Wool Shift Dust Novels & Stories

It was more uncomfortable for him that way, but it was better than letting Angie find out. The tendrils eventually snapped. White gooey sap spurted out and dripped onto the jeep. The plant ricocheted back to where it came from. The vigorous shaking of its leaves created a trail of dust. Upon closer inspection, the “dust” were actually tiny fine hairs drifting to the ground. "Shit, what's this?" Brandon's voice travelled from the other vehicle, drawing everyone’s attention.

“As a shifter, you should be able to do this whenever you want. No crazy circumstances.” “Did one of your fancy books tell you that?” I groaned. He didn’t respond. “Call Lana in here and tell her to give me some of her magic dust.” “Lana is not going to help you Sincere.” I scoffed. This was a whole set up from the beginning. “You either limp around in pain, or you shift.”

The wool at the tailor is very good quality, the yarn is not ruffled and if it is soaked in water, it will not shrink or burst. Vivian wanted to visit the tailor so I brought her along. I noticed that when she stood up, Vivian's legs seemed to hurt a bit, she had to ask the bodyguard who was with her to help her stand. Her every step staggered as if she was about to fall, but she excitedly followed closely behind me. "I'm curious about this, but I'm worried if I ask, will it be rude to you?" I was choosing wool while chatting with Vivian.

“Yours?” “High end clothing. If you see the bears, come in to clean, you’ll understand they can’t exactly buy off the rack. It’s a common problem within the shifter community. Specialty needs in clothing. Dragon shifter’s are some of the hardest. Some need materials that resist burning, acid. Wolves need clothes with quick releases, can be pulled off, or stretch so that they don’t injure themselves shifting if they’re forced to shift unexpectedly.” “So life for you guys is a little complicated trying to hide all this. Geez, why didn’t you come out before this?”

Then a sting meets my inner thigh, making me gasp, and I fist my skirt. My spine stills against the seat, every muscle in my body working itself as I adjust to the bite of whatever he just did. He moves away, coming back in again, another sting needling my thigh, this time higher up my skirt. Wax? I convulse, my clit reacting to the tingling that pricks at my skin. I slap a hand to my mouth, biting on my index finger to even out the sweet pain. A moan slips as he kneads my skin.

“Smell what? All I smell is you, Ainslee.” I roll my eyes. “So you smell sweat and clothes that haven’t been properly laundered for months because we can’t afford soap?” I shake my head at him, pulling my dark blue cloak closer around me. It had been my mother’s at one point. The thread is so bare, parts of it are practically translucent, so it doesn’t do much to keep out the autumn chill. Properly nourished wolf shifters are rarely cold. Those on the brink of starvation, like most of my pack, are often chilly. Also, few of us can actually still shift for the same reason.

"No. Then what is the point of keeping this secret?" "What is the secret of this place?" I asked. Windriel just gestured with his head, simply telling me to watch and learn. I simply looked around while Windriel moved me around the long path of the dungeon. The first room we reached was full of high-quality blankets made of fur. I was about to admire the blanket, but thinking it was made of fur, does that mean it comes from the lycans? "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked with a smile.

We had our hair curled and styled tight to our heads, with very little touches of natural makeup added. The one big downside of shifting was that too much makeup and it would show up on your fur. A knock sounded on the door and I smelled him walk in. Amber and musk hit my senses and I turned to see Gerwulf. His bloody red hair stuck out against the deep green dress shirt he wore to try to match. His black dress pants were fitted to his legs and he wore sleek black shoes. My body moved on it's own towards him like we were magnets. "They're still silver," he whispered, one of his strong hands reaching out caressing my cheek," I'm starting to really like them."

The few emerging hairs gleamed silver-white, nothing like the dull gray fur from the North. But then the shift stalled. The fire in her shoulder stalled, blocked. Her knuckles darkened under the pressure. The joints creaked faintly, but her nails didn't change. No claws. No shift. The murmurs below grew louder. Several senior hunters stepped forward, brows drawn, studying the platform. Darcy sucked a breath through her teeth. She was about to force it further when a thin, high howl cut through the crowd. It was small and young, but it pulled every eye.

The dress offered no defense. Strictly speaking, it was not dirty. Wool did not need washing every time it met a day. I had brushed mud from the hem, cleaned spots when I found them, aired it whenever the road gave me somewhere dry to hang it, and yesterday Maela had shown me the yard behind the kitchen where the tavern linens were washed. The problem was underneath. I owned one linen shift. One. The same one I had slept in. Again.