Page 103 of Angel of Water & Shadow

Little grooves indented her forearm—bite marks. The ones near her wrist were definitely new. I’d worked countless shifts with her at Kona Koffee before I got fired, and she had a story for every scar: boozy late-night wrestling, unlucky run-ins with vampires, and simply Turning at the wrong place, wrong time.

But these marks… these ones she tried to cover with her flannel sleeves. These ones she wasn’t proud of, didn’t joke about.

These were from tending to a beast far worse than a grumpy customer.

These were from Chet Jennings.

Forget the claws and fangs and godlike strength he’d been granted after being bitten at the full moon party earlier that summer—just his name sent a chill down my spine. The thought of facing him tonight…as not only a witness to his carnage, but a victim of it long before…was enough to make my pulse thrum off beat.

A wail erupted from the thick of the forest, curdling the mist. It couldn’t be Chet: he’d already be at Crescent Rock under the watchful eyes of the Council of the Moon—the Elders who made up the governing body of all the local werewolf packs—impatiently waiting for his trial to begin.

But Chet wasn’t the only thing that lurked in the night, wasn’t the only monster who’d made it their sole mission to destroy me.

Shadows coiled in the darkness as if they were living, breathing things. Without the light of the moon, it was damn near impossible to see.

Breath a wisp in the air, I glanced behind me. Nothing but fur and trees. The steel gazes of Shanley’s pack tracked my movement.

Most of the wolves were bare, but some of the larger ones had packs strapped to their backs. Clothes. Around the others, a couple shreds of fabric shone bright against the damp forest floor. Sometimes, Shanley had once told me while we were mopping up spilled milk, the urge to Turn came on too quick, too strong, and even the nimblest, most experienced wolves couldn’t get undressed fast enough.

I placed a shoe in Shanley’s hands, my fingers knotting in the beast’s mane. “This won’t hurt him?”

She shook her head, ashy blonde strands flopping over her temples.

Of course it wouldn’t hurt him. Kenny was all muscle and brute strength in every form. Pressing my heel into Shanley’s palm, I hiked myself up onto his massive shoulders with such effortless grace I would have never, ever believed I’d be capable of. But…

I was stronger now. Faster. Keener senses. Still couldn’t outrun a werewolf, no matter how much Empyrean magic—Source—I’d inherited from my mom.

Shanley wiped her palms together, brushing off the dirt. “River, you good?”

I nodded, tucking my fingers under Kenny’s long outer chestnut coat to hide how badly I’d started trembling.

He huffed out through his nostrils, paw scuffing the earth, ready to run. I willed myself not to focus on the way his claws indented the soil, how when he rose on his hind legs, standing tall and proud, my head grazed the lower branches.

How, once he took off, there would be no going back.

In less than an hour, I’d be facing Chet on the stand.

I could still feel the heat of his nasty breath, his saliva smearing over my skin… A chill rattled my shoulders. How was I going to relive his public attack at the bonfire, and the private one in his bedroom, in front of Elders, witnesses, strangers?

“Stay low while we’re running,” Shanley said.

My head snapped in her direction, sticky thoughts of Chet dissipating for now. I’d get through this for her. Because no matter who bit whom that smoky night at the beach, it was her pack, her territory, her problem to solve—and from the little I knew about werewolf politics, punishments were vicious.

I inhaled, the air sharp and minty. I wanted to bring Chet down. But, more importantly, I wanted to be there for Shanley like she’d been there for me all summer, wiping my tears, dragging me out of bed past noon, forcing me to do the unthinkable—socialize.

“Keep your grip tight on the ruff of fur around Kenny’s neck. I’ll be right alongside you.”

In a flicker of movement her hands had tripled their size. Fingers curling, palms swelling, tufts of fur sprouting along her knuckles…

She had started to Turn.

“When I howl, it means we have ten seconds till takeoff,” she added, but those final words were torn apart by a shrill whimper as her flesh and muscle tore and transformed.

A familiar sense of unease hollowed out my stomach. It didn’t matter how many demonstrations Shanley had given me—hearing bones crack and reset, watching facial features morph and sharpen never got easier.

Fixing my gaze on the starlight trickling down through the canopy, on the dark outlines of the redwoods, I waited for her to finish shifting, wincing at every godawful snap of her limbs.

Prickly dry leaves crunched beneath the heavy thud of her feet, now paws, as she stalked to her position at the front of the pack. Velvety ears perked, and she drew her nose towards the sky. A melodic ooooowwww poured out of her throat.

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