Hunting Human - Amanda E. Alvarez [36]
Beth pushed herself to her hands and feet. Braden was still on the ground, unmoving, unprotected.
Get to him.
Get to the car.
Terrified Markko had seriously injured him before he’d had the chance to throw him off, Beth steeled herself and glanced back.
Disbelief hit her with the force of a blow and acid raced up her throat. She’d expected the worst—a torn and bloodied throat. Glassy eyes that stared at her unseeing.
Instead, Braden pushed himself to a crouch and leaped forward, shifting from man to wolf, shattering the world around her. He hit the pavement on four paws, hackles raised, head bent toward Markko.
Please, no.
Not this. Never this.
Beth’s heart slammed against her ribs and her pulse pounded in her ears. The world around her smeared out of focus as the first agonizing pains of the shift ravaged her body.
No!
Focus! Stall the change.
Beth counted backward from ten, focusing on pulling air in through her nose and pushing it back out through her mouth. She’d never shifted forms outside of the lunar cycle before and she’d never had any success fighting the change. But now, palms pressed to the gravel driveway, back arched in pain, she threw every ounce of strength she had behind keeping her human form. Saliva pooled in her mouth and her fingers curled into the asphalt beneath her, scraping her knuckles.
She choked on a sob, as the skin along her spine pulled taut, a thousand needle pricks raced down her neck, across her shoulders then followed the length of her spine; everywhere the sensation raced, fur burst from her skin.
Fight it!
Agony stole a scream from her throat and forced it through her clenched teeth as tendons and ligaments suddenly constricted, pulling her legs taught and seizing her fingers into her palms.
The muscles along her arms rippled and pulled taut, dropping her closer to the ground. She couldn’t stop the change. Fighting it was only leaving her vulnerable.
Fine. Use it.
Shift. Try to run for it.
For the first time, Beth focused on the memories of her previous shifts—full moons she’d spent scared and alone in her apartment, memories she actively buried every month. She searched for how those changes had felt. Painful as they had been, they’d also been faster than this one.
Relax.
Let muscle memory take over.
Beth exhaled, reached for the familiarity of past shifts and tried to let go. Her body arched and her teeth ground together as her neck jerked beyond her control and finally the shift began. As her mind cleared and instinct took over, lightning struck her ribs.
Beth screamed—the sound that ripped from her throat half human agony and half suffering animal. Another punch of lightning hit her in her back. Time stopped. She collapsed to the ground, completely limp and barely conscious.
Tremors wracked her limbs and stunned silence filled her mind.
The change stopped. Her fingers shook involuntarily, but they were long and unclenched. The shift not only halted but completely reversed.
A thick hand wrapped around her upper arm and yanked her up; she tried to push her feet beneath her, but her muscles refused to obey her commands. She felt herself start to slide toward the ground, but the man holding her hoisted her up and over his shoulder.
The position jarred her ribs, radiating pain through her chest with every step. She was momentarily relieved when she was dumped over the back of a car, the warm metal smooth against her clammy cheek. Rough hands grabbed her wrists, yanking them behind her back. A zipping sound cut the air and plastic ties cut sharply into her skin.
No!
Familiar panic clawed through her mind and sent her legs kicking out behind her. She’d been here before.
“No.” She struggled against the plea, shame clogging her throat. “Please, no.”
She was jerked