When they got to the docks, the harsh wind carried the tang of salt and impending storm. As expected, Juke's father had already left with the yacht, leaving them to make their way home. The wooden planks creaked under their feet as they searched for an alternative route by boat, coming up short.
One of the fishermen, his weathered face creased with genuine concern despite their offers, told them nothing would be leaving the docks that day. There'd been a harsh weather warning, dark clouds already gathering on the horizon, and all boats had been called back to shore. The vessels rocked against their moorings, the water choppy and uninviting.
Dale's enhanced hearing picked up the low rumble of thunder in the distance, matching the churning in his gut. His nose twitched at the overwhelming mix of salt air, fish, and the musky scent of what he was beginning to recognize as werewolf pheromones.
When Jazz told
