Page 52 of Hallowed Bones

Frowning, I pivot to face him. Lyall moves around the chair he’d been standing behind and to the center of the space. Reyes mutters a curse; Cameron groans. Lyall strips off his shirt, and my jaw drops.

“What—why are you stripping?”

“He doesn’t need to,” Ezra growls, irritation flashing across his features like lightning.

“No, I don’t,” Lyall agrees cheerfully, all irritation with his friend gone as he tosses his shirt atop the chair. “And I won’t go all the way, but how else am I supposed to show off this work of art to get a pretty girl to like me?”

His hand glides down his chest and I shouldn’t watch, but it’s like my gaze is tethered to him. My cheeks flame. This has to be some sick fever dream.

Then he gasps—and suddenly, he’s not laughing anymore.

He drops to his knees, doubling over. What comes out of his throat isn’t human. It’s a sound that shreds through the room like claws and fangs. A growl so deep it vibrates in me. His bones crack, the sound making me flinch. His body twists against the hardwood floor as his bones contort and rearrange with sickening grace. Fur bursts across his skin like fire catching in dry grass.

I stumble away from him as both Reyes and Cameron rise from the couch. And slam straight into Ezra.

Oh no.

I’m pressed against his chest—all of him—and there is absolutely no mistaking what’s happening down below. That’s not a weapon in his pocket. That’s not even subtle. And fuck, the worst part? I don’t move.

I should. I don’t.

“It’s okay,” Cameron says, his voice like a faraway beacon as I watch the horror of Lyall’s transformation.

My gasp is loud in my ears as Lyall falls to the floor on all fours, his fur a stormy mix of black and silver. When he lifts his head, his gaze meets mine with the same gold eyes. Intelligent eyes. Primal eyes.

Ezra’s hands come up to my shoulders, firm and grounding, and for a moment, I let him hold me there. Even knowing that I shouldn’t. Even knowing that he doesn’t really like me. His touch is exactly what I need.

Lyall growls again, stalking forward, and I press more fully into Ezra’s chest as he chuckles, low and dark.

“Don’t leave claw marks,” Cameron snaps.

The wolf tilts his head like he’s offended, tail flicking. Then he sits, wagging like a golden retriever on command.

The absurdity of it hits me sideways. “Oh my god.” My voice is small, barely above a whisper. “That’s really Lyall?”

“It is,” Reyes answers.

“But … you said you were witches. Is he a werewolf? Isn’t that something else?”

Ezra shifts behind me. I feel the tension in him before I hear his voice.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he mutters.

Cameron steps forward, pushing his glasses up his nose. “His bloodline bonded with wolves centuries ago. What you’re seeing is … ancestral magic.”

“Old,” Ezra says quietly. “Unpredictable at times. But real.” His voice drops as his breath slides over my ears. “All of it is real.”

Ezra releases me, and I take a shaky step forward. The wolf looks up at me, golden eyes gleaming. Slowly, I lift my hand and reach out. Lyall, impatient and grumbling in his throat, moves closer, butting his head beneath my palm. I inhale a sharp breath.

It’s so soft.

Back and forth, I drag my hand over the wolf’s form, mesmerized by the reality of it even as I use him like some sort of mystical therapy dog. I crouch until the wolf’s body bumps mine, and I take its silent invitation and sit down with my ass on the floor. Lyall rumbles a low sound of contentment—almost like a real animal might—as he drops his head into my lap. His snout is pointed up toward my stomach, and he closes his eyes, making a harrumphing noise in the back of his throat once he’s settled.

Holy. Shit.

I’m not crazy.

“No,” Cameron answers, his tone quiet. “You’re not.” I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken aloud.