Page 10 of Feral, Part Two (Wolfscorge #2)
Slate
I wake up in a flurry of white fur, my body stretching in ways that feel both foreign and completely natural. Every muscle extends with fluid grace, the sensation intoxicating like it always is in this form.
Looking around the den, I realize this form provides sharper vision.
Everything appears more vivid. Colors that seemed muted in my human form now practically glow with intensity, and I can smell layers of scent that I never noticed before.
The last time I was in this form, I was terrified and confused, but it’s like my body and my instincts are meshing with this primal part of me. And I fucking love it.
I try to shift back to human form, focusing on the feeling of skin instead of fur, but nothing happens. The transformation that came so easily yesterday now feels locked away. I concentrate harder, willing my body to change, but the fox form stays. What the fuck?
Standing up, I shake my entire body, my fur resettling against me, confusion taking over.
There's definitely more fur than usual, but I can’t figure out why.
Despite the confusion, I feel amazing in this form.
Nothing hurts. The constant ache in my lower back that's plagued me for the past week or so is gone.
Even my belly feels manageable instead of cumbersome.
The urge to curl back up and sleep for another few hours is almost overwhelming.
This form feels safe and comfortable, like I could stay here forever and never have to face the complexities of human emotions and pack dynamics.
But there's a crick in my back that needs stretching, and more importantly, I'm hungry.
My nose twitches as I settle back into reality, my gaze falling on two plates of food just outside my den. There’s a heaping pile of breakfast foods—eggs, bacon, toast, and sausage resting on porcelain. My stomach growls audibly, the sound more like a small bark in this form.
Some part of me is disgusted at the thought of eating in this form, but I also can’t force myself back into my human form. With every passing second, the pride and dignity I hold close slips away until I just say ‘fuck it’ and pad over to the plate, my fox instincts taking over completely.
A heavy moan tears from my throat, the taste richer than any I experienced as Slate, the human. It almost makes me want to stay in this form. I continue cleaning off the first plate, tempted to start on the second when I remember my beautiful Omega needs to eat too.
I frown and twist around, confused when I don’t see him lying in my den like he was before I fell asleep. A soft sound spills into the space that’s definitely not human, and it didn't come from me. My ears perk up as I step back inside, confused at the white fur nestled between all the blankets.
There’s no way.
Another snow-white fox face pops out from beneath a pillow, a snow white face nearly identical to my own except for the eyes. Those familiar gray-blue orbs that I'd know anywhere, even in this transformed state.
I move closer and nudge the side of the other fox's face with my muzzle, Preston purring at the contact. The sound vibrates through both our bodies, my confusion falling away.
"Slate?"
I hum in response, the sound coming out as a soft whine. "You shifted."
"I did, but it makes sense. If we're a feral pack, the Omegas shift."
It’s a little weird hearing him in my head, but it has the same lightheartedness that his real voice does. I run my muzzle down along his neck, drinking up his scent before stepping back and sitting back on my ass.
Preston groans as he tries to sit up, his movements labored even in fox form. "I think I'm going to pop. I can feel the babies moving around."
Looking at him now, I can see what he means. Even as a fox, his belly is noticeably distended, the white fur stretched tight over the curve of his pregnancy. But more than that, his scent has changed dramatically.
"You smell really sweet too," I tell him, breathing in the almost overwhelming perfume that's radiating from his fur.
It's intoxicating and every part of me wants to stay right here and protect him until the babies come. Well, there’s one part of me that wants to fuck him, but I can hardly move in this form or the other one.
That will have to wait until after the babies come.
"I don't want to move. I feel so big and tired." Preston's complaint is punctuated by another soft whine, his exhaustion rippling through our connection.
Without thinking, I move closer and curl up around him, my slightly larger frame wrapping protectively around him.
"You're beautiful," I tell him. “Perfect and gorgeous and your babies are going to be just as beautiful.” I’ve never told anyone else words like that, but it feels right with Preston.
He hums as he snuggles closer, his muzzle now against my throat, soft puffs of air tickling my fur. "I heard what Kael said to you. He's trying. I promise he's trying .”
The thing is, I do believe him. I can see that Kael is making an effort, that he's stepped outside his comfort zone to offer me something that resembles care. But that's exactly the problem.
"I'm just having a hard time seeing it as more than an obligation," I admit, my ears flattening against my head. The vulnerability of the confession makes my fox instincts want to bolt, to find somewhere darker and smaller to hide.
Preston nuzzles closer to me. "I know he has feelings for you, but he's not really soft."
That draws a bitter laugh from me, coming out as a sharp yip. "I don't need him to be soft."
Softness isn't what I'm looking for from Kael. I've had Alphas try to be gentle with me before, treat me like something fragile that might break if handled too roughly. It never works because that's not who I am.
"You just need an Alpha, don't you?" Preston's question cuts straight to the heart of something I've been trying not to examine too closely. "One that loves and cherishes you and puts you first. Kael and Thane are good Alphas; they'll love you if you let them."
I huff, a sound of frustration and longing mixed together. "It's not about that."
But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. It is about that, at least partially. It's about feeling wanted instead of tolerated, chosen instead of assigned.
"I know, I'm just saying," Preston continues gently, "just know that I love you and want you."
We lay there in silence, Preston’s scent sweetening further, an involuntary moan pulling from my throat. Preston winces, a sharp sound of discomfort escaping through the mind link. My protective instincts flare immediately, my body tensing as I sit up a little, scanning for threats.
"We need to go get your Alphas.”
"Our Alphas," Preston corrects me, even through his obvious discomfort. "They're ours. And no, I just think I'm close. I don't know why."
"They told me I had like sixty days and you're three months pregnant," I point out, confusion coloring my mental voice. In whatever fucked up biology logic this is, that means Preston would have had his babies a month ago, but he wasn’t a Feral then.
He definitely is now… which means something has accelerated in the last few days. Exponentially.
Preston groans, the sound carrying waves of discomfort and anxiety. "I'm not ready for babies."
Neither am I, honestly. The thought of tiny, helpless creatures depending on us for everything is terrifying. Ready or not, these babies are coming.
I press closer to Preston, offering what comfort I can through our physical connection. Our fur mingles together, his heartbeat picking up a little at the panic that might undo us both.
"I'm here for you, okay?" I tell him, meaning every word. "I will be right here."