#ari 004

@bewarethesirenscall

Everything about this was strange. Never in his entire life had he been somewhere so extravagant, worn something so expensive, or been surrounded by so many people. He was standing among them, out in the open, in plain sight, and no one had pointed and screamed. The flask in his breast pocket had enough polyjuice in it to make sure that his good luck lasted the night.

Staring down at unmarked hands, no scars or calluses or tattoos, he curled his fingers into a fist and sighed. Fenrir shook his head. His jaw clenched as he glared past his brow at the ongoing party. He’d never been more out of his element than he was now. 

Everything about this body was wrong. Its senses were dull, its reflexes slow, and he was at least forty pounds lighter than he should have been. All that muscle mass, gone. He felt weak, exposed, on edge. 

Fenrir took a subconscious step nearer to his mate. His hand on the small of her back pulled her closer and he leaned down to nuzzle her temple, but that cinnamon vanilla scent was off. Gritting his teeth, his exhale was resigned as he stood upright again.

He hated how weak his senses were, how weak he was in this body. Logic argued that nothing would threaten her here, but he hadn’t survived this long by being careless and letting his guard down. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d still tear anyone apart that so much as looked at her wrong. It’d just be more of a challenge without his fangs, claws, or arsenal of weapons. 

Smartly dressed wait staff wended through the crowd and he considered trying to see if he could get drunk in this form. As soon as the thought formed he cut it off at the knees. He was weak enough as it was. He wasn’t going to hinder himself some more by testing his tolerance. Not if he was also endangering his mate in the process.