I absorbed this, trying to fit it into the shape of the man I knew.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Only when I fight it.” Then he looked at our surroundings. “The change has never been like that. So painful. I think it’s time travel. It’s done something to my DNA, transformed me in some way.
I squeezed his shoulder, gentler now. “Then don’t fight. Or not so hard.”
He laughed, and this time it was almost human. “You’re not afraid?”
I thought about it, then shook my head. “No. Not of you.”
He looked at me, something like gratitude in his eyes. “You should be.”
I stood, pulling the cloak tighter. “Let’s get to the hut before we freeze to death.”
He shook his head. “I saw two hunters heading that way. We’ll have to wait.”
He got to his feet, a little unsteady, and followed me out of the clearing. The moon watched us go, silent and indifferent, as if nothing that happened in its light could ever truly matter.
When we reached the lodge, I paused at the door.
“Moab?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not the only one with secrets,” I said. I pushed the door open and let him follow me inside.
We were both, I think, a little more human after that.
***
The lodge felt smaller after that night, every beam and floorboard marked with the memory of what I’d seen in the woods. I moved through it with a new kind of caution, not fear but awareness, as if the air itself might catch and tear if I breathed too hard. Moab was quieter, too, his movements careful, almost rehearsed, like a man trying to pass for human in a world that wasn’t fooled.
I kept the fire going. It was the only thing that made the room feel safe, the only light that didn’t flatten the world into cold, hard lines. I sat close to it, letting the warmth soak into my bones, and watched him from the corner of my eye.
He sat against the far wall, knees drawn up, hands wrapped around them. His hair was still damp with sweat, and the blue-black marks on his arms stood out sharp as wounds. He stared at the flames, not speaking, not moving. I wondered if he was waiting for me to run.
“You hungry?” I said, just to break the silence.
He looked up, startled. “Yeah. Always.”
I smiled, though I knew it looked more like a grimace. “There’s nothing left but the roots. Unless you want to gnaw on the wood.”
He snorted, but the sound died fast. “I can go out later. Bring something back.”
I nodded. “The men, do you think they’ll come back?”
He shook his head. “Not tonight. They’ll wait until the weather clears.”
We sat like that for a while, the fire popping and hissing, the shadows on the walls dancing closer every time I looked away. I thought of the stories, the warnings, the way my mother used to draw the sign of the cross on my forehead before bed. I wondered if she’d still do it, knowing what I’d become.
I reached for a stick and poked at the embers. “I have a question.”
He tensed, but nodded.
“If you can become—” I paused, searching for the word, “the wolf—why not do it all the time? Why stay like this?”
He thought about it. “It’s not easy. The first time, it almost killed me. The second time, I almost killed someone else. Every time after, it’s been a gamble.” He flexed his hand, watching the bones shift under the skin. “I can control it, mostly. But not always.”
