The howl carries itself right into your ears, knifing through the wind as through it was meant for you. You gasp in surprise, both from the beautiful sound and the
quickening of your pulse it brings forth in you. You clutch your chest as you breathe deeply, resting your hear against your wrist to steady yourself.
You suddenly feel watched, and you rise upon shaky legs. A second howl makes you nearly jump out of your skin. You fumble with the flashlight, dropping it with
a clunk onto the cold ground. It shatters upon impact, sending both it and you scattering.
Blunt panic drives you back to the Land Rover. You yank open the passenger door and bolt inside, slamming it behind you. You quickly lock it and kill the
sub-lights as you sink into the leather seat, your breathing ragged.
Windsong howled once more, pleading with the moon, with the Great Wolf herself, to bring her a mate. She had been blessed with the body of a wolf only a short
time, yet no mates had come to her. She felt such crippling loneliness, such weight upon her lupine heart.
Then, suddenly, it came to her.
The scent was divine, so delicious; she inhaled deeply once more to be certain.
She yipped with joy. A human female! The scent betrayed her virginity, as well! What a perfect gift, a blessed mate sent directly from the Great Wolf.
Windsong howled gleeful thanks, and ran on all fours along the dirt road that lay below the scent.
She would find this female, and gift her with luscious fur and strong fangs. They would mate beneath the stars, and sing duets to the luminescent moon.
Soon, so very soon, Windsong would sing alone no more.
You’ve settled into the back seat when you hear the third howl. It seems different than the first two—happier somehow, though you don’t know how you reasoned
that. You clutch the blanket and sink out of view of the windows.
Thoughts of Miles’ report flood your head. Dismissing the idea of a forest with a constant full moon and endless night is out of the question. You’re smack in the
center of it.
You have a hard time fathoming the idea of werewolves, but what else explains the howling? Those prints just add credence to the claim. If there really are
werewolves, why did they kill Miles? You’re convinced he was killed; just not that anything supernatural did it.
This begs the question of Zoë’s whereabouts. Did she die in the Blazer with him? Or did the werewolves kill her?
Your eyes pop open at a sudden, shocking thought. What if they turned her into a werewolf, too? You remember the twinge at the sound of the howl, how
beautiful it was. It felt like it was…calling you. Was Zoë out here somewhere, covered in fur and howling like an animal? You glance at the full moon. If
werewolves change under a full moon, and this one is always up, then she’ll be a monster for the rest of her life. What if they bite you, too? You don’t know if you
want that life.
You try to relax, and find yourself subconsciously conjuring up an image of yourself, one with a tail and claws and a gait on all fours. You gently shake it away; it
wasn’t all that unpleasant, but you’d still rather be human.
The uneasiness comes back, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand up. Cautiously, you roll over on your stomach and peer out the bottom sliver of window,
wishing you’d spent the extra money for tinting.
Two eyes of purest amber stare back from the darkness.