Ember
Zaid is careful where he steps, his gait so smooth that I find myself sitting up and carefully gripping his fur. The tingles from the mate bond glide along my fingers where I grasp his soft white fur, and I wonder what he would do if I reached up and scratched behind his ear.
Not wanting to distract him, I keep my hands where they are and enjoy the swiftness of a wolf. Since I never shifted at sixteen like other wolves usually do, I never learned what it felt like to run with four paws. Closing my eyes, I imagine myself running through the forest, my fur a soft gray—but reality is cruel, and I’m a werewolf-born omega without a wolf to shift into.
My eyes open when I feel Zaid slowly come to a stop and lower his body once more to the ground. Carefully, I climb off his back, finally
