A Tale of Runes and Razors

The rest of that night in Morgan's apartment went... as expected. You're noticing her thoughts are a lot simpler when she's shifted. You'd be forgiven for thinking she's a bit of a meathead when her pelt's out. It's kind of adorable in a way, and you'd be lying if you said you minded how she just moves from urge to urge.

She certainly was bigger as you woke up this morning, curled up in her well-muscled arms. You're not exactly a small girl since you've turned, but Morgan easily has you beat now. She looks like some sort of ancient warrior queen you might have had embarrassing thoughts about while you were still figuring out your sexuality. Well over six feet and stacked with curves and definition that made you a bit weak in the knees as you watched her muzzily plod toward the bathroom, utterly heedless of the fact that she didn't have a stitch on.

So yes, Morgan is different. You're not sure if you should wave a flag on just how different she is. She seems... okay with it? But you know you've been pushing her toward this. A bit of guilt there. Sure you'd crushed on her before, but you'd gotten downright greedy now that she was edging towards this absurd, formerly unreachable fantasy of yours. You're a werewolf now. You've fucked your werewolf girlfriend... mate? You've fucked her silly twice since turning, and she's only gotten hotter. Part of you doesn't want to worry about what this is doing to her, to the both of you when you're getting all the things you feverishly wrote about on the internet.

Then there's... the rune. You're pretty sure Morgan hasn't seen it. How could she, with it sitting between her shoulder blades? You hadn't even noticed it until she gathered up her hair to take the collar off before she showered. A tattoo, dark blue, in the angular contours of a Norse rune. Even with your interests it's not one you know off the top of your head so you committed it to memory.

That's what's left you alone in Morgan's apartment, a piece of scratch paper with a hastily sketched out rune on it. She's out running errands, and you loaned her your key so she could bring you back some of your clothes. You hover your phone over the paper, lining it up to take a photo.

Time for some research.

It feels good to get out of your apartment, if only for a little while. After what you and Allegra did, the place smells strongly of the both of you and if you're honest that puts you in a certain mindset. Thankfully the both of you had enough presence of mind that you're not going to have to explain to your landlord why the apartment reeks of wolf urine. Still probably going to be a few awkward "I don't have a dog, honest" conversations, but you'll burn that bridge when you get to it.

"Well well, Red," comes a voice that stops you in your tracks. "That's a good look on you."

You turn around, a jingle coming from the chains that dangle on the studded shoulder of your leather jacket. It seems Lilith is everywhere you don't want her to be. By the look she's managed to get fresh clothes too, though you'd bet she wasn't carrying anything she could buy them with when she escaped the haunted house. You might be imagining things, but you can't help but feel you're a little taller than her now. Bigger?

"I'm not looking for trouble, Lilith."

"Well that's boring," she smirks. "Nah, I'm just winding ya up. If anything I ought ta thank you, Red. It's a big world out here."

"Well don't get any funny ideas, okay?" You huff.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, honey. Besides..." she says, her eyes straying down to your collar, "...you're the boss, right?"

There's something about hearing her say it that you really like. You straighten up a bit with a toothy smirk.

"Guess I am," you chuckle.

"You ever wanna find out what that's all about, you look me up." She grins back.

"Do you even have a phone?" You ask, quirking a ginger brow.

"Like it's hard for a gal like you to find a gal like me," she snorts. "See you around, Red."

Shaking your head, you make your way into the salon.

"Hi, I'm the 10:30?" You say to the stylist.

"...well, you're sure giving me a lot to work with," she says as she eyes your hair. "Have a seat."

Hanging up your jacket, you settle into the chair.

"So," you muse, "I was thinking of getting my sides shaved."