“Oliver, what the hell have you done?” was voiced more softly.
Bewilderment and misery edged those words and Oliver felt a brief moment of puzzlement. Most changelings emerged roaring, confused, their humanity momentarily subject to their beast. Lewis sounded like his human was in control.
The pod shuddered as Lewis wriggled and sat up. Instead of looking around, the man was looking down at the rest of himself.
“I’m a wolf?” he asked, running his hands through the fur on his chest and then lifting them to his face and feeling his muzzle and jaws.
Oliver watched. Of all the transformations he’d seen, this was the first time a newly made were hadn’t been looking for blood.
Give yourself a break, Ollie. Every other changeling has been a by-product of a very nasty war. This one...
He still didn’t understand it. Lewis had gone down in a fire-fight, and come to in a pod.
How does that even matter?
As he thought it, Lewis turned his head, catching sight of him.
“What did you do?” he asked, and it wasn’t what he wanted to know.
Oliver heard the plaintive why hidden behind the words and pushed himself upright.
“You were dying.”
Lewis slid out of the pod, dropping to a crouch and then rising to his feet. He looked down at himself, studying his hands. He waved one at Oliver, shaking it for emphasis.
“Ammie’s gonna kill me!” he protested, then narrowed his eyes. “Actually, she’s gonna kill you...and then she’s gonna kill me. Didn’t you think to ask?”
He stalked closer, his eyes going from amber to liquid flame.
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