Kieran turned to her, hearing the change in her voice. He drew in her scent and smelled the slight easing of her fear, the first sweet odor of acceptance.
He felt a profound and sudden sense of release, and the tension drained out of his body. He could not have let her drive him away. He’d tried to make her understand, but his ability to speak was still stiff and awkward, like a muscle long unused. Like the shape he now wore and must keep.
But now there would be no need to make her afraid again. He had despised the possibility of forcing her to help him, hated the compulsion that would drive him to it. When he thought instead of what it had been like to lie beside Alexandra—the softness of her skin, the sweet smell of her, the comfort of her closeness…
“Unless you plan to shift back to a wolf again,” she added.
Her words cracked his reverie like a brittle eggshell. Shift. That was the word for what he’d done. Nauseating. Painful. Forbidden. To be denied at all costs.
“No,” he growled.
She stiffened and raised her dun. “Then go on in. I’ll be coming in a minute.”
He wanted to trust her. He must trust her or have nothing at all. But he waited, watched her retrieve the rifle and lift it in her hands. His hackles rose, undeniable instincts blending with vague and terrible memories.
She turned and saw him. Her face stiffened, and he knew his expression was wrong. With an effort he stopped the growling deep in his chest.
“I won’t hurt you,” she said suddenly. She moved by him with slow, wary steps, the rifle held close in her arms.
“I know,” he said.
She looked away and walked into the cabin. He followed; her warm scent enveloped him, easing his hatred of high walls. This was her world, her territory.
His, now. He went to the stove and the rug. The venison still lay there, and he felt both hungry and nauseated by the sight and smell of the raw meat.
Beast.
The single word cracked at him. He jerked up his head, staring at Alexandra. She was setting down the rifle, and he could clearly see her face.
Alexandra had not spoken. The word hadn’t come from her, but another. It was the Voice—the Voice that had come before Alexandra had struck him down in fear.
The Voice that was inside him.
You’re starting to remember, boy…
Remember. He worked his fingers and stared at his raised hands. Not paws. Hands. Not a beast.
Alexandra was staring at him now. He watched her gaze sweep over him, lingering as if she judged him as another of her kind.
He looked down at himself. His body was fit and strong; it had been his before, and he was losing his awkwardness. He saw no flaws or weakness. But Alexandra stared. Her breathing quickened and her scent changed subtly, stirring him low in his belly.
Not a beast…
“What do you see, Alexandra?” he asked.
The pale skin of her face reddened. Abruptly she snatched a blanket from the back of the sofa and thrust it at him, anger in the twitch of her arm.
“Cover yourself,” she snapped. “If you want to learn to be human—” She stopped and swallowed. “People don’t go around naked.”
Naked. A flash of realization raked at his gut like claws. He was naked, and among humans that was forbidden. Crazy. He had forgotten the shame.
Heat flushed his skin. He ignored the blanket and searched for the clothing she had given him earlier. He crouched and gathered up the pieces, sifting the fabric through his fingers, turning them over and over. The shape was familiar.
He snatched up one piece of clothing. Pants. They tangled in his hands like a living thing, all long flaps and openings. Balancing awkwardly on one leg, he struggled to push one foot through the widest opening. The other flopping leg curled around his ankle.
Alexandra was watching him, watching his clumsiness. With a snarl he yanked at the cloth and heard it groan and give under his curled fingers.