“How are you feeling?” Sinclair asked, standing in my bedroom doorway. The Wild Hunt was tonight, and I knew he wasn’t merely asking about my morning sickness or fatigue.

“Nervous,” I confessed. “Do you think…” I trailed off, blushing, unsure if I could even speak the question.

“What is it, Ella?” he inquired, approaching with an encouraging smile.

“Do you think I could see your wolf before we go tonight? I want to recognize you when I see you,” I whispered, barely audible, but knowing Sinclair’s wolf ears would easily hear. (I silently added: And so I won’t be scared.)

“Of course,” he chuckled. “That’s a great idea. I should have thought of that myself.”

His powerful hands moved to his shirt buttons, and I stepped back. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted to see my wolf; I don’t want to ruin this shirt,” he shrugged. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Right,” I breathed. “Right, of course.”

He began undressing, and I averted my gaze. I’d successfully avoided temptation by not looking at his body in vulnerable moments, and I wasn’t about to change that—especially not today, when self-control was crucial.

“Does it hurt, shifting?” I asked, staring at my fidgeting fingers.

“It does the first time,” Sinclair said. “The first time is almost unbearable; it takes hours, but afterward, it’s lightning-fast, too quick to feel the pain of your bones breaking and rearranging.”

“That sounds ghastly,” I said, feeling lightheaded. “How old are you when you shift for the first time?”

“It varies—most make the change during puberty,” Sinclair informed me, removing his trousers.

Already I was thinking of my son eventually enduring this gruesome shift, and I didn’t like it. “What was yours like? Was anyone with you?” I squeaked.

“Mine was as painful as anyone else’s. But my father was with me; he got me through it, just like I’ll do for our son,” he stated, his voice filled with promise.

“Good,” I sighed, relieved. I could imagine Henry had been a gentle and supportive presence for Sinclair, and I knew he would be the same for our son. “I suppose… I probably wouldn’t be allowed to help?”

Sinclair offered a tender smile. “No, sweet Ella. I’m afraid it would be much too dangerous.” He came closer, cupping my face in his large hands. This was probably the first time he’d been unclothed while I wasn’t, and I was amazed at how much stronger I felt with my own body covered. I hadn’t realized how vulnerable being undressed was when others weren’t, but Sinclair didn’t seem to mind. He still held the power in the room, and part of me resented his constant strength. “Now, do you want to talk, or do you want to meet my wolf?”

“Yes, sorry,” I flushed.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. “And don’t get close until after I’ve shifted; you don’t want to be near my claws during the transformation.”

I nodded, my pulse pounding. Sinclair backed away, holding my gaze as he had the previous night at the stone circle. I watched with horrified fascination as he moved away from breakable objects, then disappeared. There was a loud crack, the air blurred, and I felt nauseous trying to follow the rapid movement. When my eyes adjusted, where Sinclair had stood was a huge, black wolf with glowing green eyes.

My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped. “That’s not a wolf, that’s a bear!” I blurted out.

The wolf—much, much larger than any natural wolf, almost as tall as I was—gave me an affronted look.

“I’m sorry, not a bear!” I quickly corrected, still trying to reconcile the beast before me with the man who spent every night wrapped around me. “But how are you bigger as a wolf than as a man?”

He huffed, rolled his eyes, and sat on the rug, patiently waiting for me to recover.

“I mean, honestly, I could ride you,” I pointed out, my head filled with images of myself mounted on his back.

Sinclair’s expression became mischievous and heated. I knew exactly what he was thinking—his mind was clearly in the gutter. “Not like that! You know what I mean.” I was amazed he could be so suggestive without speaking or even possessing human features. “I… what do I do? How do you communicate with other wolves? Do you have mental links like you do with the baby?”

He nodded, wagging his tail, astonishing me. I never imagined the imposing Alpha would do something so dog-like, but his silly side always surprised me. It seemed hilarious that Dominic Sinclair sat before me with the squirmy energy of a puppy; he was clearly holding back until I was comfortable.

“Can… can I touch you?” I asked meekly.

The furry behemoth nodded. I knew he was waiting for me to approach. It took a minute to find the courage, but I slowly crossed the room, terrified of approaching a creature from my childhood nightmares, even though I knew it was just Sinclair.

Up close, he was even larger than I’d realized, still taller than me even seated. He looked as though he could snap me up in one bite, and my mind spun with calculations trying to figure out how his mass increased so much. It defied logic.

(I thought: You’re overthinking it. It’s magic—a man became a wolf, but you’re hung up on how big the wolf is?)

“This is weird; this is so weird,” I moaned, wringing my hands as I approached. I hesitantly touched his thick, downy fur. “Oh, you’re really soft… I think this is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Sinclair pounced, unable to contain himself. He gently eased me to the ground. He stood over me, licking my face, making me giggle and squeal as I pushed him away. He settled, laying his head on my belly, pinning me to the floor. Soft purrs rumbled in his chest, and I slid my hands back into his fur, massaging his head and ears, making him groan contentedly.

“You do know that if you crush this baby, you’ll never get your heir!” I complained, amazed at how heavy his snout was.

Instead of removing it, Sinclair nudged his cold nose under my top, resting his muzzle against my bare belly and looking up at me. The cloth of my shirt rested gently over his snout, his heated breath dancing over my breasts. “Dominic, that tickles!”

The wolf made a laughing sound, and Sinclair was a man again, his head still under my top, kissing my belly. “All right, you,” he said after a moment, pulling me up. “Now how are you feeling? Still nervous?”

“Yes,” I admitted, “though not about your wolf.”

“You’re ready for this, Ella,” Sinclair encouraged. “You’re going to do beautifully. Just remember what I told you…”

“I know,” I sighed. “Don’t run when you catch me.”

“Good girl,” Sinclair praised. (I thought: Unless I want you to run me down and make me yours. Unless I want you to claim me.)

The only question was, would I be able to stop running when the time came?