Page 99 of Bedeviled

“And I’ll never know what it’s like to change form,” I argue.

She all but rolls her eyes. “You were never interested in shifting anyway.”

That’s a fair point.

Sybil clenches her teeth, and a pained sound claws its way up her throat. My concern spikes.

Gingerly, I step forward and place a hand on her shoulder. The rumble that comes from deep in her chest raises the hairs on my arms.

“Is there supposed to be someone with you for your first shift?” I ask, brows furrowing.

She rolls her lips together and nods a little too quickly.

Oh Goddess. “Then we need to find them.”

Now she’s shaking her head.

“Listen,” I say, “your shift is going to happen with or without your pack⁠—”

She grimaces.

“—so you might as well be close enough to them that they can actually help you if you need it.”

“I don’t want to go back,” she protests.

“Don’t be a silly bimbo, Sybil,” I say, lightly directing my friend through the cemetery. To my surprise, she lets me. I try not to think too hard about the way her body trembles or how fragile her form feels. I’m sure it’s because it’s about to change.

Aside from Merlin, who flies from treetop to treetop above us, the Everwoods are ominously quiet. So much so that it raises the hairs on my arms. The only sounds are the crunching of our footsteps. Not even the lycanthropes are howling anymore.

A massive shiver shakes Sybil’s entire body.

Goddess above, I’m running out of time to get her back to the lycan’s land, and I have serious doubts that on a night like tonight they’ll risk crossing over to coven property to retrieve her.

Okay, so plan B.

“Sybil, hop on my back.”

“What?”

“Pretend like you’re smashed and need help getting home.”

She sets her jaw petulantly. “I’m not going to⁠—”

“Damnit, Sybil, stop arguing like a brat and hop on my fucking back.”

She huffs out a misty breath of air as another shiver racks through her. “You don’t have to be mean about it,” she mutters, stepping toward me and hopping on.

“I’m sorry,” I say, hoisting her up and wrapping my arms around the underside of her legs.

“You’d better be,” she responds, like I’m somehow inconveniencing her by carrying her ass.

“Give me strength and speed,” I incant in Sarmatian, the ancient words rolling off my tongue.

In an instant Sybil’s weight seems to lighten, and my legs feel stronger and more powerful. I walk as swiftly as I can, my little pouch of spell ingredients bouncing at my hip as I head in the direction of the boundary line.

“You smell good,” Sybil says offhandedly.

“If you bite me, I will kick your ass.” I try not to think about the very real risk I run by repeatedly placing my neck so close to Sybil’s teeth when she’s on the cusp of turning. Better hope my ward holds.