Page 115 of Fawn

“Thank you,” I squeak.

I glance down at the cover.

Shared and Rutted by the Wolf Pack.

My eyes feel like they are on stalks. Where does she even find these stories?! I quickly flip it face down and put my napkin over it like that might erase what I’ve just seen.

Time passes pleasantly.

No sooner do they leave than Eiden arrives to take me for my afternoon shift.

“The constable asked if you would take Jude on a tour of the guard posts,” Eiden says. “I’ll take Fawn to the forest for her run.”

“Of course,” Gideon says. “By the way, she has another book.”

“Book?” Eiden looks confused. “On culture?”

Gideon snorts.

“Gideon,” I hiss.

He winks at Eiden. “I’ll explain about it later,” he says. Whistling Blue to accompany him, he strides out the door.

“What was that about?” Eiden asks.

“Nothing,” I say, feigning innocence. “I’m ready for my run.”

I am not, in fact, ready for my run. I would rather everybody go away and leave me alone with Gideon, but he has already left to show Jude the guard posts, of all things.

Fine, I also love to shift and play. It is officially my favorite part of the day when one or several of my mates accompany me for my afternoon run. Just thinking about shifting makes my body tingle with energy and happiness, and I can feel it building inside me.

I just want to run…

The airwhooshesin my ears. When I glance down, I see my dress, underthings, and shoes in a little heap on the floor.

My doe immediately wags her tail at Eiden, who is still in human form.

And then he shifts, too. He is a beautiful stag. His coat is a deep russet, dappled with lighter spots across his back. The thick ruffle of fur on his throat is luxurious looking. His antlers are huge and regal—he is handsome, no matter his form.

I trot ahead of him, down the steps and out into the garden, feeling joyful. The sun is warm and pierces the woodland canopy to warm my coat.

He lets me run, following attentively close.

I have been thinking increasingly of him taking me in this form, of him mounting my doe.

He snorts, and I glance back to see him bearing down on me fast.

My back legs kick out, excitement rips through me, and I dash left around a tree, running as fast as I can.

His hooves thunder as he chases me down. But I am fast and nimble, darting left and right around trees. He cannot catch me. I am too quick. The air seems to crackle with electricity like it does before a storm. I can feel something rising inside me—a primal urgency.

I like being chased. I like it very much. I dart between the trees, trying to lose him—testing him.

I want him to catch me, but also, I do not.

My wild race ends as I emerge on the side of the lake, where I come to a skittering stop.

Ahead, gardeners are cutting down a giant weeping willow that lines the far side of the lake.

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