Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Test Subject 849
Female. Female in the woods and I lost her.
Damn dog.
We need the female for our tests. Our very important testing. We need to measure how much pain she can withstand to determine what stressors trigger the change.
No, not the change.
These females don’t change.
Why don’t they change?
Perhaps with the right stressor they can find their inner animal. With enough injections of the serum.
The way mine manifests in moments of extreme danger or fear.
Or partly manifests.
If I’d had enough testing, enough practice, I might have learned to control the wild animal within me. The rage. The terror.
I need to develop the serum to fix my animal. So I can fully transform.
That’s why I have to help these women. Give them more tests. More trials to endure. More pain. Soon they will become the animals they long to be.
Soon we will get the results we’ve been working for.
* * *
Caleb
There’s a raging snowstorm outside. My bear should want to hunker down and sleep, but something pulls me out of the cabin. The same bad feeling I had yesterday, but amplified. Maybe I’m just going nuts.
It’s always there. That possibility. I spent too much time in bear form. My human reasoning has been affected. My self-control.
I pull open the door and a gust of wind stings my face with snow. I’m in human form, but I lift my nose to the air, anyway, sniffing. I hear something. It’s faint, but a dog barks. There’s a frightened timbre to the bark that I pick up, even at a distance. It’s a warning bark—an emergency bark.
Fuck.
My skin itches, the urge to shift right upon me. Any sign of danger and my bear wants to rush forward. It’s why I’m hardly fit for human company these days.
Right now my bear’s on edge because I know exactly whose dog is barking, and I’m terrified to find out why. I dive back into the cabin and yank on my boots and a jacket and hat, then head out into the snowstorm.
“Keep barking, dog. I’m coming,” I say out loud. As long as he keeps it up, I should be able to locate them. I’m hoping it’s a them I’m rescuing and not just him.
I’m hoping it’s the storm that threatens them and not something—someone—else.
My long strides turn into a run the more my mind whirls around all the things that might have gone wrong. The heat of the shift is right at the surface. I want to take my bear form so I can cover more ground, get there quicker, but I resist the urge. I won’t be of much use to the lovely scientist in bear form. Not unless she’s under direct attack.
The memory of finding Jen and Gretchen dead comes flooding back, and I nearly lose control.
Please, no.
Don’t let that happen again.
When I get close, the dog charges, running at me, growling viciously. He stops halfway between me and her, sits and just barks. The poor beast isn’t sure whether to protect his mistress from me or lead me to her. His instincts are going haywire right now with the need to survive and to help his owner.
Poor creature. I ignore him, showing my dominance. He whines as I pass, probably catching my scent and realizing I’m not human. At least not completely.
I find the young scientist slumped against a tree. Her eyes are open, but she doesn’t seem terribly aware. She’s probably in some stage of hypothermia.
Christ.
What the hell happened to her out here? I sniff but don’t detect any scent but hers and the dog’s.
As soon as she recovers from this mess, I’m going to turn her over my knee for even being out on a day like this.
Okay… that was a weird thought.
I would never do anything like that.
With any female.
...who wasn’t my mate.
Lord, I’ve been living up here alone too long. I shouldn’t be so affected by the first female who comes around. Especially when she’s human.
I reach down and pluck the scientist from the ground, tugging her to her feet first, then bending and slinging her over my shoulder.
She mumbles something incoherent, but I ignore it. The danger isn’t over and I still have to get her back to my cabin and warmed up. I would run, but I’m afraid it would jostle her too much. I don’t want to snap the fragile human’s neck. I settle for long, hurried strides.
The dog runs along beside me, trying to jump up and lick his master’s face.
We reach my cabin and even though I don’t keep the gas heaters turned up, warmth seems to blast us.
The human whimpers as I tip her to her feet. It occurs to me I ought to say something to her, something reassuring, but those kind of words are long forgotten. I hardly speak to anyone these days, and when I do, it’s not pleasantries. I don’t do polite. Or chit chat. Definitely not friendly.