Page 14

Reflex has him turning off the road at the exact spot he always does, pulling his little hatchback behind a large row of bushes.

Tire tracks have beaten down the foliage, out of sight from the road that continues to the compound where the pack’s extended families live.

He parks, then shifts in his seat to consider Avery.

“You ready?”

Avery scoffs. “No, but the full moon is in four days, so I don’t exactly have time to warm up to the idea.”

“Noted.” Sascha claps him on the shoulder without thinking. A moment later, the full impact of the gesture hits him, and Sascha scrambles out of the car, his face burning.

Did he just bro slap a fellow queer guy like he would one of his cousins? As if Avery’s fear deserves the same dismissive type of reassurance afforded to Sascha by his family when he expresses emotions about being gay, or being disabled, or simply being .

He might be overthinking this, but even if he is, Sascha makes a point to approach Avery with more care when they meet in front of the car. He sets his other hand on Avery’s other shoulder, like that side can project more empathy, and squeezes.

“It’s gonna be okay. You have a few more minutes to freak out before we get there, ‘cause I wasn’t joking about the fence, and there’s no gate.”

“Climbing’s fine with me,” Avery says, leaning just slightly into Sascha’s touch.

Sascha can’t help himself after that. He slides his hand to Avery’s upper back, thumb stroking just above Avery’s collar.

The action needs no accompanying words. Avery appears to feel the same, letting his head hang while Sascha rubs the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t want to pull away, but they aren’t technically safe from prying eyes until they’re on the other side of the fence, so Sascha reluctantly lets go.

Avery’s smile is less tense when he straightens, and Sascha, emboldened, nudges his knuckles against Avery’s as he takes the lead.

Fingers twine together. Avery clutches Sascha’s hand so tightly it makes Sascha’s pulse pound. Has holding hands ever been like this, before Avery?

They reach the fence, several feet tall and thick with shrubs and vines, grown wild around the chain links.

Avery doesn’t wait for Sascha to prompt him before scaling the links like a confident little squirrel.

A half-grin tugs Sascha’s mouth as he watches Avery hoist himself over the barbs at the top, disappearing behind the foliage.

The fence groans when he releases it, jumping to the ground below with a soft ‘oof!’

Sascha follows, climbing down carefully rather than jumping.

Hard impacts are potential triggers, and he does not want to have another episode in front of Avery.

Not only for his pride, but because today he’s meant to focus on Avery’s struggles, not his own.

Still, as Sascha is lowering his sneakered foot to the uneven ground, Avery comes up from behind to catch Sascha around the waist, steadying him.

Sascha’s feet find purchase with Avery warm and solid at his back.

It takes every ounce of self-control for Sascha to not spin Avery around, press him against the vine-laced fence, and kiss him hard, taking everything he hadn’t allowed himself before. But no. Again. It’s still not the time.

Taking a deep, bracing inhale, Sascha turns, catching Avery’s hand and hoping he looks more composed than he feels.

He should have brought a blanket. Or food. He was so anxious this morning, he didn’t think of either. They’ll have to find somewhere on the way back.

Sascha stops at the clearing by the lake, where he and his mom used to have picnics.

The water laps gently against the sandy shore, helping him fumble with the inner peace that’s been denying him since he woke up just after six AM.

The smell of the breeze off the water and the trees framing the open space allows him a sense of security.

Releasing Avery’s hand, Sascha shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels. “Do you have any idea of how you want to start?”

“No. Not a clue.”

With a ruffle to Avery’s curls, Sascha says, “Let’s start simple. Something we have in common.”

“We have stuff in common?” Avery’s tone suggests genuine surprise.

In lieu of a verbal response, Sascha smiles as broadly as he can, upper lip twitching slightly as he drops his fangs. Avery’s eyes widen. Then he takes a step closer to study the inside of Sascha’s mouth, which is so odd Sascha can’t help but laugh.

“I’m supposed to just… do that?”

“It’s one of the first things shifter younglings learn once their adult teeth come in. Dropping fangs and growing claws.” He demonstrates that, too, holding a hand up so Avery can see how his blunt fingernails lengthen, the center of the keratin stretching further, forming a deadly point.

“Christ,” Avery says. He takes Sascha’s hand, stroking his palm, then prodding at the newly grown claws. “It doesn’t happen like this with me. Everything just kinda takes over at once, and it’s awful from start to finish.”

“Does it hurt?”

Avery’s gaze drops, long curls flopping over his forehead to obscure his expression. “Yeah, it does. It hurts a lot.”

I wish I could stop it from hurting you , Sascha doesn’t say.

“Okay. Let’s start with your teeth. Try to feel the flesh around your canines, how it’s holding the bones inside.

Then visualize… Think of flexing and relaxing a muscle.

You clench to feel where your fangs are, then you let them slip out naturally. ”

Screwing up his face, Avery appears to concentrate overly hard, before scowling. “I don’t know how to feel my teeth . You can’t feel teeth.”

“You aren’t trying to feel your teeth, just the gums around your canines.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Avery says flatly.

Sascha almost frowns, but resists. This will take time, and getting frustrated with Avery for being discouraged won’t help. “Let’s try something else, then. Something you’ll like better.” Before he can second-guess himself, Sascha bends to take Avery’s mouth.

Their lips catch, pressure increasing when Avery lifts his chin and pushes onto the balls of his feet to even his height with Sascha’s bent posture. He laughs against Avery’s skin, smile growing when Avery chuckles as well.

Sascha eases his tongue between Avery’s lips and is met with hungry enthusiasm.

Too much, almost—the kind of eagerness that leaves Sascha’s mouth wet and gasping, breath mingling with Avery’s.

He almost forgets what he means to do until Avery smothers a tiny moan.

Brought back to the present, Sascha takes Avery’s jaw, encouraging his mouth to hang open.

He redirects, tongue withdrawing enough for him to curl the tip around the point of Avery’s left canine.

His tongue grazes the roof of Avery’s mouth, worrying the skin behind his would-be fang.

Before Sascha can move to the other side, Avery fists the front of Sascha’s shirt, holding him in place so he feels the low rumble that rises in Avery’s throat.

The unexpected sound has him hardening on the spot, flexing his hips to press himself against Avery’s belly.

They’ve trapped each other in an embrace neither man wants to escape, Avery rocking forward to pin Sascha’s erection as Sascha chases that growl as deep into Avery’s mouth as he can reach.

On the back of his tongue, Sascha feels something shift. They celebrate with twin moans as Avery’s fangs ease out of his gums, descending perfectly. Sascha licks them again.

“Did I do it right?” Avery asks, his own tongue probing at the extended points.

“Perfectly,” Sascha purrs, nuzzling Avery’s throat. “Claws, now. You’re doing great.”

“I don’t even know how to imagine that.”

Sascha nips the skin under his ear. “I could lick those, too.”

Avery shudders. “Probably not the best idea, though it sounds like it’d be a nice attempt.”

“Doing my best here.” Reluctantly, Sascha clears his throat and gives Avery some space.

From the look on Avery’s face, he likes the distance just as much as Sascha—which is not at all.

“When I extend my claws, I flex my fingers and… push, I guess. Like, from inside. And it’s a bit itchy, waiting for them to start growing.

I feel like my fingers are going to explode, but when my nails finally start growing, it’s…

peaceful. Like I’m becoming something I’m supposed to be.

I guess it’s a type of adrenaline rush.”

“Sounds pretty idealistic,” Avery mutters. “I’d kill for anything about my transformation to feel peaceful.”

“Dropping your fangs wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Ugh.” Crossing his arms, Avery balls in on himself, holding the pose for several seconds before relaxing with a sigh. “Okay. So I start by flexing my hands and just push? How do you know what to push?”

Sascha shrugs, unable to generate better words but smiling regardless. “I know you’ll figure it out.”

Scowling, Avery first sticks his tongue out at Sascha, then spreads his fingers and studies the back, then the front.

He thumbs the knuckles of his left hand, frowning at them.

One by one, he bends each finger, tendons popping out as he flexes the way Sascha told him.

He repeats it a few times, then his brow furrows. “Are my hands supposed to feel hot?”

“I… I don’t know,” Sascha admits. “I learned this when I was still toddling.”

“Right.” Avery wiggles his fingers, still looking displeased.

“Maybe I should just try something el—” Suddenly, he goes rigid, both hands curling so severely it looks painful.

His arms begin to shake. Concerned, Sascha reaches for Avery, hoping to soothe what he assumes to be a cramp resulting from pushing too hard.

Except Avery gasps and jerks, putting space between himself and Sascha.

Sascha takes a step back, hands raised in an open, non-threatening gesture. Despite talking about his own shifts, Sascha has asked few questions about Avery’s own transformation. What he does know is that crowding any panicking person is usually a bad idea.

“Are you okay?”

In place of a response, Avery cries out in pain.

Something in his wrist cracks, followed by the other.

His trembling hands swell, knuckles popping and bulging.

It looks as if Avery’s fingernails have begun to lengthen, but then Sascha is nauseated when he realizes that the slender bones of each digit are shifting beneath his skin.

Sascha’s horrified noise clashes with Avery’s when the tips of his fingers burst open, blood leaking down his palms as his skeleton forces through the too-tight skin.

Avery’s cuticles swell, the knucklebone repositioning itself where his fingers once ended.

There’s a sucking sound, and Sascha doesn’t have time to look away before, one by one, Avery’s existing nails pop off under the pressure.

The exposed skin splits, blood spattering so far several droplets cut a slice across Sascha’s blue tank-top.

Paralyzed, Sascha watches thick claws ease through the torn gaps, raw, red tissue following, wrapping around the naked bone.

Skin comes next, darker than Avery’s normal complexion, sewing itself to the bloodied mess of his hands just in time for dark hair to sprout from the back of his wrists and knuckles.

Then it stops. Avery falls to his knees with a moan, smearing blood across his shirt when he cradles his hands against his chest.