A shiver wracked my soul, and the prickling rose higher. My cheeks itched and forehead stung with emerging hairs. A panicked gasp caught in my throat that sounded eerily like the birth of a howl.

I swallowed hard and sank to my knees. “What’s happening to me?”

Graeson gave no answer.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

A cold nose edged under my jaw. Dell. I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked while the wolves shared a commiserating glance.

Time passed. The sun shifted lower in the sky. The sensation of being swept through the change abated, leaving me hairless and declawed. My skin passed smooth under my palms. I was me again, the wild rattle of something other locked behind my ribs.

A damp tongue swiped over my lips, and I spat Graeson’s kiss off while rubbing my mouth with the back of my wrist.

“Are you okay?” Standing over me, Dell chewed her thumbnail. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Something’s wrong.” I tested my face, my neck, my arms and hands. “I shouldn’t be able to shift without blood. You’ve seen me. My recall isn’t this good.”

“Should we turn back?”

“How far is it?” Trees all looked the same after a while. “Is the trip back worse than the one forward?”

“Ten minutes. Maybe twenty.” She hesitated. “I don’t know if visiting the Garzas while you’re vulnerable is a good idea.”

As close as Bessemer watched me, I doubted I’d get a second chance to cozy up to his witches. There was nothing for it. We had to push ahead and hope for the best. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Stay close.” A firm note entered her voice. “Give me a heads-up if you start feeling puny, okay?”

I stood on wobbly legs and lurched into motion after her. “You’re not changing?”

“I can’t shift back for a while.” Her bare feet made no sound in passing. “Besides, I can help you better in this form, and I know where we’re going without my super sniffer, if that’s got you worried.”

The hike became even more surreal as I followed the curve of Dell’s spine down the shadowy trail. “Is it kosher if you show up naked?”

“They’re used to it,” she assured me. “Miguel is married to one of us, remember?”

Based on Meemaw’s cautionary tale, Miguel spent so much time attempting to suppress his wife’s nature that I wondered if witches shared the same prejudices as fae toward wargs. Most shifters were healed by the change. What was wrong with his wife that she was deteriorated by it?