Page 7 of Lost Wolf (Exiled Omegas #2)

Seven

???

Awareness returns in bits and pieces. A sound. A scent. The feeling of something soft brushing against my limbs. My hazy mind drifts along an unfamiliar current, glimpses of long forgotten memories flashing by too quickly for me to grasp. Through it all, something in my chest hums with a kind of contentedness I haven’t experienced in a while.

Unfortunately, that feeling doesn’t last longer than it takes for me to open my eyes.

Bright light assaults my senses like an intangible knife stabbing at my brain. I wince away from the pain, closing my eyes and turning my throbbing head to the side. My mouth is dry, throat sore, and the pounding ache in my head makes it impossible for me to think.

There’s something important I’m forgetting.

More so than usual.

But my mind is too scattered to put everything together.

The surface I’m lying on is pleasantly soft and creates a comfortable cradle for my body, but still, nothing feels right . Not my head. Not my paws. And not my body.

I’m too… long? Tall? I don’t know. Nothing feels like it’s where it belongs and that sense someone normally has about where they are in space has deserted me.

Where am I?

The thought whispers through my mind, dragging along behind it a host of others.

What's going on? What did they do to me now?

Memories follow, faded and fragmented, but enough for me to put some of the pieces together. I escaped the awful place where the humans tormented me and then was hurt and taken somewhere else…

I don't remember much past the man— the other shifter!— who showed up at the place with the not-cruel humans. Did he take me away? Everything past that point is fuzzy, my recent memories almost as slippery as the ones of my distant past.

My stomach churns with nausea, and I try to curl into a protective ball, but my body won’t listen to me, whatever signals my brain is trying to send getting lost somewhere along the way. My limbs aren’t where they’re supposed to be and they’re… wrong.

Keeping my head turned away from the too bright light, I crack my eyes open and lift one foreleg closer to my face. But instead of fur and claws, all I find is a pale, fleshy hand with skinny, shaking fingers and dirty, ragged nails.

How … ?

A tiny whimper escapes my lips, and I slam the hand over my mouth. Somehow, I've regained my human form, a form more vulnerable and exposed than ever. I stare at my foreleg—no, my hand , wiggling my fingers. The sensation is strange after so long with paws, and I can see the play of fragile bones inside the skin.

I don’t like this. I want my claws back. They might not have done me much good before, but what use will this breakable form be if I need to defend myself.

And what about…

I run my tongue over my now mostly blunt teeth.

No claws. No fangs. No fur. Nothing but limbs I don’t know how to work, and thin, easily damaged skin.

Tears build behind my eyelids and the moisture travels down into my nose, making it run. I sniffle, trying to hold back my growing terror.

My instincts are screaming. This form is not safe not safe not safe . But I don't know how to change back, and my mind quickly descends into panic. Limbs shaking, I curl into a ball as best I can, wishing for a tail to hide my face. But I don't have one anymore.

I lose myself in that spiraling terror for a while, my mind tormenting me with all the ways I could be hurt in this form, all the ways I could be broken. I may no longer be in the lab with the humans, but who knows what nightmares my future might hold.

A snuffling noise breaks through the fear holding me in place, and my mind jerks back to the present. The noise comes again, and I slowly relax my limbs and push myself up on my hands and knees. Hunching my shoulders, I press back against the… headboard, my brain supplies, as I dart quick glances around the room.

My gaze lands on a man asleep in a chair in the corner of the room and everything in me freezes, that contentedness from earlier instantly returning as a strange warmth fills me.

Who is this man? How is he doing this?

I can’t see much of his face, his reddish-brown hair falling forward and hiding his features as his chin slumps to his chest, but there’s nothing hiding the sharp edge of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, or the strength in his hands.

Hands I somehow know would never hurt me.

He makes the snuffling noise again, the kind of deep inhalation that only comes with sleep, and I hold back a giggle. The nonthreatening posture—and even less threatening noise—make him seem so harmless, calming my lingering panic.

Something inside my chest urges me to move closer, and I slip silently from the bed to the floor, slowly crawling forward on hands and knees. The position is awkward in this body, the legs too long and the arms too short, but my head is still foggy enough that walking on two legs seems iffy.

I’ll stick with what I know.

The man shifts in the chair, adjusting his position but not waking. I freeze in place until he settles, then resume my movements toward him. My nose, short and stubby in this form, isn't nearly as good as my wolf's, but as I draw closer I can pick up the man's scent.

Pine and musk and fur.

He's a shifter then, like me. But my instincts tell me he’s more than that too…

I stop moving about a foot away, sitting back on my haunches and cocking my head to the side as I study him. Why does part of me feel so drawn to him?

And can I trust that part of me?

Scooting forward, inch by inch, I pause when my face is a hairs breadth from his leg and take another sniff. Layered in with all his other delicious scents is something that smells like safety.

Not that I’m entirely sure what safety smells like.

Still, the feeling is enough for me to close the distance, resting my cheek against the fabric covering his leg and closing my eyes. I nuzzle my face against his thigh, the movement almost pure instinct, as my last few tense muscles begin to relax one by one, a peacefulness like I've never experienced slipping over me. Warmth sinks into my very bones, and I release a slow breath as a sense of relief washes over me.

This man is protection.

This man is home.

This man is mate.

But… what is “mate”? Something tells me I should already know that, and a memory floats just out of reach, the thought teasing me as I try to grasp it, but it flitters away and disappears.

Before I have a chance to try again, the muscle beneath my cheek goes tense, and I go still, lifting only my eyes to find the man in the chair is now awake.

Our gazes meet.

And lock.

Something clicks into place, and it seems like all my scattered pieces come together and a sense of… rightness fills me, like this is where I belong.

This is where I’ve always belonged.

His brown eyes widen, a mixture of shock and joy in their depths, and a jolt travels through his body. He opens his mouth and reaches his hand toward my face. The movement, even slow as it is, triggers a panicked confusion inside me, sending alarms throughout my body as something else registers.

Alpha. Threat. No.

I scuttle backward until my back hits a wall or maybe the bed, curling into myself and covering my head with my arms. More water leaks from my eyes, and I have to bite my lips to keep my terrified sobs inside. My whole body shakes with adrenaline as my ingrained fear wars with my wolf who wants nothing more than to return to the man’s side—the alpha’s side.

I risk a peek at him through the gap between my arms, careful to keep my gaze no higher than his nose. Never look an alpha in the eye.

He hasn't left the chair, but he's sitting up straight, his muscles tense and a frown on his face. His fingers twitch on the arm of the chair, as if he wants to reach out, but he stays where he is. Instead, he reaches for me with words, the soft sound of his voice crossing the distance between us.

My mind is racing too quickly to process the exact words he says, but there's a kind of pull that comes with his voice, one that wants me to obey, to submit. And that unwanted feeling just makes everything worse because it’s the kind of manipulation that can only come from an alpha.

My panic ratchets up again, my heart rate rising and my breaths coming in quick pants as I curl my arms over my head, covering my ears and trying to block out the sound of his voice.