust of wind spreads broken glass in an arch, away from the gaping maw of the window.
“Try not to panic,” I say in the face of Grayson’s absolute panic. He attempts to right himself and loses his balance, falling hard on his shoulder. I wince with him. “It’s worse if you panic. It will make it easier if you stay calm. Panic only makes it more painful.”
So I’m told.
My own control slips, the mask awkward and cumbersome at once, and a bit of my own fear and disappointment and worry leak outward.
His rounded, glowing eyes lock on mine and a shiver spreads along my spine.
“Don’t fight the wolf. And don’t worry about me.”
He lets out a shuddering breath, his vertebrae poking against the tightness of his shirt. The material shreds as the change sweeps over him and his back claws burst through his sneakers.
“The first time is the worst,” I continue, inching forward. When my knees scream in agony, I drop to the floor, landing hard on my tailbone. “Holly said her first time was a bitch. I’m not sure if it’s harder for a bitten were than a born one but I doknow you’ve got this. You’re a big, tough football player. Right? That’s it.”
I suck in a deep breath, loud enough for him to get the memo to breathe with me. “In and out. The wolf knows exactly what it’s doing and what it wants.”
And if the wolf is moon-mad? Cursed before ever glimpsing the moon for the first time?
“See? You’ve totally got this.”
My throat closes, fear swelling my tongue, but I keep breathing.
“That’s it! Calm is good. Panic is pain. You’re almost there.”
He holds my gaze through the elongation of his face, his jaw morphing into a muzzle. His eyes narrow as humanity slips away and I tense, expecting red.