Alpha Binding Bonds

I’m crouched in a thicket, listening to the drawn-out howl of a wolf, blood calling to blood.

He’s coming for me already? How is that even possible? I only dove into this hiding spot a few minutes ago. Maybe I misheard a dog from a neighboring farm.

I peer through the thick brush. The moon slides from behind a cloud and for a heartbeat, I see forest, acres of empty forest. Then darkness again. I stare into the night as I listen. The smell of spring-damp earth floats past on a sharp breeze. At a soft thump, I freeze, ears straining. Undergrowth crashes as a rabbit darts for cover. Then the forest falls silent again.

Okay, it really was just a neighbor’s—

Another howl slices through the silence, raising every hair on my body.

Even as it dies away, I feel it strumming through the air.

Unmistakably wolf. Unmistakably him.

So stop listening and do something.

I swallow hard and concentrate, fingers digging into dirt. It’s too late.

He’ll be here any second and—

Focus. Just focus.

I hunker down and slow my breathing. I might have time. I was careful

choosing my spot, climbing through trees and dropping into my thicket so I didn’t leave a trail for him to follow.

Paws thump over hard earth.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus and ignore the fact that those thumps grow louder with each slam of my heart.

He only knows the general direction of where to find me. He’s coming from upwind. He won’t smell me. I still have a chance. He’ll run past, and then I’ll have time.

I just need time.

I flatten onto my stomach, swathed in darkness and shadow. The footfalls slow to the soft pad of sure steps. I stop breathing. He’s walking straight toward my hiding spot, as if I’m doing jumping jacks in the moonlight.

I hold my breath and hold my body too, as still as can be. He’s still upwind and can’t smell me. He doesn’t actually know where—

A pale muzzle pushes into the thicket. Jaws open, sharp teeth behind inch-long fangs. Then eyes appear, a blue as bright as my own. My brother tilts his head, the question as clear as spoken words.

What’s taking you so long, Kate?

I snarl. Logan withdraws with a snort and plunks down to wait. I growl, telling him to move farther away. He lifts his furry ass and transplants it exactly six inches.

Ever since we were kids, we’ve competed to see who can shift faster. The short answer is: Logan. Oh hell, the only answer is: Logan. I swear, he gets faster every year. Tonight, I’d barely undressed before he was in wolf form.

I’d hoped to still Change quickly and then slip out and pretend I’d been just hanging around, waiting. That would work a lot better if he hadn’t somehow known exactly where to find me, strolling over like there was a neon arrow flashing over my thicket.

Damn him.

I grumble for a few moments. Then I resume position, close my eyes and

imagine sluicing through the long grass. Feeling the wind cut through my fur. Hearing every tiny creature shriek and scamper out of my path. Listening to the drum roll of my brother’s paws as he races behind me, both of us drunk on exhilaration and adrenaline . . .

My skin ripples. Muscles shift, stretching and bunching as my skin prickles, fur sprouting.

I close my eyes, position my hands and feet and lower my head. When the first jolt of agony hits, it’s as if this has never happened before, and I’m caught off guard, stifling a scream.

This too shall pass.

It’s like getting a tooth drilled. Well, I presume it’s like that because when I get a filling or a booster shot and the doctor says, “This is going to hurt,” I almost laugh. A needle piercing my skin? Try having your entire body ripped apart and put back together twice a month.

What I mean is that the pain, however severe, is temporary. You grit your teeth, tell yourself this too shall pass.

It does. Waves of agony nearly knock me out, and then I’m standing on four legs, panting and shaking, my yellow fur gleaming in the moonlight.

Yes, I’m a yellow wolf. A werewolf’s fur is the same color as our hair, which for me means that if I’m seen, I’ll be mistaken for a dog. Don’t ask me how I know that. All-caps rule number one: DO NOT BE SEEN. But, yeah, it happens, for some more than others, and it’s probably a good thing I’m blessed with golden retriever fur.

When a distant owl shrieks, my ears swivel to follow the sound. Most werewolves have excellent hearing in human form, and even better hearing as wolves. Logan and I hear just as well in both forms. We’re . . . a little different.