“Come on,” Rhett says. “Let me enjoy the time I’ve got with you before you run back to that little coffee business of yours.”
I give him an indignant expression. “I thought you liked my coffee business. And I broke even in the first year, thank you very much.”
“I know that.” His boisterous laugh echoes among the trees. “I just like hearing you defend it so proudly.” He pats my back again as we walk side by side deeper under the canopy of red and yellow leaves.
As we enter the camp, we’re greeted by several young omegas running around in their wolf forms. Rhett clicks his tongue and scolds them for being so close to the perimeter. They skirt off with their little tails tucked, and the sight of them being so disciplined makes my chest tighten. Is that how I would have been if I’d grown up in the pack?
As a young teenager, I never knew how my parents really felt about paranormals. I knew they existed, and I knew about Shadow Hills and the other towns built for them to live in around the country, but they weren’t talked about in my family or friend circles. After the ordinance declaring paranormals have separate land and freedom from human jurisdiction, there was a mass exodus of all paranormals from the major cities to their new small towns. After that, it was like they no longer existed.
It wasn’t until I first showed signs of shifting that I learned there were other werewolves in our family. My mother immediately pulled me from public school and moved us to Shadow Hills, fearing I would face bullying and judgment from the other kids. While there isn’t anything in the law that states paranormals can’t live among other humans, it’s pretty clearly implied that those small towns were created for a reason. Paranormals are free, but only if they live where humans tell them too.
My mom was the one to introduce me to her brother, Uncle Rhett, for the first time. He and my grandfather were the last two members of our family to have the werewolf gene. I felt such solace standing in front of someone who could truly understand what I was going through, but when Rhett offered for me to come live with the pack, I quickly said no, fearing what that would mean for me.
I was already so afraid of the changes happening to me, I desperately needed at least one thing to stay the same. So I chose to stay with my parents. During the day, I visited the pack and learned everything I needed to know about being a werewolf, and at night, I went home to my own bed and maintained some semblance of normalcy.
Some kids weren’t so lucky to have parents like mine. I’d heard of young werewolves who were forced out by their families, forced to leave home and having to find packs on their own. Those kids had nothing, while I at least had a choice.
Sometimes I feel guilty for taking it for granted, knowing those without a pack would give anything to have one, but I reminded myself that this was what I needed to stay sane. As a confused teenager, I wasn’t ready to give up complete control to something I didn’t understand.
I’m still not.
Rhett and I pass the first cluster of mobile homes and RVs with flat tires lined against a copse of trees. There are enough for each family to have one to themselves, and there are at least twenty different families I know of that live here. The pack has been here since Shadow Hills was founded, and over the years more families have found their way to the camp.
“There he is!” a voice calls out from a small garden of vegetables. Then Clay’s buzzed head pops up from behind a vine of tomatoes and gives me a shit-eating grin. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Running my business,” I answer. “I haven’t seen your face come by lately.”
“Dude, I know.” He stumbles mid stride as he steps over the small fence lining the garden. “Kyra just had the baby!” He opens his arms wide and slams into me with an aggressive hug. “I’m a dad!”
His joy is so pure, I can practically feel it radiating off him. Clay was one of the first friends I made here at the camp, and every time I see him I feel a pang of guilt for not spending more time with him.
“That’s amazing, man. Congrats. I wanna see them before I go.”
Clay pulls back and his joyous grin turns bitter. “You never stay long enough,” he confesses, and his words are like a vise around my heart.
Despite the exhilaration I feel every time I step onto werewolf soil, the moment I shift back to my human self, I feel the itch to return home. Only this time there’s something else pulling me back to Shadow Hills.
Yet again I feel that pull to get back to Raegan, but for some reason, she doesn’t feel as far away as she should.
I look around at my fellow werewolves and it occurs to me that we’re all still in human form. “Why haven’t you all shifted yet?” I always wait until the last possible second, but typically by sunrise on the day of a full moon, the rest of the pack is already bounding through the woods.
“We’ve been waiting on you, brother.” Clay says, looking to Rhett for confirmation.
Rhett nods and then looks at me. His eyes give the impression he wants to have a private conversation, and I’m eager to hear what he has to say.
He pats me on the shoulder. “Let’s get you some fuel before we go.”
Chapter Fifteen
JAMIE
Ifollow my uncle to the large wooden shelter in the center of camp. Built completely from naturally fallen trees provided by the forest, it serves as the pack’s outdoor dining hall. There are several rows of long picnic tables and matching benches stretching from one end of the structure to the other. An area of water and other beverages sits at the back left corner, and to the right, there’s a buffet style lineup of food.
I catch sight of Paloma's golden hair as she serves a line of elders. She spots me watching and gives me her signature sweet grin: closed lipped, cheeks full, and eyes closed. She always greets everyone with the same look, like a dog happy to see its owner after they’ve been gone for several hours.
Instead of walking over to say hi, Rhett leads me to an empty table away from all the others. A young girl with rich brown pigtails hurries over with a steaming cup of corn chowder and a stick of corn bread. “Paloma said this is for you,” the girl tells me. She then skips away to join a small group of girls her age.
“This looks good,” I say, mouth already salivating. “Has she made her award-winning white chicken chili yet?”
