Page 15

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Sascha

“Holy shit,” Sascha whispers, only peripherally aware of his body shaking like a sparrow in a hailstorm. “Avery… Avery, fuck. Are you okay?”

When Avery doesn’t respond, Sascha makes peace with potentially losing some blood or intestines if he startles the distressed werecreature in front of him into attacking.

He eases forward, knowing Avery wouldn’t hurt him on purpose, but werecreatures aren’t known for being stable at the best of times, and Avery himself admitted to not having control over his transformation.

The thought makes Sascha slow, still a few feet away from Avery’s crouched form.

If Avery didn’t have control over himself, why would only his hands have changed?

And yes, the change was horrible to witness, but he’s neither gone wild with violent rage, nor has he continued to transform past what he intended to do.

Sudden excitement—and pride —prickles the back of Sascha’s neck.

“Avery,” he says, repeating his name to keep him grounded. “You did it.” Sascha lowers himself beside Avery, no longer worried about a wild attack .

A soft, weepy sound escapes Avery’s throat, but he doesn’t fight when Sascha pulls his balled-up form into his arms. His eyes stay closed, hands turned inward and fisted against his chest.

Sascha strokes Avery’s hair, letting him adjust at his own pace.

The loose ringlets shudder around his fingers.

“I didn’t know how bad transforming was for you.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen a werecreature shift, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more prepared.

I should’ve watched a video or something.

Fuck, but you did it. Maybe partial shifting won’t be as easy for you as we hoped, but you kept your head on your shoulders.

That’s good to know, right? I’m proud of you, Avery. ”

The last bit is when he finally stirs. Avery tucks his hands, now almost too big for his slender arms, into his armpits. He remains hunched, but tentatively meets Sascha’s eyes. “How can you be proud of this?”

“Because none of the scary parts were your fault,” Sascha says, wiping sweat from Avery’s brow. “And you did what we set out to do. Do you want to try more?”

Avery’s jaw drops. “ More? After that?!”

“I mean, we only covered your hands and teeth. Doesn’t turning into a bear take up just a bit more than that?”

“Yeah, but…”

With a quick dip, Sascha presses his lips to one of Avery’s temples, then the other. He studies his face afterward, smiling to see familiar color rising in Avery’s cheeks.

Avery rubs the ball of his hand against his eye, which has gone glassy. “Goddamnit, Sascha.”

“Let’s try your feet,” Sascha says, sparing Avery the threat of a heavy emotional moment. “You have claws and teeth, but that won’t be enough to defend yourself from an attack.”

“I guess.” Avery’s voice is thick and choked, but he swallows hard and blinks several times.

Sascha moves without calling attention to it. “Let’s do it like this.” He adjusts so he’s sitting on his heels, then positions Avery in front of him, back snug against Sascha’s chest. “Might wanna take off your shoes.”

“Like this? Sascha, are you trying to get me to rip your face off?” Avery reaches for the laces of his boots all the same, only hesitating a moment when he sees his transformed hands.

“You won’t do that,” Sascha says with full confidence.

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Technically, no. But I don’t believe you’ll hurt me. In fact, I think it’ll be easier if you have someone here, with you, so you aren’t…” Scared. Hurting. Alone . “Unbalanced.”

Avery tosses one boot to the side, then works on the next. Sascha blinks down at his foot, appalled to see he isn’t wearing socks. “You’re in leather boots barefoot ?”

“Yeah,” Avery says, brow furrowing as he fights the knotted laces.

“How do you not have hundreds of blisters?”

Avery produces a soft sound of triumph when his oversized hands finally undo the knot. Then he turns a wry smile to Sascha. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Sascha makes a mental note to buy Avery some socks, but he keeps the resolution to himself.

He offers his hand, now slightly smaller than Avery’s transformed one.

Avery accepts it gingerly, looking away when Sascha entwines their fingers.

Sascha gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, then wraps his free arm around Avery’s ribs, hauling him into a secure embrace.

“Visualize what you did with your hands and try it again with your feet. Any way of making the actual… process… a bit easier on yourself?”

“No. It’s always like that.” Avery shudders. “Maybe it got a little faster after the first few times.”

“Well, let’s aim for precision this time.

Try focusing on the changes that need to happen, rather than everything that could happen.

Sometimes, I wish I could adapt my legs into a partial shift that would make running easier.

I hate running in biped form; it’s so uncoordinated!

But no, it’s either ‘four paws and no pants’ or ‘run like a clumsy oaf.’ Can’t win. ”

The prattle draws a laugh from Avery, who relaxes slightly against Sascha’s chest. “I don’t think you’re right to be envious of someone else’s partial shift, considering you get to delicately flutter out of existence and return a majestic beast.”

“Yeah, a majestic beast tangled in his own pants. Let’s go, bud.

” Sascha nuzzles behind Avery’s ear. “The faster you get this over with, the sooner we’ll be able to get to other things.

” He doesn’t elaborate, but judging from the shudder that runs down Avery’s spine when Sascha teases the shell of his ear with his fangs, they’re both on the same page.

If nothing else, it does go faster. That doesn’t stop the transformation from being just as awful as his hands.

Avery whimpers in Sascha’s arms, clutching his fingers so tight Sascha’s bones grind.

Determined not to distract Avery or give him cause for worry, Sascha holds his breath and doesn’t make a sound.

Despite his disability, Sascha is still an alpha shifter.

He isn’t breakable, even if people treat him like he is.

Sascha kisses Avery’s temple while his feet fracture and bleed. Soft, nonsensical words spill from him, reassurance pressed into Avery’s skin. I’m here. You’re not alone . His lips come away salty with cold sweat.

Finally, it’s over. From the knee down, Avery’s legs have warped, his foot lengthening so his ankles sit higher; it’s probably made him a few inches taller.

Analyzing the whole set of changes—hands, feet, fangs—Sascha nods in satisfaction. Yes, this should make Avery more durable while allowing him to keep control of his thoughts and instincts.

The full moon shift is only four days away. Sascha doesn’t know if this practice will help Avery ride out the night, but he hopes so. Any amount of added comfort will be worth the risk of taking Avery to his mom’s safe space.

Avery pants, face gone white as a sheet, freckles standing out starkly on his sweat-sheened cheeks.

Without thinking, Sascha licks the hollow just below his cheekbone.

He might have been embarrassed if Avery didn’t turn into Sascha’s touch.

For a fragile moment, the only sound is heavy breath and the lake gently lapping at its shore.

They nuzzle each other, noses bumping, until Sascha breaks away with a small, relieved smile.

“I’m so proud of you,” he repeats.

This time, Avery doesn’t argue.

Sascha pats his flank twice, then says, “Okay, practice time’s over. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He stands, taking Avery with him.

Avery is initially clumsy on his padded toes, unused to his ankles being so high off the ground.

Sascha is delighted to see that Avery did get taller, carving away the inches between them so he doesn’t have to bend as far to drop a kiss on Avery’s lips, the bottom split and red with crusted blood.

It’ll heal, but Sascha thumbs at it anyway.

Avery runs a hand through his damp curls, attention drawn to the water. “You want me to wash in the lake?”

“I want you to get in the lake, yeah.” Sascha steps back, waits for Avery to catch his balance, then pulls his blood-spattered tank-top over his head.

“It’ll be a good temperature today. Nice way to cool off without being frigid.

” Where they’re standing, the ground is shadowed by sprawling branches from the nearby trees, but farther onto the water, the sun’s light plays with the gentle tide.

Sascha toes off his shoes and unfastens his shorts, but stops with them half down his hips when a glance reveals Avery watching him.

Trying to smother a teasing grin, Sascha hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxer briefs, keeping Avery in his sights as he slides them both down.

Avery meets Sascha’s eyes only briefly. The rest of his attention is riveted to Sascha’s naked body.

Sascha kicks his discarded clothing away, then folds his arms across his chest.

“My turn, now?” Avery guesses. He doesn’t wait for an answer before stripping his shirt. Sascha never felt a binder under Avery’s shirts, so he’s not surprised to see a flat chest and pale, curved scars.

It’s impossible to miss that Avery is short—only five-foot-four, Sascha remembers from his PROWLR profile.

In his baggy farm clothes, it’s easy to forget Avery is also sliver-thin, so slender Sascha doesn’t know how his organs fit inside that narrow ribcage.

He looks breakable, like a resin doll with knobby knees and elbows.

Sascha knows that Avery is stronger than he looks; he’d have to be to survive a full were-transformation when just a partial change was that violent.

Still, seeing his bird bones fills Sascha with the desperate urge to protect him. From anything and everything.