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Red…
The chili was coming along. Rabbit was his favorite for stews, but venison made the better choice for the heavy spices of chili. He’d had to use both hands to put his mother’s cast-iron skillet on the stovetop. It was a good thing the woman was blind, so she didn’t have to see him like this. Tonight they were celebrating her birthday, so he was making cornbread and a meal with meat. If Jeremiah didn’t call today, he was going to kick his ass the next time he saw him, even if Red had to start the whooping while his brother was still asleep.
Today had gone better at work. It was time to shift again to keep the scar tissue flexible and able to tolerate the stretch necessary for change. Getting to his heart’s shape wasn’t the hard part. There was relief in settling into his Bear form, a sudden and sharp cessation of the chronic pain. Red had been delaying his next turn, afraid that he’d not be able to convince himself to come back to this form so full of terrible memories and pain. His mother’s birthday wasn’t the day to risk it.
Their neighbor down the road had dropped off cookies this morning, so they would have something sweet to finish the meal. The electric bill was going to drop soon, and he’d have to pull from his and Jeremiah’s savings to pay for that bill and his mom’s heart medication. Escaping into his bear shape wasn’t an option he could allow himself.
Shame at his current weakness had kept him from responding to the brat’s texts. What the hell did she think was happening, tea parties or church socials? He was fucking going to work and making sure that his mother didn’t starve. And as far as being a mechanic went, he was figuring out new ways to do his job. He needed the strength to come back into his right hand, but if it didn’t, he had to figure out how to get things done without it.
Red stretched his hand and closed it into a fist. His reality was that he would never have the strength or agility he had once taken for granted. He ached like an old man now and limped. He used his left hand to lift the lid on the pot. The perfume of the spices rose with the steam. Tonight, he would focus on this chili. No one could question his cooking.
*
Rig…
He faced away from her. He didn’t need the distraction or trouble from her men if he was caught staring. Bears were off the chart territorial when it came to others outside of their family brotherhoods. Terry didn’t seem the type to be casual about staring at his naked woman. Fear slowed Rig down. Death wasn’t part of his plans for this year. He’d brushed close enough to taste her kiss. The chill against his lips had been intimate.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Okay. He counted down, breathing his heart down to a more even cadence. I will not shame my fathers by the choices I make today. I am a Wolf. I do not fear death. I embrace her. She walks with me every day of my life. My constant companion. My comfort. One day she will lift from me my burdens and responsibilities. My life belongs to her. He breathed out, long and slow, releasing his attachment to this fragile life. Opening his arms to death, he felt the lightning spark of his change ignite.
Rig’s soul screamed as he pulled through the narrow aperture left amongst the scar tissue, dilating it wider. For the first time in his life, his body resisted the fluid nature of change. His whole existence he had flipped his shape whenever it amused him. Even before they were born, Wolves rolled back and forth with their mothers in and out of their known shapes.
There was danger in regular transformation, but freedom too. The way the Bears lost themselves in their heart shapes was almost unheard of in his community. He pushed and struggled as if caught in a net. He felt her then, hands hot as fire, and the pulling spear of her adjustments.
Beyond his control, she loosened something deep in his right hip, and he sprang free into his Wolf shape. Panting on the ground, he looked back at her and found her in her Bear form, focused, terrifying, and completely aware. She lifted a heavy paw, and he flinched. It settled on his hip and Kennedy rolled him back into change.
Back and forth they went until he could manage on his own without her navigating this newly altered path. His body was different, but still his. Rig wore scars in both shapes, Wolf and man.
Hair tangled, wet with sweat, Kennedy crouched in her human form, watching him return. Weak as a kitten, he couldn’t protect himself after so much rapid change. Kennedy did not attack; she waited. When he took a breath, she sat back on her heals. He could feel the energy emanating from her, crackling the air. How many times would they have to do this?
The enmeshed experience left the echo of a sensation in his body. He’d only ever known two shapes, and yet, there was this shadow, this new possibility that he could barely consider. Rig didn’t know if it was a gift, or an abomination, but in this moment, he knew if he tried, he might be able to claim a third shape. The thought made him panic. He shuddered against the ground. He would tell no one and never attempt the form. He was a Wolf, just a Wolf.
Face turned away, Rig listened to her get up, clumsily. Her walk was as loud as a small child’s, almost as ridiculously unaware as a Sheep. He listened to her dress, saying nothing. Kennedy walked away and left him on the ground.
The strangeness of his current life made his face wet. Hot tears. He was alive and ashamed of the relief he felt. Rig took in a sudden breath, and the ability to fully expand his lungs caused more tears to come.
Who was he to care about death? What weakness was in him that he wanted to be an old man? Why was he thinking of children and grandchildren? Being around Bears was making him soft. The pretty little Bear’s face flashed in his mind, pale hair and ice-blue eyes. Rig drove the image of Snow away and buried his face in his arms. Who was he now? As he offered water to the earth, he was grateful his brother could not see him.