NaNoWriMo Story Snippets

23. Excerpt from ENSNARED: POINTS OF VIEW

Author's note: Subject to editing, etc. (Especially the title.) In the comments for ENSNARED, some of you said it would be neat to see a particular event from a different character's POV, so I tried writing a few. If the dialogue sounds familiar, that's because I kept it as close to the original scene as I could. This excerpt is from Becky's POV of chapter 5.

As long as there's coffee, I'm good. If you have a preference, though, you'd better hurry. Of all the things she can say, why does she choose that? The full-moon nights are the only times she allows herself to let her guard down even the slightest bit, and Sasha's already taken off, challenging them to a dare. It's the perfect opportunity to talk to Seth and she suspects Sasha did it on purpose, but there's no way to tell for sure: they're all more playful on a full-moon night, so maybe Sasha just wanted to break the tension and get them running.

Maybe it's tasting the ghost of Sasha's lip gloss while knowing Seth is watching her disrobe, but Becky's nerves feel frayed, ready to catch fire at the smallest spark. How does Sasha do this? she wonders as she takes off her leggings. Sometimes just being in a relationship with Sasha is enough to overwhelm her; how could she possibly handle being involved with Sasha and Seth at the same time? Becky pauses with her hands at the back of her bra. Maybe I should skip this run, she thinks. She's too wound up, and while that's usually the best reason to run—to release all the tension of the month before—she can't shake a nagging feeling of unease. As she unhooks her bra, she glances over at Seth, but he's politely looking at her knees; he's seen her naked dozens of times now, but there's a difference between seeing and gawking and, to his credit, he's always tried to stay on the right side of that line. Still, she wishes he would be slightly less than polite just once.

Would he stay if I asked? she wonders as she finishes undressing. That's something she's thought about more than once as well. It's not like Sasha and Seth just discovered they were both werewolves and then fucked on the spot, after all; there had to be some attraction, some conversation. As far as Becky goes, the attraction is definitely there—awkward and annoying at times, but there; it's the conversation that's holding her back. Sasha was the one who had approached her when she joined NXT, so she doesn't exactly have a frame of reference for seducing a fellow werewolf. God, woman, you're a mess, she chastises herself, taking a swig from the bottle of water they use to rinse off after their run.

"Since I'm driving, I'd better."

It takes a moment for Seth's words to make sense, for Becky to link them back to her own. Nodding, she follows him out of the cabin so he doesn't have to delay his transformation any longer, at least not on her account. As she crouches down, it almost looks like he wants to say something, but then he smiles and gets ready to shift.

He's faster than she is—he usually is, and Becky sometimes wonders if he would spend days in his wolf form, if given the choice—and he trots over to her, looking like an amiable, if very large, dog seeking head pats. "I'm good. Go on. I'm surprised Sasha hasn't called us yet." Then she strokes his ears, resisting the urge to kiss the soft spot between them.

Seth hesitates for a moment—another moment she doesn't seize—before tearing into the forest, so fast Becky loses sight of him within seconds. Her shift is well underway now, so she can't call out to him to wait or come back; her throat somewhere between human and wolf and any sound she would make would sound anguished, so she doesn't want to alarm him. Once her transformation is complete, she does a quick circuit around the cabin to get used to being on four legs.

As someone who can catch a chill from an icy stare, Becky's always revelled in the inherent warmth of her wolf form, but when she hears a gut-wrenching howl, she feels numb, as cold and slow as a glacier. That's Seth. The realization gnaws at her gut. Late last year Seth had been hit in the eye with a branch while running and let out an agonized howl, but this is so much worse.

Seth! She doubts he'll hear her panicked yip over his own howls, but she wants him to know she's coming. Since the forest is mostly empty, it's easy to find and follow his scent trail, weaving through the trees while trying to keep alert for whatever caused him so much pain. It only takes her a few moments to reach him—he mustn't have gotten very far on his run—but it feels like hours, and even though every muscle in her body strains to go check on him right away, she forces herself to survey the scene for any further threats.

He's hanging is her first thought, though it's not completely true. She can see something thick and metallic cinched around his neck, jerking his head back at a painful angle, and she smells his blood before she spots the glistening darkness in his fur. Some sort of animal trap, she thinks, rushing over. Seth is howling, thrashing around in agony, and in her heart she's right there with him. Her mind retains enough humanness, though, to realize he's only hurting himself more, so she tries to pin him down with her front legs, gently but firmly closing her mouth over his muzzle.

The moments it takes him to calm down shred her nerves to bits, but Becky forces herself to remain steady. Sasha's surely heard his howls by now and will come running back, but for the time being, she's all Seth has. His eyes, widened by panic, roll up to meet her gaze, and she can only hope she looks reassuring, or at least friendly: if he lashes out at her, he'll only hurt himself more. Once Seth isn't writhing any longer, Becky moves back. Wait. Her bark is as authoritative as she can make it given her fraying nerves.

Her mind feels like an overloaded circuit and she's sure there's a hundred things she should be doing, but all Becky can think of is to shift back to human form. It will hurt like hell and she'll be weak, maybe too weak to be of any help, but hands will be more useful than paws. Should I howl for Sasha? she wonders as she crouches down to reverse her shift. She takes a deep breath instead; if Sasha didn't come running at the commotion Seth made, one plaintive howl isn't going to reach her.

Everything in Seth's howl—blood, torment, desperation—both fuels and floods her transformation. A werewolf's body isn't designed to switch back and forth between forms so quickly; only shapeshifters have that gift. Everything breaks: her bones, her mind, her connection to reality. Sometimes she can feel a howl crowding her throat; the next minute it's a scream. Paws claw at a human face, then hands pull back at the bite of a predator's teeth. Throughout it all she can barely see Seth; everything is a red haze, as if she's curled up inside her own heart, drowning in blood.