Page 79 of Howling
She rises, stretches out her spine, then shakes out her fur with a toothy smile. Blowing out a heavy breath, I flex my fingers to work up my courage, then I settle them over the bars. Silver hums against my skin like I touched a live wire, and I grit my teeth, praying I don’t lose a layer of flesh.
Ignoring the ominous hum of magic, I focus on locating the source of the spell. The instant I find it, my wolf turns feral. She lunges, her teeth and claws ripping it apart like it’s her mortal enemy.
That’s when I notice something odd.
While she’s unravelling the spells, she’s actually inhaling a small wisp of magic and consuming it.
Concern threatens to strangle me, and I carefully probe her for any signs of distress. The spell nips at her in retaliation, fighting to remain whole, but the magic itself remains inert…until she eats it.
My heart thuds in panic at what effect raw magic will have on her, then I swear her eyes shimmer and brighten. She stands up straighter…or did she just grow an inch taller? She shakes out her fur, and I would bet my soul that her white coat is bigger and fluffier.
Holy shit.
She’s consuming magic!
Then a horrifying realization slams into me a second later—I’ve been starving my wolf for her whole life. I’ve randomly absorbed a few spells over the years, but only minuscule amounts that no one would notice.
I’m distracted from my ruminations when the magic suddenly leaves the metal. My wolf yawns, then curls into a contented ball and falls into a blissful sleep. She’s not exhausted, she’s just full. While it takes a lot of energy to dismantle spells, each time is faster and easier, kind of similar to training a muscle that I didn’t use until now.
The ramifications of my abilities slap me across the face, and my ears ring, my breathing growing ragged. If people discover what I can do, I would be considered an even a bigger threat.
They would kill me on sight.
No one likes to feel powerless, especially power-hungry witches and mages.
It’s more imperative than ever that I remain out of the council’s clutches.
I need to train.
I need to plot and plan.
I refuse to be defenseless again.
“Frankie?” Tyler touches my arm hesitantly. “Are you okay?”
I blink away my chaotic thoughts, then grimace when tiny tendrils of smoke rise from where my palms remain wrapped around the bars. When I yank my hands away, I expect to see burns across my palms. Instead, my skin is pristine. It’s the bars that are burning, like my touch was corrosive.
Okay, that’s new.
Every day, I’m learning more about myself.
That should be a good thing… If only I knew what the fuck it meant.
Am I growing into my powers, or am I evolving into something more?
Both scenarios are equally dangerous.
Survival instincts are truly an amazing thing…and terrifying.
I wish I had an owner’s manual for this shit…or someone I could ask who wouldn’t try to kill me outright.
Tyler tugs me away from the bars when I don’t answer, the fox bristling, like he fears the bars might reach out and stab me at any moment. I lean against his arm, watching his shoulders ease slightly at my touch. He doesn’t let down his guard, but he does shuffle closer and snuggle against me like a fox seeking reassurance. My stomach flutters, the sensation weirdly weightless, and I’m not sure I like it.
So I do the mature thing—I fucking ignore it.
“I’m fine,” I say, quickly shuffling away. The longer I’m near the men, the more they touch me, the more they seem to be working their way under my skin, distracting me when we can’t afford to be sidetracked.
The giddiness fades, and I breathe a sigh of relief…and disappointment. Not wanting to dwell on the contrary emotions,I push open the door to avoid any further conversation, snapping the locks with ease.
