“Nope.” She popped the “p” in the word.
“Can I see it?”
She reached to the counter behind her, again looking around, and gathered the book in her arms.
“Something weird has happened with this book, though.”
She proceeded to tell me how she’d had it under her pillow and had had a dream that she cannot remember. When she woke, the sigil on the cover had changed, and the book was warm to the touch. I could feel the heat from the book. The clasp was warmer than the leather.
“Definitely warm.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m gonna lie about it.”
I couldn’t hide my grin. I liked her fire. “No, Sunshine. I don’t suppose you would. Can you tell me about the dream you had when the grimoire heated up?”
“That’s just it. I cannot remember it. I believe that dream may hold the answer to who my father is. Or maybe it’s just another way I’m defective.”
I walked around the prep table and touched her cheek.
“Aspen. You are anything but defective. You are brave and beautiful, and if I can do anything to help you, please know I am only a phone call away.”
I stepped back before I made her uncomfortable. She likely didn’t want me crowding her space.
She had put the finishing touches on the small tasting cake. It looked amazing. I was proud to take it back to the compound for everyone to taste.
“So you have my number in your phone, right?”
She grabbed her phone to check. When she discovered she didn’t, I had her give hers to me, and I texted her so I was sure she’d have it. And now I had her number. I needed Wrecker to get a tracker onto her phone just in case.
Aspen walked me to the door with the cake boxed up, surprised to see I was in a truck.
“Little known secret: We don’t always ride our bikes. Especially when transporting things like delicious cakes.”
She laughed, and it sounded like heaven to my ears.
“I hope you stop by again, even though we’ve all but completed our cake business.” She told me at the door.
“You can count on it, Sunshine.” I turned back toward the bakery when she put the CLOSED sign on the door and locked it, and I swear there was a gopher or a prairie dog wearing a jacket, walking beside her as she made her way back to the kitchen.
By 7:15, the energy in my body had nowhere left to go. That’s when I called Gunner.
He showed up at my door ten minutes later, still wearing the same sweat-stained T-shirt from his evening run. He looked at me, took in the tightness of my jaw, and just shook his head.
“Tell me you’re not gonna keep being weird about the bakery girl,” he said, still calming his breath from his run.
I let out a bark of a laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But if I don’t burn off some of this, I’ll be a liability while I’m trying to write the words for the ceremony.”
“Fair.” He nodded toward the woods. “Arsenal’s game. I saw him by the barn. Let’s run it.”
The next five minutes were a blur of muscle memory—stripping down, shifting, the skin-crawl shudder that came with dropping the human shell. There’s no dignity in the change, no matter what the movies say. It’s ugly, primal, and loud. My body twisted, bones crackling like dry wood. I felt my fingers fuse, my teeth lengthen, the world tilt as my senses dialed up to eleven.
When I came up on four legs, Gunner and Arsenal were already waiting at the tree line. Gunner’s wolf was a ruddy giant, bigger than most, with a lazy, unhurried lope that belied howfast he could really move. Arsenal—jet black, lean, mean—was already pacing, tail high and eyes sharp.
We shot through the woods like bullets. The world was sound and motion and the thudding, electric pulse of pack-mind: every step, every turn, synced like a drummer’s hands. We weaved through the low pines, tore through thickets, bounded over the dry creek bed in a flying leap that left Gunner rolling with laughter on the far side.
On the first incline, I cut right and nipped Gunner’s flank—just enough to leave a mark and start a chase. He spun and barreled after me, teeth bared but tongue out in that wolfy, shit-eating grin. We ran until the air was knives in our lungs, the frost sharp enough to sting even through a fur coat. At the ridge, we paused and howled, long and low and rolling over the valley.
Arsenal was the first to start the teasing.
