Book 19: Feral

Ian

Oakley walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Her wet hair glimmers in the faint light of the oil lamp I lit and rested on the kitchen counter. It’s the earliest, dead hours of morning. The sun won’t rise for another few hours, and it’s raining so hard her footsteps are drowned out by the downpour that thunders over the tin roof. 

I didn’t totally anticipate taking her here, to my home, tonight. I misjudged the weather and got a bit too enthusiastic about the fact that we both were able to shift. There was magic in the air, and that magic dragged me back here, to the home I intend to share with her, soon, if the Goddess sees fit. 

Still, according to customs shared by both of our packs and the tribes that laid our cultural foundations, this is an entirely inappropriate situation… for a couple who isn’t at least handfasted. An