I grinned. “Hell yes.”
Wrecker materialized out of nowhere, already stripping off his shirt. “Last one to the ridge buys first round at Pearl’s tonight.”
We took off, laughing like idiots, and didn’t stop until the trees swallowed us whole.
We bolted across the compound like we were being chased by devils. Maybe we were. Gunner led, legs eating up the ground with an easy cowboy lope. Wrecker pushed hard, staying just behind him, his hair flying in the wind like a banner of war. I brought up the rear, steady as a metronome, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me sweat.
We hit the tree line at full speed, and nobody hesitated. Gunner peeled off his shirt, boots flying in opposite directions. Wrecker yanked his jeans down in a single rip, leaving them inside out and abandoned in the leaves. I waited until the last possible second, then stripped to the skin, letting the cold air hit me all at once. For a second, the world was nothing but heartbeats and the tang of pine in my nose.
Then I shifted.
Bones went soft, then hard. Muscles stretched, snapped, reformed. My hands curled into claws, my vision exploded from gray-scale to Technicolor, and every sound in the world dialed up to eleven. My wolf came roaring to the surface, a surge of pureanimal that wiped away every thought of Harper, every memory of loss, every worry about tomorrow. All that mattered was the run.
I loped after them, paws hitting the earth in a rhythm older than language. Gunner was already ahead, his wolf a big, russet blur tearing through the brush. Wrecker’s gray coat flickered in and out of the shadows, always doubling back to snap at Gunner’s heels or circle around and try to trip him up. We were three points of a triangle, each pulling the others forward, faster and faster until the world blurred into streaks of color and scent.
We hit the first ridge, and Gunner jumped it in one bound, tail flagged in challenge. Wrecker slid sideways, grabbed a mouthful of Gunner’s ruff, and yanked him off balance. They rolled together, a tangle of fur and bared teeth, until Gunner broke loose and sprinted for the next rise.
I let them fight it out for the lead. I liked the view from the rear, liked the way the sun dappled through the branches and made every hair on my pelt stand on end. I could smell everything—the old cigarette butts from last year’s poker game, the loam where Parker buried her coffee grounds, the musk of deer hiding somewhere to the left. I catalogued it all, sorting friend from foe, threat from safety. My wolf thrummed with the knowledge that nothing in these woods could hurt us.
We ran for miles. Sometimes we split up, carving new paths through the scrub and fallen logs; sometimes we regrouped and chased each other like pups. Wrecker was the fastest, but Gunner had stamina, and I had the patience to wait for my moment. When it came, I cut hard right, launched myself over a fallen log, and knocked both of them into a heap at the base of a pine tree.
We wrestled in the dirt, three grown men reduced to snarling, yipping idiots. It felt good. It felt clean.
When we tired, we lay side by side, tongues lolling, the steam rising off our bodies in the cool late morning air. For a long time, none of us moved. The only sound was the wind in the needles and the soft whuff of our own breath.
This was freedom. This was the only place in the world I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to carry the weight of my own history.
Wrecker stood first, shook the dirt from his coat, and nudged me with his nose. Gunner groaned, rolled over, and then we all three started running again, faster this time, pushing until our lungs burned and our paws bled.
We chased the sun all the way to the top of the high ridge, where the whole of Iron Valor’s land spread out below us in gold and green. We stood together, side by side, and howled. The sound echoed down into the valley, wild and fearless, a reminder to every creature for miles that this was our territory.
For a moment, I forgot about everything else. There was no Harper, no Bronc, no Steiner, no past or future or second guessing. There was only the run, the wind, the brotherhood of the pack.
I laughed—a wolf’s laugh, sharp and bright—and the others joined in, voices mingling and rising until it felt like we could shatter the sky.
We were alive. We were together.
And for the first time in as long as I could remember, that was enough.
Chapter 12
Harper
Iwoke up to the sound of nothing at all—a stillness so complete that for a second I thought maybe I’d died in my sleep. Then I remembered: I was in Jess’s apartment, in a comfortable bed, wearing a t-shirt that didn’t have Steiner’s scent clinging to it. For a dizzy heartbeat, I didn’t know what to do with the absence of threat. My brain pinged the usual danger zones—the door, the window, the closet—but there was nothing lurking. No monster waiting on the other side. Just a breeze, just the day.
My body felt like it belonged to me for the first time in months. There was an ache deep in my hip, a couple twinges in my back, but they were plain old aches, nothing like the panic-clenched nausea that had lived in my gut for three years. I lay there a moment, listening to the hum of the fridge and the way the blinds rattled when the HV/AC kicked on. In the time since I’d last had a safe place to sleep, I’d forgotten the luxury of small sounds.
I sat up and looked around. Jess’s place was the same as when I’d gone to sleep: clinical, almost, but not unfriendly. Everything was squared off and in its place. The comforter was tucked with a hospital corner I’d never bother trying to replicate. On the nightstand, next to a phone and a bottle of water, was a slip of paper. A note written in his rigid, all-caps hand:
HARPER- MEETING THEN GOING FOR A RUN WITH THE GUYS. BACK LATER. HELP YOURSELF TO ANYTHING. J.
There was a pen line beneath my name, as if he’d almost written more but then stopped himself. The thought made my chest feel fizzy.
I shuffled to the edge of the bed, wincing a little at how tight my thighs had gotten. The floor was cold. My feet left little sweat halos on the hardwood as I walked to the bathroom. In the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. My hair had dried wild and full, frizzing out in every direction. My eyes were puffy, but not nearly as wrecked as I expected. The bruises on my arms had gone yellow and green overnight, making it look like I’d lost a paintball war. The cut on my lip was almost healed. The only real difference was my face: it looked… softer. Like my skin wasn’t being pulled tight by terror anymore.
I splashed water on my face and remembered, with a start, the duffel bag that had been left for me. It was on the dresser, right where Jess had dumped it. I tugged it open and peered inside.
It was like Christmas. New underwear, still in the Hanes bag; jeans with the tags attached; a sky-blue tank top and a palepink sweater. New clothes that normal people wore. There were even a pair of white tennis shoes and a bag of hair ties. I nearly laughed out loud.
