Tom

BLOOD IN MY MOUTH... not mine.

Tastes… so good.

No. Not good. Wrong.

Change back, dammit.

Shift.

When nothing happens, I tear up the mountainside, through the trees, leaping over fallen logs and boulders. My white paws are huge on the soft pine needles.

What’s that? Movement in the bushes. I leap and twist in the air, take off after the running jackrabbit.

It doesn’t stand a chance. I’m too fast. Too ferocious.

More blood fills my mouth, hot and thick. I gobble down the rabbit’s flesh like a starved dog.

Then I trot down to the creek and drink from it.

When I see my reflection in the water, I bite at the big, silver and white wolf.

Shift, you monster. Shift.

I don’t even know where the fuck I am. How to get back. My brain doesn’t work right. I have no control over my body. My... urges.

I turn and trot in the direction I’m pulled and somehow, miraculously, end up in front of my truck.

The desire to get in that truck and drive off this mountain, away from what

happened here is so strong, I sit and whine at the door handle.

Shift back.

What did Jared say to make me change back in Honduras? Just shift back. I cast my mind to that moment, seeing my white paws for the first time, the heat and rearranging of my cells, and suddenly, I’m on my side, naked, panting.

Human.

Thank fuck.

I’m human again. Eighteen hours I’ve been roaming this mountain trying to figure out how to change back.

Coming here and letting the monster out was a mistake. I wipe my mouth, disgusted by the taste of blood. When the memory of what I ate comes flooding back, I heave behind the car.

Christ. It’s not like me to not have my own body under control. This sack of bones has been a machine for me from the moment I entered the Army and got out of Kentucky at age eighteen. I can kill with my bare hands, escape any danger. I work best under pressure.

This is no time to get sensitive.

I just can’t stand feeling out of control, not knowing what I’m going to do next. The way I succumbed to the animal’s need to hunt—I couldn’t control it. The way the waxing moon brought me out here last night.

Shit. What time is it?

I grab the keys I hid on top of the driver’s side wheel and open the truck.

Twelve-fucking-thirty. I missed a meeting with my handler. I’m so fucked.

I yank on my jeans while I call Agent Jasmine Gray.

“Dune, what happened to you? You’ve been off the grid for twenty hours.” She’d checked my tracking device. I only keep it on when I’m on an active mission.

Do I hear relief in her voice? Was Ann Gray worried about me? It’s an odd thought, but my relationship with her changed last month when I asked her for help tracking the… werewolves. Now, I know what they are.

What I am.

Anyway, there’s trust between us. She did me a favor, said I owe her one in return.

That piece of information has had me mulling over what I know about her. What could she possibly need from me?

“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling on my shirt and getting behind the wheel. “I missed our meeting.”

“Is everything okay?” There’s an awkward hesitation in her voice. It is personal.

“I’m not hurt.” That much is true. For some reason, I don’t want to lie to her, and I’m definitely not okay.

Finding out I’m a werewolf—having my werewolf genes triggered or activated by seeing others of… my kind—definitely threw me for a loop. I question my sanity on a daily basis. But more importantly, I question my efficacy. My senses are in overdrive. I hear too much, smell too many scents, crave meat like I’m going to die if I don’t kill something. If I can’t control my animalistic urges, what’s going to happen when I’m on a job? When lives are at risk?

“I spent the night... out of the city. I can meet in ninety minutes. Give me a location.”

She blows out an impatient breath. “Venice Beach, 1430 hours.” “I’ll find you there.”

I hang up my phone and step on the gas. I don’t usually give a shit about pissed off handlers. My job performance isn’t graded on how well I interface with others, it’s how well I complete my missions. But for some reason—maybe because she sounded like she cared—I’m in a hurry to see Agent Gray face to face.

Maybe even to apologize.