He shook his head and furrowed his blond eyebrows. “I don’t accept that. You’re like a child. Do better.” Cyrus turned her attention back to Betsy, and she took a deep breath.
Everything would be okay as long as he was there. She would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. She belonged to him; they all did. He held their…
Wow. Betsy blinked rapidly. Where had those thoughts come from? They weren’t hers. They had to belong to someone else, someone she didn’t know, except they were obviously her own. Who else could be inside of her head making her think those things?
“Okay.” Cyrus shook his head. “She’s panting. I don’t want her going into shock.”
“What are you going to do?” Lake placed a hand on Betsy, and Betsy growled. She did not want the other woman touching her. No one should be placing hands on her right then. Betsy backed up, stumbling a bit. Why weren’t her feet working, and holy cow she had growled. She needed to say something, anything, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Sweat broke out on her neck.
“I’m going to shift and take care of her. What do you think I’m going to do?”
Lake retreated further. “Didn’t you tell me that you shifted once today? You’re going to shift twice in one day on a non-full-moon night? That’s insanity. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
He laughed, and Betsy shuddered. There was no mirth in the sound. She could smell something on him she couldn’t identity. It tasted tangy on her tongue. What was that?
And why couldn’t she make her mouth work? Something was happening to her. She wasn’t dense. She could tell something was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.
“I’m not going to make myself sick. I’m Alpha.” He shook his head. “And I suppose, if I do, you will fix me. That’s what you do, what you can’t seem to help yourself from doing.”
Lake looked away, tears in her eyes, and crossed to the window. Betsy didn’t know what the history between the brother and sister was, but she knew he’d hurt her feelings. She could smell it, taste it, a bitter pungent scent that burned her nose.
Distress didn’t smell good. The scent resembled rotten eggs or something similar. She gagged.
“Have you realized that you’re a wolf, princess?”
She jolted at his words. No, that wasn’t possible. She whimpered and backed against the wall. This. Can. Not. Be. Happening. It had to be a mistake. Sure, Cyrus was a wolf-man. She’d seen him change. But not her. Not unless Lake had done something to her.
“No. Apparently, I broke that news to you, and it has placed you in utter terror. If I was worried about shock seconds ago, I’m terrified now. Don’t worry, Betsy. All will be well.”
Cyrus’ body shifted. In the same way he had become a human from a wolf earlier, he shifted in the opposite direction now. Fur popped out on his skin and his nose, which had been adorable and human, elongated into a snout. She sucked in her breath and jumped when she realized the funny feeling on the back of her rear end was a moving tail.
She turned her neck to look at it. Oh God, she had a tail. Betsy wanted to cry, and it came out like a howl. She tried to stop, and it happened again. Heaven help her, she was a canine. She howled. She growled. She wagged her tail.
There had been things she wanted to do, plans she’d hoped to achieve after she settled the Nathan problem and saved her parents. There had been food to eat. Now she wouldn’t be able to even eat any chocolate. She sniffed—unless that rule applied only to domesticated dogs and not werewolves.
Cyrus had fully shifted into his wolf form. He stared at her for a second, and she wished she could read minds, could know what he wanted from her. Currently, everything she craved most in the world left her in conflict. On one hand—or paw—she didn’t want to look him in the eyes. The floor, the wall, anywhere but his eyes seemed a great place for her gaze. On the other, she wanted his total attention, wanted to rub up against him, to take him somewhere where no one would ever find them—where it would be the two of them alone.
She took a deep breath; she had to relax. They didn’t even know each other.
Cyrus growled, and she forced her gaze to his. It felt akin to yanking a boulder skyward using only her neck. Yet, somehow she managed. Maybe it was the way he growled at her. Betsy would probably do anything to make that sound stop. Or maybe it was because he smelled like cinnamon and power. She loved that spice and she particularly liked how it surrounded Cyrus.
He crowded her until their fur touched. He was dark with gray specks and much bigger than her. Their fur wasn’t dissimilar in color, and she wondered if all—gulp—werewolves were similarly marked.