“Who’s there?” Tessa called out. 

“Female. One of your friends?” Rye’s hiss is only audible to wolf ears and he stands in front of her. “Get control of your wolf. Quick.” 

“What part of my bloody speech didn’t you understand? I can’t get control.” 

There’s no moon in the sky, but she can feel its pull. It’s latched onto her heart dragging her down and down into the wolf. Her heart beats faster and faster, the wolf’s blood racing through her veins. It’s hammering nails into her jaw, her canines elongating and she catches her tongue on them as she pants. 

With each breath she tries to turn her veins back to blue. Count to ten. Count to ten. Count to ten. But she can’t. The wolf is in her brain throwing her thoughts around and it tries to take control. The veins are spreading, she can feel the hairs sprouting out of her eyebrows and below her jaw. Count to ten. No. The wolf is trying to climb out of her mouth. She needs to howl. Her lungs are bursting to do it. It’s like someone is pumping a lead balloon in her chest with no room to breathe and the only way to get it out is to howl. To scream for her pack and the moon to save her.  

“Stop it.” Rye’s voice is deafening and she snaps her teeth at him. “Dammit.”

His hand grabs the sleeve of her blazer and yanks her to the side. Stumbling, all she sees is a collage of branches, rocks, and ivy. Then there's a cold ruff surface beneath her fingers, then it presses into her back and she slips to land on her bottom with an umph. There’s not enough light in here, only the white of his eyes and the jut of his cheekbones are visible as he tilts his head to the cave entrance to listen. 

“Tessa, you've got to calm down. Control your wolf.” The second twig snap is like a trumpet blast in her delicate ears. Rye whips around surveying the woods. She scrunches her eyes shut, hands over her ears she ducks her head between her knees. Five years old again she hides from the monsters. Except this time the monster is her. “Hey, hey stop it.” 

His warm hands are on her back and the overwhelming smell of hot chocolate and pine needles loosens her chest. Footsteps crunch against twigs and leaves. Rye’s hand moves to grip her bicep, his heart rate accelerates almost to match hers. 

“Look, don't think about the wolf. Think about the here and now. The smell of the forest, the sound of the birds, the dampness of the rock behind you. Anchor yourself in the present. Take a deep breath, what can you smell.”

“The trees…” She’s not sure if he could understand the muddled growl which escaped her, but he squeezes her arm. 

“Keep going.”

“The soggy moss outside, the crows in the trees and you.” The pressure in her chest is building. The urge to howl is greater than any human urge to pee, or drink, or eat. She scrunches her eyes shut. She’s got to howl or it's going to kill her. “I can’t stop it.”

“Yes you can Tessa.” She hears him lick his lips. “Take one of those smells and focus on it. Really focus on it. See the colours of it, let it tie you to the earth. To your humans.” 

She picks a scent. A sage green which is heavy in the air, so heavy it makes everything else seem dull. It’s different from the hunter green smell of the trees, or the penny brown smell of the moss. It’s thicker, like soup. When she really focuses on it, breathing in a greedy lung full, she can smell the undertones. The richness of Italian hot chocolate, the sharpness of a new book smell, the smoothness of a graphite pencil. She can smell him. 

Opening her eyes she focuses on him and not the calming of her heart rate or the pressure releasing from her chest with each breath. She was right, he could help her control this.