Experiencing a transformation personally is one thing, but seeing someone else take their wolf form right in front of you is another thing entirely.

I've only been on this side a few times, and up until now, all of those had all been during my childhood when my parents didn't realize that I had been watching. I'd somehow managed to block those details from my mind, but as Gemma's face contorts, her limbs lengthen and her body becomes covered in coarse, russet fur, those awful memories flood back to me.

"What is she doing? What's happening?" I ask, retreating backwards without taking my eyes off her wondering if this is how I look under the curse of the full moon.

"She's objecting to you," Clayton says, his tone and demeanor unchanged from when we were still doing the simple initiation ceremony.

Although I've barely moved a few feet across the circle, I'm struggling to catch my breath. "Well, . . . I . . . I object to her!" I manage to utter before realizing how nonsensical I sound.

"That's not on option, Barlow," Clayton yells at me, barely visible now and then from behind his fiancée who still hasn't completed her transformation. "You must accept her challenge and face her."

"What do you mean face her?" My pitch goes up at least two octaves in panic as Gemma's wolf stretches its neck and bares its jagged teeth.

"Call your wolf and stand your ground," Clayton demands. "Show that you are meant to be part of this pack."

"Or what? You know that I don't want to be in your pack," I say, trying to meet his eyes behind the mask and the now pacing wolf between us. "Will you let her rip me apart for refusing?"

I purposefully don't mention not being able to turn at will and hope that Clayton has not forgotten. I'm also pretty sure the others don't know about my deficiency and I'd prefer to keep it that way. But I'd also like to just stay in one piece.

Gemma's wolf growls at me as though signaling that it would not mind ripping me apart at all.

"Turn, Barlow," Clayton urges and it doesn't escape my attention that he did not answer my question.

The wolf begins to stalk, forcing me to move along the inner edge of the circle to avoid coming face-to-face with it.

"No!" I shout, almost wishing that I could become my wolf to avoid this embarrassment. Or worse.

With nearly two dozen pack members watching, I now have free rein to match, or even one-up, the Alpha's mate and I can't. Gemma Calhoun has rubbed me the wrong way since the moment we met, but this will make me dislike her even more. If that's even possible.

The wolf stops and so do I, finding myself standing in front of Clayton. He steps up behind me and speaks directly into my ear.

"I know you can find your wolf. I need you to try," he says, now more gently and a shiver runs through me.

Clayton knows I can. And for some reason, I believe him. Not only that, but I also want to try.

This is a brand new feeling for me and I'm suddenly invigorated. Using this newfound energy, I channel it into willing myself to change.

Nothing.

"It's not working," I practically cry as the wolf comes closer.

"Try harder," Clayton orders without a hint of sarcasm, making me laugh.

"Thanks. Very helpful," I shoot back at him as I step to the right to increase the distance between me and the stalking beast. It doesn't do much, but when my foot taps the discarded sword, I get an idea. Picking up the weapon, I point it at the wolf. "How do you like this, huh?"

The wolf growls louder than before and lunges forward. Raising a front leg before I can react, it swats at the blade and knocks it out of my grip. The force is so strong that I fall, landing on my back. Only then do I feel a sharp sting on my left cheek and the trickle of warmth down my face. I reach up and touch something sticky. When I pull my hand away, my fingertips are covered in blood.

My blood.

"Gemma! Enough!" Clayton roars, appearing between me and the wolf. Pointing toward the door, he continues as the animal stands its ground. "This is over. Leave. Now!"

The wolf hesitates. Moving its head from side to side, it appears to be weighing its options. But after a few moments, it lowers its shoulders and stalks away between a gap in the circle.

Clayton immediately rushes to me, squatting at my side. "That wasn't meant to happen. I'm so sorry you got hurt," he whispers so only I can hear. Turning away, he yells to the others. "You all may go. We'll address this at another time. But can someone get me a first aid box?"

"How bad is it?" I ask, lying in Clayton's arms as the left side of my face starts to go numb. "Shouldn't we go to the hospital?"

He removes his mask. Bunching up the hem of my robe, he presses the soft fabric against my cheek to slow the bleeding.

"You still have your head," he says with a grin, but I'm not sure that his handsome face is enough to make up for the reality that he's not exaggerating.

"Ha ha," I exhale the faked laughter since it's becoming more painful to do much else.

My expression must match my agony because Clayton gently strokes my forehead. "You'll be fine, I promise. Just hold on for a bit longer and we'll get this handled," he says before looking up at the pack members still milling around. "If I hadn't been clear, your dismissal wasn't a request. So if you all could get going today . . .."

Most of the robed figures quickly realize their mistakes and head toward the door. Some throw a quick congratulations my way, while others casually welcome me to the pack before they leave.

"So I guess the after-party is cancelled, then?" asks a less clueless man before being dragged away.

Going against the flow, one person returns with a bottled of water and a small white box emblazoned with a red cross before finally leaving me alone with Clayton.

The first thing he does is help me into the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. He then finds another and pulls it up to face me. By this point, my lightheadedness is causing the room to spin and nausea is bubbling at the base of my stomach.

"I don't feel so good," I mumble as I try to stay seated upright.