Page 49 of Angel of Water & Shadow

“And Antonio couldn’t fucking control himself?” There it was. The slip of concern I’d been waiting for. I really hoped this wasn’t a problem. “This is a problem.” Damnit. “Take care of it, General. Before shit really goes south.”

Kai’s response was drowned out by the noise in the background—now garbled. Grating. Screechy. I pressed down on the little flap of cartilage on my ear, effectively covering the canal, the slight pressure warding off the throb building in my head. If I hadn’t sensed the abrupt spike of tension in our group, I’d assume the Voices were coming.

Given the tight-lipped faces of everyone around me, they heard it, too.

Des rose from her rocky perch. Watchful, waiting. Mau stilled, her angled lob swaying over her shoulders. Nostrils flared, Kenny inhaled in slow, methodical huffs. Mav put his stog out between his fingers.

A blood-curdling shriek severed any remaining discussion, and everyone’s focus whipped to the center of the gathering. The bongo players stopped their music. Even the bonfire seemed to sputter out. A rush of panic flowed through my veins as a raucous howl responded—different from the playful yips of Shanley and her friends. Its guttural resonance gave me goosebumps.

Cries broke out. Not of joy. These were cries for help. For a tense moment, time seemed to freeze. And then everyone around me scattered, disappearing with a wave of kicked-up sand into the chaos.

Uh…should I be following? Dozens of people, scared and shoeless, darted towards the bluffs. Puddles of them collected at the bottom, unable to scale the steeper parts. The madness nipped the heels of those who fled, herding them away from the path and into the rocky cliffs.

Eyes wide as the moon, I turned to Shanley, the only person who had stayed with.

“River, I need you to listen to me.” Her palms, swollen to the size of baseball gloves, cupped my shoulders.

I flinched at her distorted mitts. “Are you okay?”

“Get away from here. Now. Go back the way we came.” She jerked her head towards the trailhead we’d entered from on the other side of the clearing. “Quickly! My keys are in the glovebox. Drive yourself back to town.”

Judging by the hysteria that took over her face, so genuine it spooked me, this seemed like advice I’d be stupid not to follow. But with no license or any real practice behind the wheel—that was twice in one day it had failed me—the best I could do was hide in the back seat and wait it out.

What were we running from, exactly? I would absolutely die if she said teratorn. Maybe it was just the cops? Most here looked under twenty-one. Then I remembered what Kai said.

“What’s going on?” A chill shook my spine and laced my words. “Don’t tell me: Chet did something dumb.”

“Please.” Shanley’s voice was strained. “Just leave!” With that, she spun on her heels and sprinted towards the commotion, leaving me alone.

Water tickled my soles, seeping into the cloth of my Vans. The tide was coming in, stinging my feet with its persistent, cold laps. But I didn’t budge—the shock turned me to ice and froze me in place.

What had caused everyone to go full apocalypse?

A low, tormented wail cut the night. I peered into the shadows, distorted since the bonfire had flamed out. Most had escaped, but there amongst the stragglers I tracked a lone figure who chased instead of ran. A figure with a square jaw and sideswept hair the color of butter and too many abs for a six-pack.

Chet.

His form danced with the night, contorting in a way that didn’t seem humanly possible.

I grimaced as muscles split and he writhed against bones that seemed to fracture and reform—unable to look away as he bellowed and raged while his jaw twisted, nose elongated, like a snout was forming out of his face.

The chill that had danced along my body was now uncontrollable.

He wasn’t Chet anymore. He was a wolf…A werewolf who drew his nose to the sky, taking in the moon with what seemed like pious admiration, sniffing with dramatic heaves. Fur sprouted in patches but bloomed in the moonlight along his unnaturally tan skin, golden tufts growing behind his vertical ears and between the webs of his hands—now paws.

Chet had always been a wolf. But now he dressed the part, too.

Faded celestial symbols stained his jacked, hairless chest, remnants of the reddish clay cementing the tips of his bushy mane. Symbols he’d lain down to receive half-naked, taunting whoever got the torture of painting him, I’m sure.

The thick ocean haze quickly started closing in, its billowy tendrils cloaking the seafront and muffling the distant screams. If I didn’t leave, I’d be trapped here between the rising tide and the werewolf, who, by nothing short of a miracle, hadn’t noticed me yet.

I leapt into the mist. It broke apart in plumes, shielding the bluffs, throwing off my sense of direction. I pressed my heels into the sand. As long as my ankles weren’t sopping wet it meant I was headed towards dry land. Using that knowledge to guide me, I broke into a jog, smack-dab into a column of shadow. I ricocheted off it and tumbled to the ground.

It edged forward, the temperature dropping as it shaded my body. Weird, shadows didn’t move like that…

It was Chet.

Still on two legs, his face disfigured into something more canine. Sharper. He hovered over me and took a big whiff. Oh my God, he was smelling me. This couldn’t get any worse. I’d gladly take a teratorn over this.

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