I ran down the parkway, squeezed between the road guardrails on the right and traffic flying by on the left. The Glenn McConnell had no sidewalk, just a wide shoulder—meant for broken-down vehicles and not pedestrians. But you could use it for jogging, if you were feeling particularly suicidal.

  I didn't have far to go, and reached the next intersection in just a few minutes. I cut to the right, onto Baird Cove, diving into the winding streets of Providence Common residential area.

  Maggie followed behind me, the gap between us widening with every second.

  I was running as fast as I could, though that didn’t make me particularly fast. Being a werewolf didn't mean I was blessed with supernatural cardio. But Maggie—well, she wasn’t exactly spry either. She struggled to keep up, holding her leash in her mouth after I'd instructed her to follow behind, and I’d mentally relayed a quick set of directions—where to meet if we got separated.

  West Ashley City Park sat just on the other side of Providence, and it was my best shot at waiting out the moonrise. The park was surrounded by a dense stretch of woods that, according to Google Maps' satellite images, was riddled with old logging trails and footpaths. More importantly, it connected to a larger expanse of forest—the same one bordering Sandy’s property. If I snuck through the park, I’d have a shot at getting home unseen.

  It was about a mile and a half, start to finish—and technically a little further than taking the parkway to the CSX line and following that home. But it also meant running straight through a heavily populated area. And at this rate, that was exactly where I’d be when the transformation hit—so, not ideal timing.

  A lady needed her privacy, after all.

  At the second right on Baird Cove, I turned onto Wayah Drive—the final stretch. After two rights, and the park would be on my left. Just a hundred yards to go.

  I was huffing and puffing by now, my lungs burning. I was developing a stitch in my chest and my body felt like it was in an oven. Poor cardio, plus a lack of perspiration, and I was on the verge of suffering from heatstroke

  I might have been born in the south, but that didn't mean I was built for it.

  Soon, I reached what I thought was a back utility entrance to the park, and was horrified to find a prominent pedestrian entrance instead.

  And there were pedestrians.

  Thank you, outdated Google Maps.

  Worse yet, the woods I’d counted on for cover had been completely clear-cut. You could see straight through them.

  I didn’t have time for a new plan. I’d over-committed, and the moon was already beginning to peak over the horizon. The light wasn’t visible yet—not with the sun still up—but I could feel it. A phantom tide rising in my blood.

  I swerved around a family of four just exiting the park—no time to be polite, just a breathless “Oops, shit, sorry,” as I nearly bowled over their seven-year-old. In my defense, they were taking up the entire width of the trail. And I’d even stuck to the right side—as per proper trail etiquette.

  Really, if they were mad at anyone, it should be themselves.

  Hopefully, in the abrupt, momentary chaos, they hadn’t notice my tail. Damn thing had slipped out again. Like it had a mind of its own.

  I made it to the bend in the path, where it turned left toward the park proper—wide open fields, a playground, all the usual amenities—and promptly turned right instead.

  I broke into the trees, pushing through the saplings and low hanging branches, breath ragged. The shift was creeping in. Heat flooded through me, seeping into every cell, lighting up every nerve. My bones ached, muscles coiling tight under the pressure of a transformation trying to take hold. I forced myself forward, deeper into the woods. I needed distance. Needed cover.

  Deeper into the woods were thickets of scrub palms—a staple of the southern maritime forest. Low to the ground but densely packed.

  They'd have to do.

  Each step became harder. My vision blurred, shifting between human and something else, my body spasming as it realigned itself to the will of another. My fingers curled, twitching, nails thickening into claws. I stumbled, then fell to the ground as the transformation took over.

  Though it wasn’t pleasant, it wasn’t as painful as on previous nights. Probably because I’d been half-shifted all day. A silver-lining to an otherwise botched attempt to shift on my own. Last night had even been seamless—comparatively—but only because I’d woken the wolf early and let her take over.

  That wasn’t an option right now. I needed her to stay asleep for as long as possible.

  Besides, I didn’t need her for this. I’d learned a few tricks of my own.

  Just had to visualize. Had to imagine myself as a wolf.

  While lying in Sandy’s backyard, struggling to control my body, I’d realized something: I could shift based on how I pictured myself. If I thought of myself as a wolf, a wolf I would be. The only reason I failed before was because I lacked the power, or perhaps focus, to complete the transformation by myself.

  But now, I had the moon.

  The shift came faster this time—quicker, cleaner. Muscles stretched, limbs contorted, my jaw lengthened, ears pulled upward. I wasn’t fighting it. I wasn’t losing to it, either. I just pictured myself as nothing more than a wolf in human clothes, wearing a human suit, and shaking them off, leaving them behind.

  And just like that, I was a wolf.

  The world sharpened. The sounds of the forest deepened into something richer, more layered.

  I stood on four legs, and stumbled, still tangled in my own clothes.

  I huffed, shook out my fur, then fumbled with my front paws—claws catching on fabric, limbs moving awkwardly until I forced myself to focus. Hands. I needed hands. Or something close enough. Like opposable paws.

  Had to believe myself a wolf, but one with thumbs.

  The results were… functional. My paws flexed, the digits shifting just enough to let me grip my shirt with my claws, and wriggle free.

  I stashed my clothes and shoes beneath the scrub palms, pawing some leaves over them for good measure.

  Then I turned to my purse.

  I braced it against the ground and, using my modified paws, finagled the zipper open before poking my nose inside to check on my troublesome little occupant.

  Elmo scuttled out and onto my head.

  I’d tried not to jostle my bag too much while running, but even then it couldn’t have been pleasant for him—what with the gun, phone, and other odds and ends bouncing around in there. And this next leg of the journey wasn’t going to be any smoother. So, better to let him ride on the outside.

  And if he couldn't hang on, well... it wasn’t like I'd miss the not-so-little bane of my existence.

  But, I wasn't worried about losing him. JT had said it himself—Elmo was a clingy little fellow.

  A clingy little pain in the ass.

  I mentally projected toward him.

  Unrepentant, he tapped one leg against my skull and climbed over my bag's strap as I slid it over my head. I hung my purse around my neck in the style of a Saint Bernard’s barrel as I lacked the shoulders to carry it normally.

  A rustle in the underbrush made me turn.

  Maggie emerged at a brisk trot, then hesitated when she caught sight of me. Her ears twitched, tail stiff, eyes wary.

  I projected, trying to reassure her.

  She took a cautious step forward.

  Last night my wolf had been… assertive with the other dogs. Not outright aggressive, but dominant. The younger ones had instinctively deferred to her, almost eagerly. Even Coy, who considered himself the self-elected leader of the household, had been enthusiastic about being usurped.

  But Maggie—Maggie was older. She held a senior position in the household hierarchy, and was one of the dogs Sandy and JT entrusted to keep the others in line.

  Having the wolf suddenly take charge had been disruptive. When the caretaker of the house—me—whom Maggie was tasked by JT and Sandy to assist, suddenly pulled a 180 on everything. Becoming a completely different person. A completely different creature.

  It had been awkward for her. For both of us really.

  But I wasn’t the wolf. I was still me. AJ. Just in the body of a wolf.

  Which meant I didn’t know shit about canine etiquette, or procedures, aside from the little I’d picked up watching . Sure, I’d researched wolves a bit, but I’d focused more on their dietary needs, which, as Solomon had pointed out, was still lacking.

  So, not sure what the right move was, I improvised.

  I approached Maggie.

  She shrank away as I drew near—and who could blame her? I was a 130-pound wolf. She was a seventy-something-pound German Shepherd. I dwarfed her. And like the night before, she ducked her head and tucked her tail—a sign of non-aggression.

  But unlike the night before, she was dealing with me, not the wolf.

  So I patted Maggie on the head.

  With my paw.

  It felt like the human thing to do.

  I sent the thought her way, along with flashes of memory—our time at church, the trip to the storage unit, hiking through the woods, searching the depots. Bits and pieces of our day together to make it clear that, despite the makeover, she was still dealing with the same person.

  Maggie lifted her head, sniffed me tentatively, then let out a low huff and flicked her tail.

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I could feel the release of pent up tension from her.

  So I took it as a good sign.

  I relayed our route home to Maggie, and we took off into the woods. Together.

  Movement in this form came easily. More easily than seemed… natural.

  Despite having spent little—if any—time as a quadruped, my paws found traction without thought. My body adjusted instinctively to every shift in terrain. It was effortless, the way I weaved through underbrush, the way I ran.

  Had I picked it up from the wolf, through some secondhand experience? Or was it something else—like her instincts were bleeding over from her sleeping mind into mine? Now that the moon had risen, had the part of her that dwelled in my subconscious risen to the forefront, blending into my own?

  Convenient as it was, it was no less unsettling.

  Because my paws, my body, felt to me—like this was how I’d always been. As if it weren’t just my body being changed by the moon, but part of my mind as well. And if my mind—my identity—was fundamental to returning to being human, then this jaunt through the woods was far more dangerous than it appeared.

  Because at any moment, some fundamental switch in my mind could flip.

  I’d wake up, and I would be the wolf.

  And the AJ that I was would be nothing more than a dream, soon forgotten.

  I had to stay vigilant during this twilight period, this transition from day to night—a time when the human part of me swapped places with the wolf. It was a time when our two selves were most likely to get… mixed. Lingering too long in each other’s minds blurred the line between where I ended and she began.

  And to say I was still in control was a misnomer.

  I was a wolf. This was her body. One she could take back from me with ease. I was the subconscious now, and I was only in control because she’d elected to sleep in.

  But you could say she wasn’t so much asleep as sleepwalking.

  Part of her probably knew what I was up to. What I was planning. She was probably watching me even now.

  Like I was the dream that she was having.

  I’d dreamt of her often—felt her instincts, her memories, her actions, of the nights she was in control, as if they were my own. So why wouldn’t she dream of me and my actions? Perhaps, in those dreams, she forgot that she was a wolf, just as I sometimes forgot I was human.

  The thought sat uneasily in my chest—that the wall between us could erode from both sides.

  I ran faster.

  The path I’d chosen ran along the southwest side of West Ashley Park, then cut across Trinity Bible Church’s parking lot. Their sign out front announced a Bible study at 6 PM, but it was now past 8. The lot was empty. No congregants, no stragglers.

  No problems.

  Maggie kept pace beside me, her breathing even, but I could tell she was working harder than I was. She could keep up appearances, but through our mental link, I could sense her strain. Even at a leisurely trot, I was still outpacing her.

  I needed to cover a lot of ground before sunset, but I didn’t want to leave her behind. Not this far from home.

  I led Maggie across the road and into the stretch of woods that split Cypress Cove in two. From here, we had a straight shot into the deeper forest bordering Sandy’s property.

  An old utility road ran toward a residential storage facility, not unlike the one I used, and, beyond that, an abandoned logging trail cut through the woods. That trail would take us almost all the way to the CSX line, with just a few hundred feet of woods separating the two.

  Just had to get across Church Creek first—which posed more of an obstacle than I’d initially thought.

  The creek itself wasn’t particularly deep or wide, but the land surrounding it for dozens of yards in either direction was pure marsh. Which meant the banks were made of a special material we Charlestonians liked to call .

  Pluff mud was a dark, grayish brown, all natural sludge, that smelled like rotten eggs—rich in hydrogen sulfide. A scent ingrained in the psyche of anyone who grew up in and around Charleston. It had a consistency somewhere between wet clay and quicksand. And, if you stepped onto it, you’d immediately be pulled in up to your waist. It could be easier three to four feet deep in places, and would form an airtight seal around whatever sank into it. Wading through it was an absolute slog, sure to suck the very shoes off your feet. More than a few people had died trying to wade through marshes like these, getting trapped in the mud while the tide rolled in.

  And even if you did manage to fight your way through, you’d emerge covered head to toe in a thick coating of it. When it dried, it flaked off in chunks, like you were a molting insect. It would ruin any clothing that wasn’t made of pure rubber, and it would take weeks to wash the all the fine sediment out of your hair.

  But, hey, at least it kept the insects away—the stench was as repugnant to them as it was to most humans.

  That said, I had no intention of taking a third shower tonight, and I doubted the wolf would appreciate spending the night caked in drying pluff mud either. I didn’t feel beholden to her in any way, but I could do her this one favor and stay out of the muck.

  But, wait. There's more.

  As if the the marsh wasn't precarious enough, it was also full of razor-sharp oyster beds. No coastal Carolinian worth their salt was without a scar from them—whether from shucking oysters, stumbling through the mud, or, like my brother, having one slice clean through the sole of his boot and into the bottom of his foot.

  Oysters didn’t fuck around.

  So wading through the creek meant getting caked in mud and cut to shit. Not an desirable option.

  Luckily, I already knew of a solution: a bridge.

  I’d spotted it on Google Maps—which at this point I was learning to question. But, it was clear that a bridge had, at some point, been built at a narrow point in the creek, right where the old path I was on crossed the creek.

  But, as I’d suspected, when I arrived, the old bridge was gone.

  All that remained were the skeletal remains of its supports and their crumbling foundations. Still, the creek was much narrower here, and what was left of the bridge spanned the marsh. I could swim across—or, hell, I could probably even jump it.

  But that still left Maggie.

  The creek might have been narrow, but it flowed swiftly, the waters channeled throw a smaller opening. While I could swim across just fine, I worried Maggie would be swept away. She was already tired as it was.

  But, maybe I could carry her.

  Though, to do that, I’d need to make some changes—to myself.

  I exhaled, focusing inward, testing the limits of my control. I pictured the form I’d taken while fighting Monty—the raw strength, the way my body had moved.

  And I began to shift.

  Something about the moon’s presence seemed to make my body more... malleable. The change wasn’t painful like before. It wasn’t even difficult. I even pushed myself upright onto two legs as it happened, still able to move while the transformation ran its course.

  One second, I was a wolf. The next, I was standing—taller, though still a bit hunched, my back claws curling against the old wooden planks of the ruined bridge.

  Last night, the wolf had taken over effortlessly. And while it still took some effort for me, I could do it too—just needed to focus.

  Maggie hesitated, stepping back as I approached. She eyed me warily, like she knew I was up to something.

  And it seemed she wanted no part in it.

  “Now, now. Calm down. This won’t take but a second,” I assured her.

  Maggie wasn’t convinced. She continued to retreat.

  “A-a-a! ” I commanded, and she reluctantly plopped her butt down, and I felt the trepidation rising within her.

  I scooped her into my arms, bridal style. For seventy-something pounds of dog, she felt surprisingly light. She made a whimpering sound, clearly not used to being carried so gingerly.

  “Oh, don’t be a big baby. This’ll be over soon.”

  I stepped back from the bridge, judging my distance, before rushing the gap. Then, with a hop, skip, and a bounding leap, I launched us across the creek.

  Maggie let out a startled little as I landed on the other side. My footing was solid, but not exactly smooth.

  I set her down and ruffled her ears. She swayed on her feet, a little dizzy but otherwise fine. Not thrilled, but fine.

  “You good?” I asked.

  Maggie let out an irritated huff.

  I relayed to her that she’d have to make her way back home on her own at this point. As much as I hated the idea, time was short, and I couldn’t wait for her anymore.

  “When you get home, wait on the porch for Coy to let you in. Can you do that?”

  Maggie confirmed she would.

  I ruffled her mane and pulled her into a brief hug. I conveyed my thoughts to her, letting her know how thankful I was that she’d been by my side the entire day.

  Sure, it wasn’t that big of a deal—I was just trying to save time by running ahead. But I could sense Maggie’s frustration with herself.

  She was a dog, not a sage, and I could tell she couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that she was getting old. Today had been the first time she had tested her limits in a while, and she hadn’t liked the results.

  Call me sentimental, but I could let her leave her thinking she'd somehow failed. No when she was also worrying about Coy and Boden too.

  If there was one upside to lycanthropy, it was this—this ability to communicate with animals. This strange, instinctual telepathy that let me send and receive thoughts with other dogs, and other creatures as well.

  Shame I couldn’t do the same with people.

  That kind of ability, to communicate directly with others, without words twisting or warping intent, would be a game changer in my life. Too often, what I said—or what I heard—didn’t quite match what was meant. Too often, meaning got tangled in the words themselves, twisted by misinterpretation or omission. And too often, I felt was the one blamed for not reading between the lines, for not picking up on what was left unsaid.

  Hell, even when I tried to be as literal as possible, people still managed to assign all kinds of implicit meaning to my words. A perpetual Catch-22.

  But here, right now, with Maggie, I could actually convey something real. A genuine sense of gratitude. That she was appreciated, not being abandoned. That I wasn’t leaving her behind because she’d failed me. That she had nothing to be ashamed of.

  She was a good girl who’d done a good job.

  And I’d see her in the morning.

  “Sound good?” Letting Maggie go.

  Maggie licked my ear.

  We parted ways. I dashed on ahead while Maggie following behind at a more manageable pace. She’d be fine on her own. There was nothing in these woods that could harm her. Both the wolf and I had confirmed that last night. The route home was simple enough: follow the path, cross the tracks, and she’d be home sweet home.

  Soon, I was too far away to sense her thoughts. When the path curved, she slipped out of sight.

  I turned my focus back to myself—my body, specifically. The moon’s presence made shifting feel easier, more natural. Earlier, when I’d taken this in-between form fighting Monty, my movements had felt awkward and clumsy, like I didn’t quite fit inside my own skin.

  But now?

  Now, it felt... right

  Like my body was tailoring itself to me as I ran, making constant, subtle refinements, guided by the energy flowing from the moon, shaping itself to what I thought of as myself.

  And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shift back into my human form.

  I could shape myself into something close—something that moved and felt almost like I did as a human—but that was the limit. I still resembled the wolf.

  My earlier observations suggested that the mind in control dictated the form. That was why I’d been able to shift back after the moon set, even when I hadn’t been fully conscious. So it stood to reason that it worked both ways—now that the moon was up, the wolf’s mind dominated even if she wasn’t fully awake.

  So while I was in control, she was still reshaping me body into hers.

  And my ability to shapeshift? That also came from the wolf—or whatever it is she truly was. Her instincts. Her power. Her curse. Even if I was the one at the wheel, I was still working within that framework. I could twist and stretch this form into something more human-shaped, but I couldn’t undo the fundamental nature of what I was.

  But if that was true… then what did that mean for me?

  Even without the moon, the wolf had been able to transform me—effortlessly, in broad daylight. No moon required. And yet, even now, I had to strain just to regain a semblance of my human self.

  It was as if her form superseded my own.

  And every month, it was getting worse.

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  With each full moon, her influence grew stronger. The first time I’d changed, it had been just for the full moon. A single night. But now? The shift started earlier and lingered longer. At this rate, in a month or two, I’d be forced to transform up to a week before and after the full moon.

  Being unable to work normal hours for up to half a month off work was something I simply couldn't afford.

  And it wasn’t just my body. She was getting smarter too.

  Last night, she’d understood me well enough that I could teach her how to open a door. And we'd even negotiated.

  And today she had even haggled. Over food.

  Before, she’d just been an animal. A big, dumb dog running on pure instinct. But now? In just a short time, she’d wised up.

  This curse wasn’t static.

  It was evolving

  Yet another thing to worry about. It wasn’t enough to figure out how to manage my lycanthropy—I had to be ready to adapt to whatever came next.

  And yeah, I’d be lying if I said the whole transforming into animals thing wasn’t cool Hell, who hadn’t daydreamed about having magic powers as a kid? I’d read . I was a fan. I'd spent an inordinate amount of time imagining what kind of Animagus I’d be, what my Patronus would look like. I'd always imagined myself as something more feline, like a tiger or a mountain lion. But one of my classmate suggested I was more of a Pallas Cat, and my other classmates all agreed.

  Something about the way I sat, and the fact I always looked angry—a case of childhood RBF.

  That said, being a hulking wolf was not at the top of the list. And while I liked Remus Lupin's character, he hadn't been my favorite.

  Also, in those daydreams, when you where an animal, you always had full control—shifting at will, slipping in and out of your animal form without it disrupting your day-to-day life.

  All the pros, none of the cons.

  But lycanthropy didn't work like that. This wasn’t some fun little superpower. It was like being one of those comic book heroes who had to walk a fine line—balancing control over their power with the constant risk of being controlled by it.

  Or, in this cause, going to jail because the wolf didn't understand the first thing about human decency.

  The good old monkey’s paw trade-off.

  The burden of power.

  Except I wasn’t a superhero with some arbitrary childhood trauma that gave them an iron will.

  Just an average Jane, trying—and failing—to live a normal life and achieve financial stability. This lycanthropy was just adding fuel to the fire.

  Still, progress was progress. Now that I could make myself bipedal at will, I’d at least be able to keep my clothes on. If only I’d figured that out before abandoning my second-to-last set.

  The logging trail thinned as night began to fall, shadows deepening in the forest. I had only a handful of minutes left, but I was almost home. Just a short stretch of trees between me and the train tracks. And just across those—Sandy’s property.

  If the wolf just stayed asleep, I’d be—

  There was a shift. A nudge in the back of my mind.

  The wolf stirred. Sluggish. Like she’d sensed my unease but wasn’t ready to wake. Instead, she rolled over, hitting snooze.

  But that was enough to set my nerves on edge.

  I tensed. That had been too close. I broke into a sprint—not to outrun anything physical but to stay ahead of the thing inside me. If she woke up fully, she’d know what I was planning.

  And then she’d fight me.

  Focus. Just had to get home. Just keep moving.

  But not panicking was a paradox in and of itself. My pulse had spiked. I forced my breathing steady, knowing the wolf could taste the adrenaline on my tongue.

  The trees broke open onto the CSX line, the scent of steel and creosote burning into my nostrils.

  But despite my best efforts, urgency sent up a flare in my mind.

  When the wolf finally awoke, it was not from the moon.

  It was from me

  At first, she was lethargic, and slow to rise. She sensed my distress, but didn't understand it. Then the moon fed her strength, and awareness settled in.

  Her focus shifted outward—scanning for threats—then inward

  To

  She knew something was happening. She just didn’t know what. Not yet.

  So, she started searching.

  I felt her pushing forward, nosing through my mind like a hound through underbrush. Slow, methodical. She sifted through my recent thoughts, piecing things together, clicking memories into place—

  Then she bristled.

  She’d figured it out.

  But now she was confused

  Last night, I’d called for her. I’d wanted her help. We’d even come to an understanding.

  And just today, we’d worked together—took down a giant snake, shared a meal.

  Yet here I was, resisting her. Resenting her.

  She could feel it—my anxiety, my fear, my certainty that there would be no understanding between us tonight.

  The wolf pushed deeper. I couldn’t block her out. I barely even knew if I could hide my thoughts from her—from this part of myself. So, I kept my focus on running, as I couldn’t do both. She was catching up fast, skimming my mind, a hound in pursuit, flipping through memories from the moment she last been woken till now. Reliving the moments of my time searching from Boden, of the things I'd discovered.

  And then—she found what she was looking for.

  She knew what I knew.

  A thread pulled taut between us as she pieced it together—the cologned man, the dead dogs, the strange, foul scent that had lingered on them.

  Not just death. Not just rot.

  Though calling it a scent wasn’t quite right. It came to me like a smell—that was how my mind interpreted it. A side effect of my heightened senses.

  I’d first noticed it on Sandy’s animals. Not all of them, but most of them: Coy, Cassie, Camellia, Boden, Monty, and so many others. Nevermore’s had been particularly strange. But at the time, I hadn’t been able to make sense of it.

  Not until Maggie and Coy had shared their senses with me.

  Maggie, sharp as her nose was, hadn’t been able to pick up on this smell. Because she was like the other dogs. I knew that now. Knew that she was just a normal dog—a smart, well-trained dog, but still normal, and without any magic.

  She couldn’t detect traces of magic, nor did she bare any of her own.

  But Coy could And he reeked of it.

  With them helping me together, I’d eventually figured out what it was that I was detecting. This I could sense the presence of magic.

  And I’d promptly ignored it.

  I’ve said it before—I wasn’t a hero. Nor was I a witch. I was an accountant for god's sake. One who had no business wading into whatever supernatural bullshit the cologned man had gotten himself tangled in.

  Magic, as far as I was concerned, was nothing but bad news.

  And the magic clinging to those dead dogs had been particularly foul

  But as the wolf sifted through the evidence, she came to a conclusion of her own. Her own predatory instincts allowing her to see things I could not.

  The cologned man was on a hunt.

  He’d been tracking someone—or something—across the city. Each depot had been a place where his quarry had been.

  But whatever he was hunting had struck back at him. Through the missing dogs.

  And Boden—happy-go-lucky, too sweet for his own good—had gotten himself caught in the middle.

  The wolf understood this. Understood why I didn't want to get involve.

  She just didn’t care.

  Dangers? Threats? They barely even registered.

  The only thing that mattered was her pack.

  Why should she—a wolf—cower from a pack of domesticated dogs, possessed or not? She would bring them to a swift end, hunt down the one who had cursed them, and be done with it.

  Then, she would find Boden.

  And she would bring him home.

  By force, if that’s what it took.

  And it didn’t matter that she’d only known Boden for barely a day. Or any of the other dogs for that matter.

  They were hers now.

  She had found a home, a forest, a pack to call her own, and she would be damned if she abandon them so easily.

  Or let this other self of hers stop her.

  The wolf snapped her focus to me. No anger. No betrayal. Just cold certainty. And an unbridled ferocity

  A pause. A shift, as if settling—readying for the strike.

  Then, a single thought, relayed with perfect clarity:

  Then she attacked.

  I stumbled into Sandy’s yard, half-tripping over my own feet as the wolf lunged—teeth sinking into my mind.

  She wasn’t subtle. She wasn’t careful.

  She wasn’t holding back.

  Pain erupted behind my eyes—white-hot, searing, real even though it wasn’t. My body spasmed. I staggered. I nearly went down. It didn’t matter that the wolf understood my reasoning. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t truly angry.

  She was still going to rip control away from me, and she wasn’t going to be gentle about it.

  And she had the advantage.

  Because she didn’t need to win.

  She only needed to stall me.

  Night had already fallen, and my grip on the wheel was slipping. She just had to wait—wait for my control to naturally erode and shove me back into our subconscious. Or, if I wanted to maintain some semblance of awareness, I could willingly concede and relegate myself to the passenger seat.

  Either way, she’d force my hand.

  I couldn’t move.

  It was like trying to drive while fending off an attacking dog.

  We were on the set of but instead of Donna Trenton, I’d been given the role of Sheriff Bannerman.

  The wolf was making me her chew toy, and I was running out of time.

  I commanded.

  She hesitated. Paused

  But it had only lasted a moment before the teeth returned.

  She knew I was smarter than her. More capable than her. But that didn’t matter. Not if she was more relentless than me. There would be no reasoning with her. No deception. No truce.

  She was a force of nature—inevitable. Unstoppable.

  If I wanted control, I’d have to fight her tooth and nail for it.

  I just needed an opening. A single moment to throw her off—to dig in, to turn her own tactics against her.

  Then again… I was still in control.

  For all her howling and thrashing, it was still just in my head. She was fighting my because I was the one still holding the reins.

  And hell, I’d had hangovers that hurt worse than this.

  Well. While we were in the habit of sharing our thoughts, maybe she’d like to experience the worst headache I’d ever had—some self-inflicted brain freeze straight from the pits of hell.

  Sure, it would suck for me.

  But you know what they say—misery loves company.

  And I had a lot of experience to draw upon.

  The wolf reeled

  The sudden, overwhelming stimulus flooded our shared senses.

  I was no stranger to brain pain—it was the price of being human, especially one born to a family with history of migraines. And alcoholism—my initials weren't for nothing.

  But for the wolf?

  This was new.

  One moment, she was tearing into me with full force—

  And the next?

  Wolf.exe had gone offline.

  And I didn’t waste that second.

  I got to my feet and ran, vaulting the fence into Sandy's backyard.

  The wolf snapped back, lashing through my mind with a fresh burst of pain that made my knees buckle. But it lacked the same brutal precision as before—she was hesitant, unsure. Still discombobulated.

  She hadn't fully recovered from the headache I'd given her, but she was recovering fast, and I doubted she’d fall for the same trick twice.

  I gritted my teeth, locked my focus on the barn, and kept moving, even has she lashed out again.

  In a battle of sheer willpower and instinct, I would lose But why fight the wolf if I could just ignore her?

  All I needed was to reach the barn.

  The wolf could bite, claw, howl—but she was still only in my head. And as painful as she was making the process, I could keep her there. Just long enough.

  Pain lanced through my skull, sharp and blinding. My vision turned to static—like a auras the came before a migraine, but worse. Mine usually made it hard to read black-and-white text.

  Hers left me nearly blind.

  Still, I found the door. A little human trick called spatial memory.

  I fumbled for the handle, claws scraping into the wood. The door opened inward, and I tumbled inside.

  The wolf howled—long and sharp, rattling through my skull like a bad case of tinnitus. She sank her teeth in one last time, desperate, furious, trying to drag me under.

  I had one last burst of fight left in me.

  I lurched to my feet, slamming the door shut with my shoulder, then I seized the handle with both hands—leveraged my weight—

  —and ripped it clean off.

  Nothing like a little property damage to end the day.

  The wolf went still

  No sulking, no seething, no last-ditch effort to push back.

  She simply stopped

  She understood that I’d won

  I slumped in the dark, breath coming fast, nerves still burning with the phantom ache of claws and teeth that had torn through my mind. The wolf’s howls still ringing in my ears, made deafening by the barn’s silence.

  I inhaled. Exhaled. Slowly, deliberately. The air smelled of old hay, dirt, and treated wood—a neutral, calming ambience .

  A sharp-edged laugh rasped out of me, half relief, half disbelief. I leaned forward, fumbling in the dark, my vision still flickering with static. My hands and snout traced over the floor until—

  My nose bumped cool metal. The handle.

  I picked it up, turning it over in my fingers. The spindle—the part that retracted the latch—had sheared clean off. Even if the wolf sprouted opposable thumbs of her own, and figured out how to fix the damn thing, it wouldn’t matter.

  The door wasn’t opening from the inside.

  Something small and spindly shifted at the nape of my neck, crawling toward the top of my head. I set down the handle and reached up, cupping Elmo in my hands.

  “Well, damn,” I muttered, holding him up. “You actually held on.”

  Elmo held onto my hands, cupping it like a glove. A huge, fuzzy red glove. Or, perhaps more like a mitten. With my other hand, I stroked his back, and he leaned into my touch.

  Almost cat-like—if you ignored the eight legs, four pairs of beady black eye, and the mandibles sprouting inch long fangs.

  Still, JT had been right—this little guy was starting to grow on me.

  “Well,” I sighed, “looks like you’re spending the night with me, little guy.”

  At the edge of my thoughts, the wolf stirred. Not pushing. Just watching Her awareness brushed against mine—distant, indifferent.

  I sent her a firm thought.

  Her response: an offended huff, like I’d just accused her of chewing on drywall. Or something equally distasteful.

  I slid my bag from around my neck and let Elmo climb back atop my head, then leaned against the barn wall.

  The fight was over. The barn was secure.

  My gun—the one Carl had stolen the night before—was here with me now. So even if he got out, he capacity to rampage was minimal.

  There was nothing left to do but wait. And let go.

  Night had fallen. The wolf could take control whenever it wanted. Do whatever she wanted.

  All except leave

  In my mind, I sank into the backseat, relinquishing the reins.

  I told the wolf.

  The wolf hesitated—reluctant, almost annoyed by the task set before her—but subsumed control all the same.

  Our body shifted. Bones folded in on themselves, reshaping with eerie fluidity. No resistance, no hesitation. Just an effortless flow—like a river returning to its bed.

  It was strange, experiencing the change from the inside Being a passenger while something other than myself reshaped my body to its will. I was aware of everything—the cool press of the dirt floor, the stretch of lean muscle, the flick of ears attuned to every tiny sound. The wolf’s breath came steady and deep, pulling in the scents of straw, wood, damp earth.

  Shifting always felt clunky and painful when I forced it—like I had to break and bend myself into something I wasn’t.

  But the wolf?

  She just... became

  It was no wonder she’d refused to be present earlier, when I’d tried to shift back after my tangle with Monty. She would’ve had to suffer through my graceless attempt to transform right alongside me.

  The wolf moved.

  Prowling the barn, she investigated every corner, every crevice. She pushed at the shutters, scratched and gnawed at the doorframe, searching for something—anything—she could use. Any weakness she could exploit.

  She tried digging, but beneath the straw, the ground was compacted, too dense to burrow through easily. An endeavor that would take her all night.

  Bracing herself, she lunged at the side door, slamming into it with her full weight. The impact rattled the hinges, but the wood held firm. From this side, she wouldn’t just have to break the latch, but the whole frame.

  She tried the double doors.

  They didn’t so much as rattle.

  I felt the moment she realized the truth—coming to the same conclusion I had the day before.

  There was no breaking out of here by force.

  Whatever Sandy had built this barn for, it was meant to hold in something bigger that a wolf.

  She hesitated. And for the first time, I sensed something shift in her thoughts—a slow, begrudging transition from instinct to something more deliberate. More calculating

  She once again turned inward towards me

  It wasn’t a question. Not at first. Just an understanding we both now shared:

  She couldn’t break her way out.

  Not alone.

  The kind of strength we’d had with Monty—the raw, undeniable force that let us wrestle a Jurassic-sized python into submission—hadn’t just been her That had been us

  Working together.

  She sent the thought toward me. Probing. Questioning.

  I smirked, mentally, of course.

  Just because I was now a mental abstraction didn't mean I was without as since of smug satisfactions. I didn't need a face to gloat. If anything, the lack of a read face, a physical form, meant I could relay my since of triumph in a pure and unadulterated form.

  She didn’t answer. Just exhaled sharply. Frustrated, but not deterred.

  She was thinking.

  Actually thinking

  Trying to problem-solve.

  Like a human.

  Like me

  And honestly? It was a little funny watching her fumble through the process.

  Because she wasn’t particularly good at it.

  It was like watching a toddler try to open a child-safety lid. They understood that lids were meant to turn and just kept turning it—over and over—without grasping the fundamental trick of the mechanism.

  The wolf couldn’t think beyond the obstacle in front of her. Her focus was singular, unwavering.

  The door.

  It loomed in her mind, singular and absolute, the way a hunting instinct sometimes locked into place, overriding everything else. Occasionally, her attention wavered—fleeting thoughts of food drifted in—but whether she hunted or scavenged, the problem remained:

  The door was closed.

  It needed to be open.

  That was the problem. Nothing else existed until it was solved.

  It was almost funny. Ironic, even. She was so fixated on brute force, on overcoming the most obvious barrier, that she couldn’t even begin to think beyond it.

  Couldn’t think outside the barn—so to speak

  It was if the concept of not going directly through the door simply didn’t exist.

  A bit hypocritical of me, I suppose, considering I was just as guilty of that kind of tunnel vision. But hers was so… painfully obvious.

  She hesitated, then turned her thoughts toward me again.

  I thought, amused.

  She ignored the jab. Her thoughts snapped back to the door—but not this door.

  The back door to Sandy’s house. The one I’d helped her open.

  She circled the problem again, but something had shifted. She wasn’t just thinking about the door—she was thinking about me That I knew more than she did. That I’d know how to escape.

  But how?

  The thought pressed against mine, inquiring.

  She pushed harder.

  Sure, I had an answer. But I wasn’t about to just give it to her. Wasn’t about to hand over the keys to her release. No, she was going to sit here all night while I lorded my intelligence over her.

  Except.

  I still didn’t know how to hide my thoughts from her.

  All she had to do was ask the question, and my brain started working on the solution.

  I knew how to open the door.

  I just get someone to do it for me.

  A pause. Then, another question.

  Well, Coy could do it, but knowing him, he wouldn’t come back until morning.

  The wolf didn’t like this answer. She wanted more. Knew I had more to give.

  Frustration simmered in my chest. I had her where I wanted her. I’d outsmarted her. Put her in a position where it was her wits against mine—a game she had no hope of winning.

  So instead, she flipped the script. This wasn't anymore. This was , and she'd just called on her life-line: me.

  she asked again.

  And again, the answer surfaced in my mind.

  I thought.

  I frowned.

  The wolf pressed in closer.

  I scowled.

  She wasn’t satisfied.

  I growled.

  I was angry—angry at myself. What was the point of outsmarting the wolf if I was just going to hand over all the answers? I needed to learn how to keep my thoughts to myself. From myself

  The wolf went quiet, thinking. Planning. I could feel her mind working—deliberate, methodical, fitting pieces together like a puzzle she’d never known existed.

  And then—just faintly—I felt something else.

  Amusement. Satisfaction.

  She was learning. And she was enjoying it.

  Her thoughts circled back to the door—insight alone wasn’t enough to break her fixation.

  But now, a new line of thought emerged. An idea.

  And, as I feared, the pieces I’d given her started clicking into place.

  Her focus turned towards me, on my memories.

  She sifted through them, searching for something specific. From my perspective, it was like watching someone flick through old photo albums at high speed—except I was the photo album. The wolf didn’t know what she was looking for, only that it had to do with JT.

  I tried to stop her. Pushed back. But I had about as much luck blocking her out as I did stopping Sandy’s dogs from licking my face. It was like trying to push away water.

  Desperate, I latched onto the command words from Sandy’s book.

  I ordered.

  She reply

  I reeled.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? Could she do that? Deny a command as easily as an obstinate child?

  The wolf honed in on my memories of JT, starting with our first encounter yesterday. She skimmed through them all—start to finish—then started over, searching for a way to trick him. To manipulate him.

  Each time, she lingered on certain moments: the way I felt looking at him, listening to his playful banter, the heat curling in my stomach when he stretched and his shirt rode up just enough—

  I snapped at her.

  God, this was worse than the time my stepsister Sarah found my diary and read it to her friends. These were my thoughts, meant for my entertainment.

  A girl had a right to imagine the impossible without judgment.

  The wolf’s amusement curled back at me—a smug, wordless impression. Just as I'd pressed her buttons, now she pressed mine. She was having a little fun at my expense.

  This went on for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a half dozen minutes or so—time moved differently in my head.

  Had I a face, it would have been beet-red.

  Eventually, she stopped.

  She’d found what she needed.

  The phone call.

  JT had said he’d be home soon. That he wanted to talk.

  And that…

  That gave her an idea.

  More accurately, it had been my idea. The wolf just finally understood it.

  I felt it before she acted on it—a revelation sparking in the back of her mind. A jolt of realization.

  A simply epiphany.

  And she didn’t have to ask me if it would work. My sudden fear told her everything.

  Satisfaction rose withing her and she returned that same mental smirk right back at me. The wolf had outfoxed me, and she knew it.

  She picked up my purse in her teeth, carried it to the door, and set it down.

  Then she slunk into the shadows, curling into a dark corner. Waiting. Listening.

  I scrambled for a counter-strategy—anything to stop what I knew was going to happen. But my mind was drawing blanks.

  The wolf’s plan was simple. So simple there was no room for me to poke holes.

  And worse—most of the work had already been done. By me.

  Once again, I was the architect of my own downfall.

  Time crawled, stretching into slow, agonizing increments.

  Then—gravel crunched.

  We listened to JT’s truck rumbled up the driveway, then the engine cutting off. A car door slammed. Footsteps scuffed against the gravel, disappearing as they reached the paved walkway. A pause. The jingle of keys. The front door creaked open, then clicked shut.

  JT was home and in the house.

  And soon, he’d come looking for me.

  Enough time had elapsed for Maggie to make it home. And, per my instructions, she would have been waiting on the porch—waiting for Coy and getting JT instead. That pause? That was surely JT greeting her, probably wondering why the hell she was waiting outside.

  And, if Maggie was here, he’d assume I was too.

  He’d said he needed to talk to me, after all.

  So when he didn’t find me inside...

  The back door opened.

  “AJ?”

  JT call out to me. It was just as I had anticipated.

  And what the wolf had been waiting for.

  The wolf howled.

  It was brief, sharp—but perfectly timed with JT's shout, such that he wouldn’t have heard it properly. Wouldn't have know it for what it was.

  Not that it was meant for him

  The call carried something deeper, a thread of compulsion woven into the sound, a summons meant for more sensitive ears.

  Barking erupted inside.

  A chorus of answering cries as the dogs exploded from the house.

  JT cursed aloud, startled by the sudden rush of fur and tails, claws clicking on the porch as they surged into the yard, towards the barn. Soon, the sound of paws scrabbling just outside the door, occupied by enthusiastic yipping and whining.

  They’d heard her.

  And they’d come.

  The wolf fell silent, listening. Feeling

  The dogs’ thoughts poured in now that they were in closer proximity—bursts of raw emotion: excitement, loyalty, the thrill of answering a call from their leader. And with their thoughts came scent, sight, sound.

  Through them, the wolf saw everything that lay beyond the door.

  Noses pressed to the wood. Tails wagging, bodies vibrating with anticipation. Clawed paws scraping at the door.

  JT was moving now, calling after them, his voice tight with confusion.

  He was heading for the barn.

  I hurled thoughts at the dogs——but I was drowned out by the cacophony of their minds, lost beneath the excited frenzy.

  I tried again, shifting my focus, reaching out one by one.

  I found Emma, Annie, Rosie—beckoned them to leave. In turn, the wolf urged them to stay.

  Puddy, the black lab, couldn't hold himself still, his mind a blur of energy, his paw scratching the barn was he jumped on the walls. It was impossible to reason with.

  I found Rudy’s mind and reached for him—then withdrew just as quickly. His thoughts had been a little too...

  But, I suppose, in his defense, the wolf’s command had been a bit of an innuendo.

  Murray was among the crowd, the old retriever too weary to get worked like the others, but happy to be part of the excitement nonetheless. I latched onto his mind, hoping he’d listen.

  The wolf cut in.

  Murray, his mind already muddled with age, stood frozen between the two contradictory commands before slowly turning in circles, tail wagging, delighted at the attention.

  I’d apparently overestimated him—assumed he was sharper, like Maggie. But he was even older than she was, and lacked her mental acuity.

  But, speaking of Maggie—

  She wasn’t here.

  Neither was Coy. But didn’t surprise me. I’d given him until morning to return home. And, no doubt he'd make full use of it.

  But Maggie...

  Where was she?

  I sifted through the dogs’ thoughts, the same way the wolf did, searching for her. The wolf tracked my efforts with wary curiosity. And, perhaps, a bit of apprehension.

  It didn't take me long to find her.

  Maggie was with JT, trotting by his side.

  And that gave me an idea.

  Maggie had resisted the wolf’s call. She had stayed with JT instead.

  So maybe—just maybe—she would listen to me, and ignore the wolf.

  Worth a shot.

  I reached for her.

  The wolf tensed. I felt her unease.

  Just as she had known she was onto something when I felt fear, now I knew I was onto something because she felt the same.

  She’d known Maggie wouldn’t listen to her. Maggie was loyalty to JT and Sandy, not her. She'd discovered this the night before. And while the wolf could rely on her strength to keep Maggie in line, she still couldn't control her.

  A low growl rumbled in the distance. JT shouted.

  Through the eyes of the pack, I saw it unfold—

  Maggie, who'd been at JT’s side, hand suddenly turned, and bit down on the back of his shoe—a work boot of some sort. She then proceeded to yanked his foot out from under him.

  He stumbled, just barely catching himself.

  She pulled again, harder, and JT lost his footing. Hitting the ground. When he tried to rise, she dragged him off-center, keeping him down.

  I had expected her to block his way. Pull on his clothes and whine a little.

  But this?

  This wasn’t your standard service dog behavior.

  This was something else.

  And the pieces began clicking into place.

  Maggie might not have been magical like the others, but she wasn’t normal either—I’d already picked up on that much. And considering Sandy and JT’s family connections—to judges and state prosecutors—it stood to reason they may have ties to others in law enforcement.

  Maggie hadn’t just been a service dog.

  She’d been a police dog.

  Her honed sense of smell, her stoic demeanor, the clear apprehension technique she was using to immobilize JT—it all made sense.

  I thought. It was good to have her on my side.

  And for a brief, fleeting moment, I believed my plan might actually work.

  Then—

  JT’s voice cut through the night, sharp and firm.

  And Maggie obey.

  Every dog obeyed.

  The barking stopped in an instant. The pack settled. And Maggie—Maggie dropped like a stone. The command hit her harder than the rest as she was clearly the target.

  Through the eyes of the other dogs, I could see her on the ground, panting hard. She had been giving it everything she had, and now, with a single word, it was undone.

  The power of the command had even reverberated through the wolf—deep-rooted, instinctual. The wolf, despite not being an intended target, was not unaffected. I felt it seize her, our whole body trembling—if only for a moment.

  The wolf was silent, but I could hear the alarms blaring in her mind.

  This was new to her. To the both of us.

  But, of course, it made sense.

  JT was Sandy’s brother. Why wouldn’t he be able to use her command words? Or use them so effectively?

  JT pushed himself up, brushing dirt from his scrubs—he must have come straight from work—and knelt beside Maggie, running a hand over her head. “What’s gotten into you, girl?”

  Maggie whimpered, tongue lolling as she panted. She was exhausted. Dragging a grown man to the ground had taken its toll. That, on top of all the running I’d put her through—the old girl just wasn’t cut out for this kind of work anymore.

  Guilt welled up inside me, and I relieved that JT had stopped her when he did.

  Hopefully, Maggie had done enough.

  JT stood, looking at her. Then at the barn. Then back at Maggie.

  “Were you trying to stop me?”

  Maggie whined.

  A surge of relief crashed over me—he wasn’t coming. He was listening. He wasn’t coming.

  But—

  I stiffened.

  The thought wasn’t mine.

  I turned inward. The wolf was watching me, studying me. The thought had been hers, and she was waiting to see what I would do with it.

  I tried not to think about it. But I did.

  JT had only spoken the command aloud. But he hadn’t projected his thoughts—not like the wold and I could. If he could hear the dogs, if he could sense them the way we did, he wouldn’t need to ask Maggie any questions.

  He’d just need to listen

  And he would know

  If the wolf was right—and evidence suggested she was—JT would know something was up. But he wouldn’t know what.

  And the wolf and I both knew exactly what he’d do next.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen.

  My phone rang.

  A muffled Robert Palmer crooned from inside my purse, the sound distant but unmistakable. The yard had gone silent after JT’s command. No barking. No movement. Just the faint song coming from within the barn.

  Nine heads turned toward the sound—seven dogs, one human, and one wolf.

  I technically didn't have a head to turn.

  JT lowered his phone from his ear and started toward the barn.

  That had been the wolf’s plan: to maneuvered JT into range, knowing he’d hear my phone once he tried to call me. She knew it would work because it was exactly what I would have done if our roles were reversed.

  And whatever I thought of, she knew.

  She hadn’t outsmarted me. She’d cheated

  I screamed into the void of my own mind, reaching for Maggie, for the dogs, for JT. But the dogs couldn’t move—his command still held them.

  And JT? He couldn’t hear me at all.

  But there was another problem.

  One that the wolf recognized as well as I did.

  JT’s command words held power. More than mine. The power to stop the wolf with a single word—if directed at her.

  If, that is, he had the chance to say it.

  The simplest way to prevent that?

  She didn’t need me for that answer. She had a method already in mind. A sort of tried and true approach.

  One involving an excessive use of teeth.

  She would escape—on that, there was no negotiation. And if stopping JT required silencing him permanently, so be it.

  She had no stake in his survival. Only I did.

  I needed him, because I needed Sandy. She could help me learn to control the wolf.

  But, to the wolf, such control was already an unacceptable concept.

  Just as unacceptable as the dogs obeying someone else over her.

  She did not like to share. She did not like to bow.

  Not for anyone.

  But…

  She had liked the food.

  And despite having little grasp on human society, money, or the consequences of killing someone, she could understand that harming JT would reduce the likelihood of eating more Purina.

  So, she'd be willing to spare him.

  For dog food.

  One way or another, she was getting out. But if there was a less lethal means of escape...

  She mentally prodded me.

  I could take the hint.

  She wanted me to come up with another plan.

  I could only hope and pray JT would wise up and not open the door. That, along with the warning he'd taken from Maggie, he'd noticed the claw marks on the door.

  Otherwise...

  This bitch was about to make me culpable for assault.

  But, alas, it was Sunday—God’s day of rest. So the big man in the sky wasn't taking calls.

  “AJ?” JT called, testing the handle.

  I conceded with the wolf.

  I move to the forefront of our mind, seizing the wheel, taking control

  The wolf didn’t resist. But she didn’t let go either. Not entirely. She moved to the passenger seat, still aware and ready in intervene.

  It wasn’t distrust—because how could there be distrust between two minds that always knew what the other was thinking?

  No, she understood that I wouldn’t hesitate to defy her. Just as I understood that if I did, she wouldn’t hesitate to hurt JT.

  A system of assurances.

  A hostage negotiation—though JT wasn’t aware that he was the hostage.

  Just a curious cat about to get his ass kicked.

  The door creaked open. JT reached for the light switch. Incandescent light flooded the barn, illuminating scattered straw, the lofts, the shutters—his gaze settling on the bag on the floor, my phone still ringing inside it.

  Exactly as we intended. All part of the goddamn plan.

  So he never saw us coming.

  We being a giant black wolf, crouched and ready to lunge.

  By the time he saw us, we were already upon him.