Shifting
The car ride back to the mansion was short or perhaps I was not paying enough attention to realize it wasn't. I could only stare at my arm wrapped thickly in a random auburn scarf from the store we wrecked.
It still hurt but I was too tired to care. Also at that moment, the ugly wound was the least of my problems despite it being the reason for my new dilemma. Ethan wanted me to shift. Something I hadn't managed to do in all my seventeen years of age.
I glanced at his tall silhouette in the car seat. He sat by my side leaving his thick curly midnight black hair in my view as he looked out the window. I wondered if he could perceive the protests in my mind against the ridiculous and impossible idea he proposed.
“I can't read your mind,” he murmured. I hummed in response, raising an eyebrow. There was a long pause after, filled with no sound but the engine humming. I kept my eyes fixed on him and my thoughts clear.
“Pray tell, what do you want?“ He spoke again but with a heavy sigh. His British accent was suddenly more pronounced and it tickled my ears.
“You know what I'm thinking do you not?“ I retorted flat and steady.
“You must shift, it's the safest way to completely heal you,” he insisted without so much as looking my way.
I repressed the torrent of harsh replies and settled for, “It's also impossible. I can't!“ I said flatly.
To say he was aggravating me would be an understatement. Any attempt to make me shift would end as another glaring reminder that I was weak and useless in the endeavors of my own safety. I didn't want to be made aware of my own helplessness in a situation I was still having a hard time understanding.
He paused for a minute before continuing with an unyielding calmness that only stoked my frustration further. “You can. You just haven’t tried in the ways you should.”
Another vague set of phrases dismissing my concerns. I was getting really tired. I just had my life dangled carelessly by some ice sorceress and he was still being vague.
The car hit a bump, jostling my arm against my side. I winced, biting back a groan. “You think I haven’t tried?” My voice was quieter but it still held tight to my annoyance.
“Do you know how humiliating it is to be considerably the only one who can’t shift? The only one who—”
“Stop,” Ethan cut in softly. His gaze finally met mine but it carried a sternness I didn't need at that moment. “Self-pity isn’t going to help you now.”
“It’s not self-pity,” I muttered under my breath. I was promptly baffled so I moved to look out the opposite window. I couldn't believe he would say that to me at that moment. Of all moments.
But even as I denied his claim of self-pity, I knew my words rang hollow. Perhaps it was self-pity, perhaps I had built the habit of letting my shortcomings speak for me but still, he had no right to dismiss what I was feeling under the pretense of caring for me.
Moments of dreadful silence later, the tall stone mansion loomed into view. Its towering silhouette was lit by the soft glow of sconces lining the driveway and the large wooden doors. Men cladded in uniform stood lined up. Ominous thoughts squirmed at the back of my mind knowing what was coming.
The car rolled to a gentle stop and I reached for the door handle ready to put as much space as I could between Ethan and me. I needed space to breathe.
Ethan opened his door and turned back to me. “Come out,” he ordered with a straight face, his tone clipped and his movements stiff.
My eyes rolled deliberately at him. I hoped he caught me. Like coming out wasn’t what I was doing before.
I complied anyway, stepping onto the gravel path with a crunch under my shoes. The air was cooler now, biting against my exposed skin. I instinctively clutched the scarf around my arm tighter. My breath puffed out in white smoke under my nose.
I officially hated the cold. All I could think about was the nails in my flesh.
Ethan halted in front of me reaching out an arm. I looked at it and up at him before hobbling past him. I could do that much for myself. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
The inside of the house was eerily quiet. The murmurs of activity from early in the morning were absent, replaced by the faint hum of the central heating. I breathed out an unintentional sigh of relief, welcoming the warmth like a lost friend.
A quiet contentment spread through me. However, I heard Ethan walking in behind me and it was gone as quickly as it came.
Abigail appeared at the base of the grand staircase, her arms crossed. She had on some new clothes and her usual stoic countenance.
“Tyler and Abel are handling the cleanup,” she informed Ethan without a preamble. Her eyes flicked to me, narrowing slightly. “How’s the arm?”
“Still attached, last I checked,” I quipped, though the sarcasm fell flat under her piercing gaze.
Ethan ignored the exchange, brushing past her as he ascended the stairs. “Bring her to the den in an hour,” he instructed. “She will be shifting tonight,” he stated with absolute certainty, leaving no room for protests.