Page 80 of The Turning of the Tables

I heard the bolt on the door again, and this time—thiswasan improvement—I was able to lift my head to watch as Wyatt came through the door, already holding a bowl and spoon. I sniffed tentatively—I’ve learned to snifftentatively, because it’s like things scream-smell now.

He had chicken again, but this time it smelled citrusy, too. Lemon. And something herbal. And something… earthy?

I swallowed a couple of times, trying to sort out where my vocal chords were. “Wh?—?”

Wyatt’s expression brightened almost immediately. “This?” he asked, lifting the bowl slightly.

I managed a tiny nod.

“Rosemary lemon chicken,” he replied. “Shredded, so you can’t choke on it.”

I wanted to tell him that I wanted to chew something. Gnaw on it. Crunch bones between my teeth… My skin prickled.

No.Stop.

Wyatt had frozen, watching me.

Just eat the stupid chicken,I told myself.You’re not an animal.

Except sometimes I was an animal. Well, a non-human animal. But I didn’t want to be that again. I wanted to sit. To eat like a normal person.

Emotion pushed at the back of my throat, and I felt saliva gathering in my mouth.

Stop, I thought again.Just stop.

Everything felt like a trigger. Food. Emotion. Fear. Anything and everything could fucking send me over the edge into hours of blurred images, painful smells, and panic.

Wyatt had frozen again, watching, waiting. But there was something almost pleased in what I could see of his expression.

“You’re doing really well, you know,” he said, then, his voice gentle.

I glared at him.

“It’s only been nine days,” he said softly. “And you’re already learning to control it.”

Nine days. Panic tried to rise, and I shoved it back down, my hands spasming and breath rasping. I looked back at him, his brown-gold eyes wary, but kind.

“Most people don’t even begin to get control until fourteen or fifteen days,” he said. “And we usually have to administer sedatives for them to really be able to get the hang of it.” He smiled. “You’re getting there all on your own.”

I studied him, trying to tell if he was telling me the truth or just trying to make me feel better.

“It took me almost seventeen,” he said, then.

He’s a shifter.It made sense, I supposed. You want to have someone who knows what it’s like. Who remembers—in asmuch as anyone could remember the hell I was going through. I was still in it, and I could barely remember the last ten days. I wondered what kind of shifter he was. How long he’d been one.

I swallowed again, wincing around my raw throat. “Hu—” I coughed. “Hun-gry?” I managed.

Wyatt grinned widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling up and his cheeks lifting the side of the mask. “You’re doinggreat,” he told me, then stepped forward so that he could crouch next to me and offer the bowl with its toddler spoon. “Really, Seth.”

“S—Sit?” I asked. Having gotten one word out, the next one was easier. It still hurt, but it was easier.

Wyatt offered me the arm that wasn’t holding the bowl. “See if you can pull yourself up.”

“Pull… you,” I told him. I was a lot bigger than he was.

He smiled at me, eyes lifting. “I can handle an orc, I can handle you,” he informed me.

I thought about that. I only knew Mason Manning personally, but pretty much every orc I’d seen was massive.