Page 10

Jaslyn trails a few steps behind me as we move deeper into the forest. She hasn’t asked where we’re going. Her silence isn’t biting like it usually is. It’s more reserved, almost like she’s trying to decide if this detour is worth her time.

“You always this quiet during a walk?” I ask, glancing back at her.

“Didn’t realize I was supposed to fill the silence.”

“Not fill it, but a little commentary wouldn’t hurt. What do you think? Trees tall enough? Moon bright enough?”

Her lips twitch, just slightly, but I don’t miss it. “Yeah, great job on the ambiance. A solid seven out of ten.”

“Seven?” I mock offense. “Come on, I thought I was leading us through prime forest real estate.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she grumbles, but the corner of her mouth curves upward despite herself.

We walk in quiet for a bit longer before I finally bring it up. “When’s the last time you shifted?”

That stops her cold. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t move, but I can feel the way her energy shifts and tightens like a spring coiling too hard. “Why?”

“It’s a fair question,” I reply, turning to face her. “You’re part wolf, Jaslyn. But given the circumstances you’ve been in the last few years, I figured maybe it’s been a while.”

She tugs at the cuff of her sleeve. “I don’t see how that’s your business.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” I admit. “But if it’s been a while, I thought it might help. You and I both know this isn’t like riding a bike.”

“What’s the point of this, anyway?” she deflects. “Running around on all fours isn’t the answer to my problems.”

“Not all of them,” I concede. “But like I said, it might take the edge off.”

She hesitates, glancing at the trees like they might offer her a way out. When she finally looks back at me, I see the fear there. “I haven’t shifted in years,” she admits. “Not since Malcolm bought me.”

“Why?”

Her gaze flits away, and for a moment, I think she’s not going to answer. Then she lets out a sharp exhale. “Malcolm didn’t just control where I went or what I did. He used magic to stop me from shifting altogether.”

All the blood rushes to my toes, and I can’t do much more than blink. “He what?”

“He said it was for his own safety. A wolf is harder to control. Stronger. Faster. He couldn’t risk me shifting and trying to fight back—or run. So he bound that part of me. Suppressed it. I couldn’t shift, not even if I wanted to.”

“Jaslyn…” The words catch in my throat. The thought of her being cut off from such a fundamental part of herself makes my chest ache. She may be half witch, but she’s also half wolf, and that means something.

She shakes her head, brushing off my sympathy before it can take root. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. But after so many years of being forced to suppress it, I don’t even know if I can shift anymore.”

“It doesn’t have to stay that way,” I tell her gently, my voice steady. “You can work through it.”

“You think it’s that easy? My wolf side doesn’t come as naturally as yours, Gray. It never did, but now… it’s messy and hard, and half the time, it feels like it’s not even mine. Shifting… hurts.”

“That’s because you were forced to deny it for so long. But it’s still there, Jaslyn. It’s still a part of you. You just need to reconnect with it.”

Her green eyes flash, and for a moment, I think she’s going to argue. But then she looks away, and her shoulders slump. “What if I can’t? What if I try, and I just fail?”

“Then you try again. And again. And as many times as it takes. You’ve got no audience here, Jaslyn. No one to judge you. Just me. And I’m not going to let you fail.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her green eyes searching mine for something. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but she must find it because she lets out a sharp breath and nods. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll take that deal.” I step back, giving her space. “Start slow. Focus on the shift. Don’t try to force it.”

Jaslyn takes a deep breath and shakes out her hands at her sides. “Right. Just… focus.”

Her tone’s dismissive, but the tension in her shoulders betrays her. She closes her eyes, and for a moment, nothing happens. Then the air around her shifts, faint but unmistakable. I can feel her magic stirring. Not the sharp, electric crackle I’ve seen when she’s using her spells, but something quieter, deeper. It’s her wolf, waking up after years of being buried.

“Good,” I say. “Keep going.”

Her eyes snap open, and she glares at me. “Would you stop narrating? It’s distracting.”

I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”

She closes her eyes again, and this time, I stay quiet. Slowly, her breathing evens out, and the tension in her posture eases. The shift begins subtly—a pulse of energy that moves over her frame, and a soft glow beneath her skin.

Her hands flex, and I catch the first sign of change: her nails lengthening into sharp claws. Her muscles ripple beneath her skin, and her frame shifts as bones reshape and fur sprouts along her arms. She gasps, and her body shudders. I can see the strain it’s putting on her. Shifting is never easy, but for someone out of practice, it’s brutal. I can only imagine that’s magnified in someone who is just half wolf.

“You’re doing great,” I say, unable to help myself.

She grits her teeth but doesn’t snap at me this time. Instead, she doubles down. The transformation moves faster now as her form bends and breaks in ways that would make anyone else scream. But Jaslyn doesn’t. She’s tough—tougher than she gives herself credit for—and she powers through the pain like it’s nothing.

Finally, with one last shuddering breath, the shift is complete.

Where Jaslyn stood moments ago is now a wolf. Her coat is a deep reddish-brown, streaked with lighter tones that catch the moonlight. She’s smaller than I expected, but there’s power in the way she stands. Her head is held high, and her ears twitch at every sound.

I crouch down and give her a broad smile. “There she is.”

Her wolf turns to look at me, and her green eyes are tired and wary. For a moment, I wonder if she’s going to collapse, but then her tail flicks, and she shuffles toward me.

I reach out with our pack connection and tell her, It’s like breathing, Kismet. Stop trying so hard and just run .

Her ears flatten against her skull, and her head swivels away from me. I’m not overthinking it.

Right. That’s why you’re moving like a newborn fawn.

Bite me, Gray.

I huff out a laugh before standing upright again and letting the shift take over. The first thing I feel is the familiar pull, like an invisible tether yanking me down to my core. My muscles contract, then stretch as my body begins to reshape itself. Heat flares beneath my skin, not unpleasant but intense, like standing too close to a roaring fire. There’s a moment of resistance—a brief, fleeting ache as bones crack and realign. My limbs lengthen, and my fingers curl inward until they’re paws. When I fall forward, claws press against the ground instead of hands.

The fabric of my shirt gives way, splitting across my back with a sharp tear, followed by the ripping of my jeans. I vaguely register the scraps of cloth fluttering to the ground around me. It’s a small price to pay for the freedom that comes with the shift.

Fur ripples across my skin, gray and shiny, as my senses explode into sharp clarity. The earthy scent of pine fills my nose, mingling with the faint musk of Jaslyn’s wolf. Every sound becomes clearer—the rustle of leaves, the scurry of small creatures in the underbrush, the distant call of an owl.

The world feels different like this. Larger, yet somehow more manageable. Instincts kick in, grounding me in the primal rhythm of the forest.

I stretch out my legs, relishing the ripple of power that comes with my wolf form, then flick my tail.

You’ll have to catch me first , I tell Jaslyn .

I take off without warning, and the forest blurs around me as I push into a full sprint. The wind tears past my ears, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel free. No responsibilities, no threats—just the ground beneath me and the thrill of the chase.

It doesn’t take long for her to follow. Her footfalls are lighter, and her pace is uneven at first, but she picks up speed quickly. I glance back to see her weaving between the trees, and her reddish coat is a blur against the greens and browns of the forest. She’s fast—faster than I expected—and there’s a grace to her movements that surprises me.

Not bad , I tell her, letting her close the distance between us.

I’m just getting started , she replies with a confidence I haven’t heard in years.

She darts past me suddenly, and for a moment, I forget everything else. This is the Jaslyn I remember, the girl who used to take risks, who never backed down from a challenge. Seeing her like this, free and unburdened, stirs something in me that sends my heart soaring.

We run together, and the forest opens up around us. She doesn’t need me to guide her—she knows these woods as well as I do. And as she runs ahead with her head held high and her tail swaying with every stride, I can’t help but admire the strength and determination inside her.

When we finally slow, the moon is high on the horizon. Jaslyn stops in a field, and her ribs heave as she catches her breath. Her ears swivel toward me as I approach, and there’s something in her eyes that makes my chest tighten. With pride, maybe, or something close to it.

You’ve still got it , I tell her, lowering myself onto my haunches.

Of course I do , she replies as her tail gives a single, satisfied flick. You doubted me ?

Not for a second .

We shift back at almost the same time, and the transition from wolf to human seems to come much easier for her. But the ease of it doesn’t stop the awkwardness that follows. We’re standing there, both completely naked and trying not to look too closely at each other as we make our way back to the way we came.

“You’re good at that,” I tell her. “Better than I expected after so long.”

“I guess I had a decent coach.”

The words catch me off-guard, and I glance at her, trying to gauge whether she’s being sincere or sarcastic. Her expression gives nothing away, but there’s a lightness in her tone that wasn’t there before.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she warns, smirking.

“Too late.”

When she peers up at me through her lashes, there’s a flicker there, something unguarded that sends a jolt straight through me. Her wolf form was striking, but as a human, with her hair tousled, her cheeks flushed, and the moonlight dancing over her skin, she’s breathtaking.

I should look away. I should move. But I don’t.

Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but no words come out. My gaze dips there—just for a second—and the heat in my chest rages into an inferno. Her breath hitches. I hear it, feel it, like it’s tied to my own. And that small sound is enough to undo the fragile thread of control I’ve been holding onto.

I take a step closer without thinking, and her throat works as she swallows. She doesn’t back away, doesn’t look away. There’s a vulnerability in her expression that twists something deep inside me—a need to protect her, to comfort her, and something else entirely.

I want her.

The realization slams into me, both unrelenting and unwelcome, because I know I shouldn’t. Not now. Not like this. She’s been through hell. She’s still navigating her way out of it, and the last thing she needs is me crossing a line.

I force myself to stop, to pull back before my thoughts betray me. The space between us feels suffocating, but I know I can’t close it. Not now.

“Jaslyn…”

Her name comes out sounding like a plea, and she blinks as she presses her lips together like she’s bracing for something.

I’m an idiot.

I take a long step back, and the air rushes back into my lungs like I’ve been holding it for too long. “We should go,” I say. “Before the pack starts wondering where we are.”

She blinks again, and whatever was lingering between us dissipates like smoke in the breeze. She nods stiffly and brushes past me as she heads for the trail without a word.

I stay where I am for a moment, clenching my fists to ground myself, to shove down the heat that lingers in my chest. The way she looked at me…

No.

She’s been through enough. I won’t let myself be another person who takes more than she’s ready to give.

With a deep breath, I follow her down the trail, keeping a deliberate distance between us. For now, that’s where I need to stay.

When we reach the house, I hold the door open for her, and she steps inside without a word.

“Jaslyn,” I say softly, and her eyes snap to mine.

She arches a brow. “What?”

I hesitate and run a hand through my hair as I try to find the right words. “I need to say something. And I need you to listen, even if it’s not what you want to hear.”

She leans against the edge of the couch, crossing her arms again. “Sounds ominous.”

“It’s not,” I say. “It’s just… important.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t leave, either. I take that as permission to continue.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about everything,” I begin. “About what you said, about what I’ve done. And you were right. I made choices that hurt you. Choices I thought were best at the time, but they weren’t. I know that now. And I know that no apology can fix the years you lost because of me.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and I can see the walls going up again. I step closer, not letting her retreat into herself.

“But I’m not going to stop trying to make it right,” I continue. “Starting now.”

She tilts her head, watching me with both curiosity and suspicion. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, I cross the room and rummage through a drawer in one of the end tables to pull out the small charm I’ve been carrying since the day I brought her back. A token of ownership, tied to the magical contract Malcolm used to bind her. She sees it and goes rigid. “Why do you have that?”

“It’s what Malcolm used to control you, right?” I hold it up for her to see. “When I bought you, this became mine. It’s how he ensured you couldn’t leave, how he forced you to obey. And as long as I have it, you’re still technically bound to me.”

Her fists clench at her sides, and I can feel the anger radiating off her in waves. “Why are you showing me this now? To remind me that I’m still just someone else’s property?”

“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I’m showing you because I’m letting you go.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she just stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What?”

I step closer, holding the charm between us. “You’re free, Jaslyn. Completely free. No ties, no contracts, no strings. This—” I nod toward the charm—“This doesn’t control you anymore. It’s over.”

Then, with a flick of my wrist, I shatter the charm against the edge of the coffee table. The magic in it fizzles and dies, leaving nothing but a faint wisp of smoke.

“Why now?” she asks after a long pause. “Why would you do this? We made a deal. I said I would help you if—”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I say simply. “Because you deserve to make your own choices. And because I can’t ask you to stay here—to help us, to help me—if it’s not your choice.”

She swallows hard, and her gaze drops to the floor. “And what if I decide to leave?”

I force myself to keep my tone even, though the thought of her walking away twists something deep in my chest. “Then that’s your decision. I won’t stop you.”

She looks up at me, seeming to search my face for some sign of deceit. “You mean that?”

“I do.”

For a long moment, neither of us says anything, and I can’t tell if the silence between us is a good thing or not. Finally, Jaslyn blows out a long breath through pursed lips and straightens.

“I made a promise,” she says. “I told you I’d stay until the demon situation is dealt with, and I meant it. That hasn’t changed.”

Relief floods through me with such force that I almost stumble under the weight of it. But I keep my expression neutral and nod once. “Good. We need you.”

“You do,” she agrees. “And to be clear, I’m staying for them, not for you. There are a lot of innocent pups in this pack, and they don’t deserve to live in fear.”

“Understood,” I reply, though a small part of me doesn’t quite believe it. The fact that she’s staying at all feels like a victory, no matter her reasons.

She moves toward the stairs, but she stops halfway and glances back at me. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

“For what?”

“For giving me a choice,” she replies. Then, without waiting for a response, she heads upstairs, leaving me alone in the living room.

I sink onto the couch, tilting my head back and closing my eyes as the tension in my shoulders finally eases. She’s staying. She’s free, and she’s staying. And though I’ll never say it out loud, I’m more grateful than I have any right to be.