Frostbitten Read Online Free PDF Page B

road wasn’t empty. Steady headlights streamed toward us, people making their way into Anchorage for work. As for where these commuters came from, I had no idea. There were certainly no suburbs I could see—just the occasional sign suggesting an unseen town down a long, dark road.
     
    Finally we turned off onto one of those long, dark roads. Clay drove a mile, found what looked like a service road and parked along it.
     
    I hopped out… and sunk knee-deep in the white stuff. The air, though, wasn’t as bitterly cold as I’d feared. I’d been in Winnipeg earlier this winter, when the temperature hit minus twenty Fahrenheit, but this didn’t feel any colder than Pittsburgh.
     
    At least I was dressed for the season, having boots, a down-filled jacket, hat and mitts in my luggage. Clay—returning from Atlanta—wasn’t so lucky. I’d grabbed him a toque in the airport, but he was only wearing it to humor me. Cold weather never bothered Clay. I always joked that he was like one of those werewolves from medieval legends, with his fur hidden under his skin.
     
    We left our valuables—watches, wallets, wedding bands—in the locked glove compartment, then set out, tramping through the deep snow. If I’d h ad to walk through this I’d have been cursing with every step. But because I chose to, in pursuit of an activity I was giddily anticipating, I didn’t mind at all—laughing and lurching, grabbing onto Clay and dragging him down as I fell, getting tossed face-first into a drift, returning the favor…
     
    We didn’t go far from the road to Change, but it took us awhile to get there.
     
    The area was wooded enough for us to find separate thickets. I was finally past the stage of insisting on that, though I do make Clay turn his back if we share. I don’t consider myself particularly vain, but I’m not keen to have anyone see me mid-Change, even Clay.
     
    I undressed and put my clothes in a plastic bag I’d grabbed at the airport. And then it got cold—”Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” cold. When I got down on all four, and sunk in snow up to my breasts, I was gasping for breath.
     
    It took a few moments for me to relax enough to begin the Change, but once it started, the cold was the last thing on my mind. My body is shifting from human to wolf; it’s not going to tickle. As I learned when I had the twins, a Change is a lot like giving birth, except you skip the labor pains and jump straight to the “what the hell was I thinking?” screams of agony. Once you accept that it’s a natural process and nature will see you though, you grit your teeth and bear it because you know it’ll be over soon, and when it is, the reward will be worthwhile.
     
    So I suffered the body-ripping, bone-cracking agony of the Change with only a few grunts and whimpers, as I’d done at least once a week for the last twenty years. And when it was over, I collapsed onto my side, panting, muzzle buried in the snow to cool off.
     
    Once I’d caught my breath, I rose slowly. The pain was only a memory now, but I still took my time, finding my footing on four legs, paws crunching through the snow crust, icy shards prickling between my footpads. I blinked hard, adjusting to a gray world, giving my brain time to convert the shades to colors.
     
    My ears and nose were already in action, ears swiveling to pick up every distant crackle of falling ice, nose wiggling to catch every molecule of prey scent, both senses urging me to hurry up, get on with it, get out there and start exploring. I ignored them and stretched. My eyes slitted in bliss as my muscles ached, endorphins shooting to my brain, sweet as champagne.
     
    I swished my tail against the snow, then stepped forward and back, reestablishing my center of gravity. After twenty years, all this was completely unnecessary, but it was like foreplay—delicious on its own, even better as a way to whet the appetite, anticipation and frustration growing.
     
    Speaking of