chapter 81

Sable

Shifting comes strangely easily, now that I know the wolf exists inside me. The getting naked right before shifting part is not as easy, because old, modest habits die hard, but I do it anyway. I figure the more I get naked—both in and out of bed—the more I’ll get used to it.

It’s odd running alongside my mates after so many trips where I rode on Ridge’s back. My wolf is a little unwieldy, and my paws feel like giant trash can lids beneath me, so the first half-mile of racing across the plains is a stumbling nightmare. At least I don’t pitch over and end up on my face like a newborn giraffe learning to walk.

But at some point, something clicks, and suddenly I’m flying, all the parts of my body working together in tandem. It’s as natural as breathing, and I want to howl my excitement at the rising moon.

My mates have made this trip before, so I fall in line in the center of the small pack while Ridge and Archer take the lead. My mind is too busy chasing ghosts—thinking of the yea