Page 81 of The Turning of the Tables

I reached out, my arm shaking from the effort of holding it up, and gripped Wyatt’s forearm so that I could pull myself up. He leaned away a little, providing counterbalance so that I could use him without pulling him over. There was a faint sheen of sweat on my forehead by the time I managed it, but at least it wasn’t from being feverish anymore.

“Well done,” Wyatt said, then handed me the chicken, although he kept his hands on it, as well, helping me steady the bowl.

I fumbled with the spoon, struggling, and emotion rose again, sending that odd electric sensation running over my skin and through my bones.

No.

My body shook. Wyatt held perfectly still as I fought myself, repulsed at the sight of the skin on the back of my hands rippling.

No. I don’t want to.I wanted to eat the chicken. My stomach was tight, I washungry. I knew I’d probably eat the damn chicken anyway, but I wanted to taste it—toremembereating it.

My mother had always said I was the stubborn one.

Well, that stubbornness was going to be useful for something, God dammit.

“Very nice,” Wyatt murmured as I shoved the rising tension back down into my belly.

I glared at my hand as I wrapped it around the handle of the spoon. It shook, but I managed to deliver a too-small bite of chicken to my mouth.

It wasn’t good, but it was the best damn thing I’d ever tasted.

I was three bites in before I realized I was crying.

It got easier,after that. Noteasy, buteasier. As long as I was careful, I could feel the change start, and as long as it wasn’t too strong, I could shove it back down. I wasn’t entirely sure that was good for my mental health, but I decided that focusing on my physical health was going to take precedence first. Because it was a lot less painful tonotshift.

Not only was the shifting itself painful, although Wyatt told me that would get better as I got used to it, but because I wasn’t in control of my wolf form—and Wyatt confirmed that I was, indeed, a wolf like Noah—I usually ended upbruised, scraped, and otherwise in rough shape when I came back out of it.

Yesterday, I’d only shifted twice.

I got to have actual chunks of chicken, some sweet potatoes, rice, and peas.

They also gave me a pair of scrubs, another reading pillow, and a blanket.

I only tore the blanket a little and left just one set of tooth-marks in the pillow. I did completely destroy the scrubs, though.

Wyatt told me that was normal, because I’d shifted while in them, and then panicked because wolves are not built to wear clothes, so they’d constricted me.

His eyes tilted up as he gave me a small smile when I’d given him a look that said I really hated this shit. “It takes time,” he said.

I completely lostit when they let Noah in to see me. Not like that—I managed to stay human, although it had been close—I just grabbed him and held on and sobbed like a baby.

So had he.

When I finally stopped, I noticed that he smelled different—familiar, butmore. With that same animalistic undertone I recognized from Wyatt—Oh.

I guess now I knew what shifters smelled like.

I wondered if every Nid had a distinctive smell, or if it was just shifters. I imagined that fauns wouldhaveto smell different, since they now had fur all over their legs. And vampires and ghouls probably also smelled different. They haddied, after all. That kind of a biological shift had toproduce a difference in smell. I didn’t know about orcs or elves. I supposed I’d find out.

I could also ask Noah. Or Wyatt.

Or Elliot.

Or Taavi or any one of Noah’s friends from work, for that matter.

I had a whole ready-made community of shifters who could help me. Support me. Teach me what I needed to know.

That should have made me ecstatic. I got to have something that so many shifters and other Arcanids didn’t have. I had a twin who understood exactly what I was going through. I had friends who weren’t going to reject me because I had developed the ability to grow fur and fangs.