Page 19 of Rescued By the Beast
My roar tears through the air, a primal, desperate sound, laden with pain. The trembling in my body only increases, and an urgent, uncontrollable need takes hold of me.
Only then does understanding strike my mind, like a snap, and everything becomes clear: the chills, the heat, the dizziness, the electricity running through my body...
I need to shift.
It's not a choice. It's as if my animal essence is tearing through the barrier with its claws, out of control.
The sensation grows, vibrant and relentless, infiltrating every muscle and reaching my bones. An invisible force compels me. It is suffocating, as if my own body were being controlled by something beyond myself.
That witch... did she do something to me?
Or is it just my body reacting to extreme stress?
My heart races, and in the next instant, my body gives way. My bones and muscles stretch and twist, a sharp pain pierces me from within, a feeling of rupture.
My blood vibrates and my vision darkens as my form distorts. Every movement makes me want to scream, I try to take control, but I can do nothing but accept it.
The transformation consumes me, and in a few seconds, I am no longer a woman.
I become a cat.
Chapter 6
Sandra
I didn't have time to take off my clothes. My small form emerges, tangled up in my garments, and I need to escape through the collar of my shirt, fighting against the growing nausea.
My stomach churns and writhes in spasms, taking me back to the first times I shifted as a child.
Like those times, I struggle to breathe, trying to endure the internal turmoil that takes hold of me.
It's not just the body, it's the mind, it's the panic, all at once.
The violent change and the lack of control.
I haven't felt this way in years, sick after the transformation.
But today... it's different.
I am that child again, with no control over my own body, forced to face something I cannot avoid.
The weight of the past consumes me.
I remember the first time it happened. The fear in my parents' eyes, the fever that left me on the brink of death, the silent rejection that came afterwards. I was discarded as a mistake, a freak, left to be raised by my grandmother.
She took me in and knew how to care for someone like me, even though she wasn't supernatural.
Years later, I learned the gene hadn’t appeared out of nowhere. It came from her mother, my great-grandmother—hidden, dormant, skipping two generations before emerging in me.
My thoughts cloud when the first jet of bile comes out of me, the vomit mixing with the milk spilled on the floor, a horrifying mess that only makes me want to vomit again, even though I have nothing left to bring up.
When the nausea begins to subside, a fragile relief takes hold of me.
My dirty paws bother me, as does the bad taste in my mouth. I wrinkle my snout in disgust and take a few faltering steps towards the bathroom. I'm desperate for a shower and to brush my teeth before I can finally sleep.
I reach the bathroom door and, with an effort, try to shift myself back.
Nothing happens.
