“It’s been great getting together,” I say, summoning up my best impression of our mother’s passive-aggression. “But I have to go.”I push my chair back and stand, and a crackle of energy pulls my attention to the restaurant’s doors.I feel him before I see him. It’s unnerving. But I look toward the door knowing that Nathan Frost will be there. And when our eyes meet as he enters, it’s clear that he feels my presence, too.Five years ago, I would ask my sisters if that magnetism were real or if I’m just imagining it. But I can’t do that now. I can’t trust that they won’t tell their mates on me.The maître d’ is leading Nathan in our direction. At least, the maître d’ is trying to lead; Nathan is actually a step ahead. It’s too late to avoid him. Our paths will cross.I don’t want to see my sisters’ reactions, so it doesn’t matter that I can’t tear my gaze away from Nathan’s. He doesn’t try, and I know I’m not imagining this anymore. I can’t walk away from the table because if I walk to

I take a seat across the big coffee table from him, on the other sofa. I would rather chew my own foot off to escape a snare than get close to him. “Well, I’ll have to take your word for it. I didn’t have any contact with other werewolves while I was there.”His expression totally changes to one of utter mortification. He puts a hand to his chest. “Oh no, Bailey. I hope you don’t assume that I was accusing you of anything. I just wondered if you’d chosen to…try it out on your own.”“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” The thralls oversee the magic that lets us control whether we shift our forms on the night of the full moon. I have no idea how to accomplish the change without the ceremony. “It sounds like that would be stupid and dangerous.”Still, his sad, apologetic eyes seem so sincere. “I would have thought it very brave.”I don’t know how to respond to that, so I nod, and we sit in unbearable silence.“I think we should clear the air, Bailey.” His tone is gentle, oddly intimate

I look down on the space, with its lit torches and pebbled paths, from the open upper level. The last time I was here, I stood trembling before Lycaon’s monolith and rejected his curse, the price we pay for the power of Fenrir and the blessing of Lupa. Wrapped in my ceremonial robe, I called out the words that shamed my family and upset the community.Now, I’m here to watch the ceremony for the second time in my life. Tonight, no young person is making the transformation for the first time. I wonder if that’s on purpose. Maybe people are afraid that just seeing me here will inspire their children to make bad choices.No one is thinking that. The only person thinking about you this much is you.But that isn’t entirely true. Mother and Father stay close, no matter where I go. Right now, they’re engaged in conversation with another couple, but I know that if I so much as go to the bathroom, Mother will follow me. And when we arrived, Tara and Clare said hello but quickly distanced themse

An acolyte—a thrall trained in our ceremonies and rituals—steps forward with a shallow silver bowl bearing a glistening human heart. It’s required for the transformation; Lycaon himself was transformed into a wolf after he angered Zeus by feeding the God human flesh. Nathan grabs the heart with his bare hand and bites into it.That’s when he lifts his gaze and finds me, seconds before the transformation starts.It begins with his eyes. They flash silver, then red. His face shifts, nose and jaw elongating into a muzzle. We don’t turn into wolves. That’s a myth. We turn into a creature that stands upright; body covered with short, silky hair from our clawed feet to our canine-like heads. The fur flows over every contour of Nathan’s body and his spine curves, drawing him into a hunched posture. His ears elongate, pointing straight back, a shape humans would consider more elfin than dog-like, with tufts of fur accentuating the points. His arms grow longer, as well; in this predatory manif

“He is the king!” she rages. “It doesn’t matter how he signed it. You should think of him, speak of him, as if he’s your king. And he should think of you as just another subject. He clearly does not.”She goes to my closet and throws open the doors, disappearing inside as she mutters about needing to buy me an appropriate wardrobe. I hear her pawing through my clothes in annoyance before she emerges with a black crepe top with pleated white sleeve cuffs and a prim peter-pan neckline. She jerks a pair of black tie-waist trousers off their hanger and throws the clothes onto the bed in disgust. “Get dressed. Your Father is waiting to speak to you downstairs.”She leaves and slams the door, and I immediately reach for my phone to check the time. It’s ten o’clock, much later than I’m usually allowed to sleep, and the Daniels will be over for brunch at noon. I put as much hustle into getting ready as I reasonably can and still leave less time between then and now for Father to lecture me.M