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Despite the urge otherwise, Avery knows that looking for Sascha on pack land will endanger them both, harming more than helping. So with the absolute last of his self-control, Avery painfully continues dragging his feet toward what he hopes will be a clean escape.

Hopes of that evaporate a second after the thought completes.

After so long trying to navigate his inconsistent senses, Avery’s mad fight for survival must have improved. He senses the feather-soft footsteps before they break the line of forest in which they were stalking him, and unless the cloaking spell is in effect, they’re alone.

“I’m so tired, Beryl,” Avery tells the trees. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

Beryl creeps into sight, head tilted so deep brown waves of hair fall over their piercing eyes. “Everyone gets tired.”

“In your bones, though. Where every joint cries when you use it.” Avery sighs. “I feel like I could sit down and never move again, and my body would thank me regardless of the consequences.”

“Don’t…” Beryl shifts, discomfort visible in every line of their body. “Don’t do that.”

Avery doesn’t say anything in response; he just stands there, staring into the distance with unfocused eyes. Past Beryl, along the weird aetheric thread pulling him toward what can only be Sascha.

Beryl steps into his field of vision. “If you’re really that tired, this is your last chance for protection against the Madison pack. Celeste is still willing to take you.”

“It’s not the life I want to live,” Avery says quietly. Since he can’t see past Beryl, he closes his eyes and tries to feel through the unknown distance. Has Sascha healed yet? Does he sense Avery, too?

“You prefer being hunted?”

“It’s not an issue of preference. I wouldn’t survive the way you would.”

“Is that an insult?”

“No, it’s a compliment.” Avery finally fights to focus his attention on Beryl, ignoring the way he yearns for nothing but Sascha. “You do what you have to do. That bitch tells you to sit, to fight, and you do it, and you do it well. I wouldn’t be able to force compliance, even if it was in my better interest. Celeste would probably kill me while I’m at my lowest because even that wouldn’t be low enough for her.”

Beryl considers him. “How long have you been a werecreature?”

“Nine months, give or take.”

“Ah. Fresh meat.” They suck their teeth. “I was born one.”

That grabs Avery’s attention. “How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-two,” Beryl says with a grim chuckle. “My dad was unfaithful and fucked the wrong bitch. He hid it because who wouldn’t? But it didn’t stop him from fucking my mom, too. The virus didn’t infect her, but it transferred to the baby. Surprising no one, she didn’t want it. Neither did he.” A pause follows, during which genuine resentment flashes across Beryl’s expression. “I hate Celeste almost as much as I need her. Since neither of my parents would care for me, I was raised within a government facility—part of a research program studying how the werevirus affects puberty and adolescence. She nabbed me when I was eighteen and hadjust aged out of the program. Don’t know if I’d have survived otherwise. It was a good move for a new alpha because her rivals were intimidated by the presence of a shifter who could ‘tame’ a wild animal like me. Celeste might be an opportunistic bitch, but she’s clever about it. Usually. Sometimes, she doesn’t know when to pull out.”

Avery snort-laughs, then claps a hand over his mouth. Beryl smirks, and when he narrows his eyes at them, they snort a laugh of their own.

“So, what’re we doing now?” he asks. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on my account.”

As if summoned, a howl pierces the night sky. Beryl purses their lips. “We’re out of time. Since you can’t give me a ‘yes,’ you should prioritize getting the fuck out of here. But I hope you understand I can’t just let you run.” They heave an irritated sigh, then begin to undress. Scars—faint, but visible—stripe their belly, muscular chest, and shoulders, all from a life of being used as a glorified guard dog. Avery lets his gaze continue down, curious only about the wounds too deep for Beryl’s strain of werevirus to fully repair, only for his face to burst into flames when he catches a glance at their dick.

Averting his eyes, Avery asks, “What’s happening now?”

Beryl cracks their neck one way, then the other. “We gotta fight, obviously. A few good hits should be sufficient. You’re gonna have to transform fully, though, or they won’t believe it.”

His brow furrows. “What are you saying?”

“I’m going to let you beat me,” Beryl says slowly, a bit exasperated. “You have to make it convincing, though. You’re an alpha, so I can make a good argument for your escape if you don’t hold back. I’ll make sure you don’t catch me anywhere lethal.”

“I can’t hurt you,” Avery says, so thrown off his hands feel cold and clammy in the humid air.

Not wavering, Beryl crosses their arms over their nakedchest. “This is your only out. Take it, or I’ll have no choice but to drag you back to Celeste, screaming and bleeding. It’s too late for anything else.”

With that said, they begin to shift.

Avery tugs weakly at his shirt, but most of his attention is fixed on Beryl. The first time he saw them shift, it was dark. This time, there’s still light in the sky, hiding nothing about their gory transformation. It both horrifies and fascinates him.