The Bitten.

Ride or Cry.

I didn't want the world. I wanted to dig a little hole and die. I didn't want to shift, I didn't want him to carry me. I was starving, tired, and just conflicted. I had too many thoughts competing for attention. The main one, I didn't want to live here. I wanted to wake up and find myself in bed, alone, in my apartment. Alone. I wanted to wake up and realize I had a freaky fever dream, that this world and Aamon were a figment of my imagination.

The worst part was I  couldn't even truly think about any of that until later. I had to remind myself that somehow, Aamon was able to pick up many of my thoughts. Who knows how much he knows or can tune into that he just hasn't addressed. I wasn't about to press my luck, so I tried hard to keep my mind in check. Aamon inspected me so thoroughly that heat rushed into my face, and I fretted that he had already learned enough to make him off me.

Your face is hot. You are sickly. I've asked too much. He sighed. I want you to think about your human body. Your hair, and face. Your arms and legs. You are doing something you enjoy in that body. Focus on that and you'll be 'yourself' again.

I don't want to.

I know. Either way, you have to shift back. You can shift here where it's warm, grab a fur or clothing if I can find any, or you can shift in the field when we return and it's chilly. I groaned. He wasn't lying, but I didn't want to hear it. I dreaded the agony that would come with the shifting, as well as the nudity.

I'll shift. Give me a moment, and don't watch me. He gave me a sympathetic chuckle, and tucked his head under his paws as I scooted away from him. I didn't stand, I just tried to do as he instructed.

It was everything I dreaded. I cried as I twisted and heaved. When I was finally me again, I collapsed on a mountain of furs and vomited until I thought I had turned my stomach inside out. I felt rude having ruined his nice little lair, but then again, he had murdered people and given Mr enough trauma to last a lifetime. If he had to clean my vomit, oh well. Thick tears coated my face as I greedily sucked in air. I had thought I'd drown.

You will be fine. Lay down. Aamon hovered over me as I tried to recover.

"I wish I had just fucking died..." I dabbed my eyes. "If I hadn't fought you off, you might've already shit me out and I wouldn't be here to suffer. Just kill me. I can't do this." I punched the furs beneath me.

Calm down. It will get better. I understand you are upset, but I only have so much patience. I shoved myself up and stomped away from him.

"No you don't understand. If you did, you wouldn't say things like that. It's hard to relax or be calm when I'm constantly in peril. It's either agonizing pain, witnessing murder and carcasses, threats, or mind games. You don't understand what you ask of me."

I ask less than most, you'll learn.

Aamon rushed me from behind, giant head going between my knees. I slipped onto his back haphazardly, and I snatched his fur intentionally too rough to anchor myself. He didn't seem to mind though, he just walked through the flap unto the main room without giving me much thought.

"Hey! Are you not going to let me clean the puke?"

His ears went flat and his shoulders slumped in defeat. I didn't care to leave a mess on him here, but I wanted down from him until I had clothing between us and that was the first excuse that came to mind. I was not about to suffer all this and go home to fish the wolf hairs out of my ass crack, and I didn't want him touching my bare skin. I nearly fell on my face in dismount, and I ran past him to sweep up the fur that had the majority of my mess. I rolled it up haphazardly and trotted to the door to set it out.