Page 40 of Riot

What… My lips parted. His chest was as impressive as I’d fantasized about. Defined muscles, olive skin, a dusting of dark hair that tapered down toward his jeans. My eyes wanted to drift lower, but I forced them to focus on those ridiculous abs.

“What’re you—” I moistened my lips. “Why are you undressing?”

“The shift shreds clothes.” His hands went to his belt. “Rather not ruin my jeans.”

“Must save the jeans.” I couldn’t look away from the way his fingers worked the buckle. The leather slid free with a whisper. The button popped. The zipper descended, and then he shoved his jeans down those taut legs. He stepped out of them, kicked them aside, and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

It felt like a private striptease, sans any sensual music. I wanted music.

This is fine, completely fine. I’m a mature adult who’s seen plenty of nudity. Mostly online. I can handle watching Riot—watching him—the bike. Something, something.

My brain collapsed.

The briefs came off, and I made some weird-ass sound. It might’ve been a mix between a groan and a hiccup.

Riot stood in the middle of his bedroom, completely naked, and I sat there staring at his dick like it was a rare, exotic species I’d just discovered.

A naturalist encountering a previously undocumented life form. I heard David Attenborough voice in my head.

Here we observe the North American Werewolf penis in its natural habitat...

“Calvin.” Riot snapped his fingers. “You look like your battery suddenly died. You’re just sitting there frozen. You sure you’re ready for this?”

“You shifting? Whatever. Your dick?” I frowned, forgetting what I was about to say.

Stop making it weird, idiot.

I ripped my gaze away from his huge cock. “Found that third cliché,” I laughed. “You did this on purpose.”

Riot wasn’t smiling. He looked concerned and confused. “I was gonna flex a little, but you went blank. You okay?”

“Show me your wolf.” I wanted to crawl under the comforter and demand it live up to its name.

The air changed immediately. A prickle raced up my arms, lifting every hair along its path. Static electricity danced across my knuckles when I gripped the edge of the comforter. The room felt charged, like the moment before lightning struck.

Then Riot’s body started to change.

I’d expected something slow. Cinematic. The kind of transformation that happened in movies, with dramatic music and special effects. This wasn’t that. His bones rearranged with sounds that were too quiet to be called cracks but too distinct to be ignored. Fur sprouted across his skin in a wave, dark brown and black spreading from his shoulders down his back, across his arms, down his legs. His face shifted, jaw extending, ears lengthening, and those light brown eyes stayed fixed on me the entire time.

The whole thing took maybe ten seconds. Probably less.

Then a massive wolf stood where Riot had been.

I scrambled backward onto the bed so fast my elbow slipped, and I nearly face-planted into the headboard. My feet left the floor entirely. Knees drawn up, back pressed against the wooden frame, I stared at the creature in the middle of the bedroom.

He was huge. That was my first thought. Not Noodles/Gunner huge. Actually huge. The kind of size that made every survival instinct in my body start screaming. Dark fur with lighter patches around his muzzle and chest. Paws the size of dinner plates. A tail that hung still and low, not wagging but not tucked either.

The wolf dropped to its belly on the rug, head resting on its front paws. Waiting. The posture was unmistakable. Submissive without being cowed. Patient without being pushy. Those brown eyes watched me from across the room, and I recognized the intelligence behind them. Riot was still in there. Still aware. Still him.

Just…furrier.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

The wolf’s ears swiveled forward.

“You’re—you’re really big. Like unreasonably big. Has anyone ever told you that? Because someone should.”

The tail gave one slow thump against the floor.