I’d briefly attended a support group for newly shifted weres under the direction of my therapist during and after Samson’s trial. Except for the leaders of the group, I was the only adult; all the others were adolescents who were coming into their naturally born gifts as they went through puberty. Most weres are born, very few of us contract the virus like I did. The majority of attack victims, which are thankfully few and far between, die from their injuries rather than contracting lycanthropy. I guess I’m just special that way.
The group’s leader had guided me through those first few terrifying shifts, helping the wolf and I find balance until we could live and thrive together. They had urged me to let the wolf lead when I shifted, to let her have control, saying that we’d never truly be one until I learned to let go, but I couldn’t do it. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t let go of what little remained of my humanity. After everything I had gone through, it was just too much to ask of me. I’d stopped going to the meetings shortly after that.
The wolf didn’t always like our arrangement, but she knew that if she wanted to continue to come out and play it was on my terms, and mine alone. Luckily we both saw eye to eye where Holbrook was concerned, and were in agreement that he was someone we trusted.
“Can I…touch you?” he asked as if he sensed my thoughts.
Padding across the living room, I stopped just beyond the reach of his outstretched hand, settling back on my haunches. The wolf and I were both fighting against our nervousness and instinct to run away. She was nervous of human touch, reluctant to be petted like a dog, while I was afraid to see fear or, even worse, revulsion, on his face.
I eased forward a fraction of an inch, craning my neck towards him to feel the first tentative brush of his fingertips against my muzzle, and immediately pulled back. My ears flapped against my skull when I shook my head, the tingling energy from his touch making me sneeze.
“Gross, wolf snot!” he said, chuckling and wiping his hand on his jeans.
Wiping my snout with a large paw I ducked my head and gave him a sheepish look. Shuffling closer I laid my chin on his knee, looking up at him with the best puppy-dog eyes I could muster by way of an apology.
“Oh, that’s just not fair,” he said with a laugh. “You’ve got a serious advantage.”
Emitting a whine, I drew my brows together into the most pitiful expression possible, cranking the cuteness factor up to eleven.
“Cheater,” he muttered, reaching out to touch me. I watched the amusement drain out of his face, his features softening with surprise while his eyes widened once more. “You’re so soft,” he said in an awed breath, sliding his fingers along the slope of my crown to where my ears met my skull.
Oh. My. God. That’s fucking amazing.
Barely refraining from thumping my tail against the floor in sheer delight, I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. I’d never felt anything as good as the sensation of his fingers gliding over the sensitive flesh behind my ears.
“Wait. You’re house trained, right?” he asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Oh, ha ha. Very funny.
I bared my canines to let him know that I was not at all amused by his question.
“Sorry, sorry!” he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture, though the effect was diminished by the laughter bubbling over in his voice.
Exhaling heavily to blow hot air in his face, I pulled my head off his lap and scooted backwards just enough to allow myself room to turn around and stand, making sure to whack him in the face with my tail in the process.
“I said I was sorry!” he called after me as I stalked across the room.
Stopping in front of the couch, I swung my large head around to glance at him over one muscled shoulder, giving him a disparaging look, before hopping up onto the couch. I was already beginning to feel the positive effects of the shift, my muscles loosening and my aches subsiding. My more serious injuries weren’t anywhere close to being healed, but my movements came easier and with less pain. Yawning wide, I stretched out along the couch, resting my chin on my crossed paws. I made a show of ignoring him, pretending not to notice when he got up from the recliner and kneeled beside the couch, bringing his face down to the same level as mine.
“What can I do to make you forgive me?” he asked, propping one elbow on the arm of the couch to trail his fingers through the ruff of fur at the back of my neck. “Should I get you a cookie? Or give you a belly rub?”
While part of me wanted to snap at him for his predictable, and marginally offensive, use of dog humor, I couldn’t stop my ears from twitching at the mention of a belly rub. I mean, come on, who doesn’t like a good belly rub every once in a while?
Letting out a loud sigh, as if the action was a great inconvenience, I rolled onto my back, baring the pale downy fur of my stomach. I jerked at the soft touch of his fingers close to the scar on my stomach buried beneath my fur. I looked at him askance, watching him with a combination of wariness and the wolf’s suspicion.