Page 75 of Shifted Desire

“Laugh it up, old man. See if I ever let you witness the glory of my demon form ever again.”

I shrug. “The regular version of you is just as good.” Especially when she’s wearing my clothes. Godsdamn, my wolf likes that.

Samantha’s pleased smile makes my chest constrict with the urge to bundle her up in my arms and hold her as I list everything I like about her.

“Whoa, I didn’t know they could do that,” Samantha gasps as the soothing British voice-over describes how snails are hermaphrodites with the ability to self-fertilize and produce their own genetic clones.

Her exclamation jolts me from the mild stupor of my food coma and the unexpected bliss of having her cuddled up next to me on the couch. Takeout containers litter the coffee table, along with empty wine glasses and a decimated box of cookies.

“Would you do that if you could?”

“Do what?” I ask, stroking her arm lazily.

She points at the snails on the screen. “Have your own babies. It seems pretty convenient, and I’m vain enough to think having a clone of myself would be awesome, but ugh, being a parent is too much work. No thanks.” She shudders melodramatically.

“I have zero interest in having kids,” I reply with a chuckle.

“Thank gods,” she says, and a moment later stiffens. “Not that you can’t have kids if you don’t want to. But I’m not about to be your baby factory for your mid-life crisis where you worry about what legacy you’re leaving.”

I raise an amused brow at her. “My baby factory?”

“Yep. The factory is closed. In fact, it’s never really been open. I’ve had a contraceptive spellmark since I turned twelve, and I have no plans of ever getting rid of it.”

I can’t keep the frown off my face. “Since you were twelve?”

“Uh, yeah? That’s the year I got boobs.” She says it so matter-of-factly that it makes my stomach hurt.

I may have only seen her once a year, but I remember preteen Samantha and her obsession with those colorful pony dolls and learning how to skateboard, who thought her sisters talking about kissing was gross. She was a child and had to worry about birth control.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mutter.

Samantha’s brow furrows. “Too many cookies?”

“No. Just processing what you said.”

The lines on her brow deepen. “Calm down, dude, it wasn’t because I was having sex at that age. It was…just in case. My parents saw how people acted around my older sisters and wanted to keep me safe.”

“Like that makes it any fucking better. Gods, this world is a cesspool.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, it is. But at least there are some good things out there to help keep us sane. Like cookies. And cool snail facts.” Her lips twist into a smile. “And hot older werewolf nerds who enjoy said snail facts.”

“I’m not a nerd,” I protest weakly.

“Of course not. You’re a big, strong alpha.” She pats my chest. “Speaking of which, when can I see that?”

“See what?”

Samantha waggles her eyebrows. “You in all your werewolf-y glory.”

I frown. “That’s not happening.”

She smacks my shoulder lightly. “Why not? I showed you mine. It’s only fair you show me yours!”

“It’s not the same. I’m not in control when I shift.” My pulse spikes unpleasantly at the mere thought of transforming when Samantha is around. Of what my wolf would do to her.

“You say that like that’s not a huge turn-on,” she chuckles.

I don’t laugh with her. Echoes of the words my ex Vanessa said to me all those years ago fill my mind.