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An acolyte—a thrall trained in our ceremonies and rituals—steps forward with a shallow silver bowl bearing a glistening human heart. It’s required for the transformation; Lycaon himself was transformed into a wolf after he angered Zeus by feeding the God human flesh. Nathan grabs the heart with his bare hand and bites into it.
That’s when he lifts his gaze and finds me, seconds before the transformation starts.
It begins with his eyes. They flash silver, then red. His face shifts, nose and jaw elongating into a muzzle. We don’t turn into wolves. That’s a myth. We turn into a creature that stands upright; body covered with short, silky hair from our clawed feet to our canine-like heads. The fur flows over every contour of Nathan’s body and his spine curves, drawing him into a hunched posture. His ears elongate, pointing straight back, a shape humans would consider more elfin than dog-like, with tufts of fur accentuating the points. His arms grow longer, as well; in this predatory manifestation, a wide reach is an advantage.
In his animalistic form, he waits for the others but stares up at me. Like this, I’m vulnerable. Far too human. I would be no match for him, should he want me. And he does want me, but even this way, he has self-control, as well as some common sense. He knows he can’t reach me, and so do I, but being the target of all that concentrated power and bestial drive is still heady and frightening.
The good kind of frightening. The kind that makes me wonder what could happen if I only push a little further.
The rest of the pack remove their robes as acolytes walk the circle offering bites of hearts, enough to go around. The communal nudity isn’t arousing in the way Nathan’s was to me; it’s just a fact of the transformation. They take their bites, change their shapes, and when a ring of fearsome werewolves stands in the circle, Nathan finally faces them. He throws back his head and releases an unearthly howl that reverberates through my entire body.
The rest of the pack joins Nathan in howling, the cries of not-quite wolf, not-quite human voices piercing the sky in a primeval prayer, and I run from the building. The valet thrall can see my urgency and hurries to retrieve my car—driving separately from my parents means I don’t have to wait for them to return at dawn. I get into the driver’s seat and peel off, trying to shake my own primal need to fulfill my true potential, to feel my body shift and change under the moonlight.
I’ve been putting it off, and now, with the howls of my pack ringing in my ears, I wish I made my decision tonight, that I joined them. The thought of waiting another month is agony, even if my transformation means shackling myself to Ashton Daniels for the rest of our lives.
I speed down the twisting private lane away from the ceremony site, trying desperately to control my breathing. I’m overcome with images of Nathan’s broad back, the muscles rippling in his thighs, the veins bulging on his arms, his—
My blood is on fire. My skin is a prison. I want to rip my clothes open, bare my body to the night sky.
I want to howl.
The tires crunch on the gravel as I guide the car onto the shoulder. I slam the shifter into park and recline the seat, gripping the headrest in one hand and frantically yanking my skirt up. I slide my hand beneath my panties and gasp with relief as my fingers encounter my slippery, swollen clit.
I conjure up an impossible scenario. There I am, defenseless, vulnerable in my moment of reckless passion, when Nathan finds me. Not Nathan the polished, powerful king, but Nathan the fully transformed werewolf, all hunger and exhilaration and lack of inhibition. And I’m caught, hand in my panties, the air thick with my scent, vulnerable and ready for him to take me.
I know there’s no escape, even as I hit the door lock. He easily rips the door off its hinges, growling in frustration at the irritating delay. That’s all I’ve done; delayed the inevitable.
I scramble backward into the passenger seat. It’s a mistake; he’s on me in a moment, his sleek body between my thighs. I can thrash all I want, but I’m pinned painfully over the center console, hips raised, and legs splayed wide. My dress disintegrates in his claws and he drags the scraps down my body as he lowers his head to my pussy and sniffs deeply.
His hot breath teases my clit and I want him to taste me, but instead he drags me from the car entirely, his grip strong around my calves. Somehow, I don’t hit my head as my body crumples to the pavement and he drags me to the side of the road. The shoulder is muddy and broken and he pins me down in the slush, grit and salt from the dirty snow digging into my skin. The more I struggle, the filthier and wetter I get. He’s setting between my legs, that huge cock ready to spear into me, his teeth sink into my throat and there’s no escape—
