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I land among the thick ferns on the forest floor. “Uff!” The wind is taken from me. I hear Beauty scream and the thunder of her hooves. I have to wait to catch my breath then roll onto my hands and knees and try to steady the wild beating of my heart.
She is not wishing to be ridden today, after all.
Dusting off my hands, I rise slowly to my feet. My mother’s disapproval of me riding a horse is nothing compared to her disapproval of my clothing. Pants, sturdy boots, and a practical shirt are not something a young lady should wear. Still, I am grateful for them over heavy skirts, given I’ve just been tossed from my horse.
I take stock of where I am: thankfully not far from the Baxter village which is likely where Beauty has gone.
My fingers explore the back of my head, where a tender lump is beginning to form. My lip is a little bloody from biting it as I fell. There’s no hope for it; my horse is gone, and so I must walk. When Beauty turns up at the village, someone is sure to notice and come to look for me, but I may as well start on my way.
As I step forward, a low growl from the forest to my right sets the hairs at the back of my neck prickling with unease, and I freeze then slowly turn my head to look over my shoulder.
A wolf. He is the size of a pony, with a dark gray coat and lighter markings on his snout and belly. A shifter—for he is far too big for a wolf, but smaller than the shifters in the village.
Understanding is swift to bloom—this is the juvenile the villagers have been talking about.
“It’s okay,” I say, slowly turning to face him. Standing my ground, I hold out both hands. Whether shifter or not, running from a wolf is a very bad idea as it brings out their hunting instincts. If I run, he will chase me.
“Why don’t you shift,” I say, “so that we might converse? My name is Freya. What is yours?” My voice shakes a little, for I’m nervous, although still convinced he means no harm.
His nose lifts into the air, and he sniffs. The urge to turn and flee is foremost in my mind, and my heart rate rises to a gallop. While I tell myself he won’t attack, I’m definitely not at ease.
“Do you want to join the village? Is that why you’re always near? You will like the Baxter clan. They are kind and welcoming. I’m sure they will take you in. They have noted you in the forest. Why don’t you shift? I would very much like to meet you. To meet both parts of you.”
I am rambling.
He still does not shift, but he does take a slow step forward, and I must fight the urge to run when he pauses a few paces away and sniffs again.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I hold out my hand, palm up, so that he may scent me. His jaws are big and powerful, even for an adolescent, and I try not to think about the damage he might do if he were to attack.
He lowers his snout, puffs out a little breath, then pads over cautiously until his wet nose presses against my palm.
I’m trembling, but I sense the contact to my very soul—that this is the start of something tentative—and everything inside me softens.
“Please shift,” I entreat.
His ears suddenly prick bolt upright, and his head swings to the side. A warning growl rumbles in his chest.
I glance back… a horse is approaching, the hooves like a drum-beat against the loamy forest floor.
His growl rattles, stronger, and the fur at the scruff of his neck rises as he nudges in front of me like he is seeking to protect me.
Goodness, this is the worst timing in the world. I see Aston thundering toward us on his bay gelding.
Another low growl is all the warning I get before teeth close over the back of my pants and belt, and I’m yanked backward and off my feet.
I dangle in his powerful jaws, arms flailing, and feet kicking out. “Oh! What are you doing? Put me down at once!”
I’m too heavy for him to carry away, so he drags me across the ground in an ungainly heap of flailing limbs and scrambling feet.
The wolf continues tugging me away.
Aston is down from his horse now and advancing on us with a thunderous expression.
This is a calamity of the highest order.
“Damn whelp!” Aston mutters as he stalks us down.
My failing hand connects with the wolf’s snout. I must surprise him, for he snorts and drops me.
