“That feeling kinda kills the mood a little. We should go find him. Austin’s probably gonna need some company, too.”
“How do you know all this?”
Roscoe shrugged. “Dunno. Every werewolf knows when it happens, though.” One lonely howl from the north started a cascade of howls that erupted from town in the south. Roscoe’s ears fell. “Aw, shit no…”
“What’s the matter with you?”
He covered his ears and shook his head. “Nope, not gonna do it…”
“You’re scaring me right now.”
More werewolves joined in the chorus, and Roscoe whined, holding his head tighter.
“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, gently sliding me off him. He sat up and pointed his nose to the sky before belting out the most hilarious howl I’d ever heard. It kind of warbled, like he was trying to clear his throat. “I hate this,” he shouted before howling again. “Can’t stop. It’s like throwin’ up.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever heard you do that,” I said, trying not to laugh, but I was failing with every high-pitched yip and yowl. They always seemed so human in personality that I’d sometimes forget werewolves did stuff like this.
“Don’t get used to it.” He let out one final howl that was a lot cleaner than his first few. “Don’t look at me. I’m a freak,” he said jokingly, covering his face.
“Well, I learned something new tonight. Werewolves can feel when half-turns change, and they howl uncontrollably.”
“Would you believe some werewolves do it ’cause they like it?” Roscoe scoffed and stumbled to his feet. “It actually makes me cringe.”
“It’s kinda hot—when you don’t sound asthmatic.”
“I ain’t done that in years. A little dust on the vocal cords.” He reached down and grabbed my arm. “I bet Adam and Austin are havin’ the roughest sex of their lives right now. I remember my first night under the moon. You won’t ever feel something like that again, and yer body just wants to release everything it’s got.”
“You think I’ll be bigger than you when I turn?” I asked, walking alongside Roscoe, who broke into a light jog as we got closer to the woods.
“Dunno. It’s all random.”
“I can’t wait to see what Adam looks like.”
Roscoe stopped and tried to pick up more scents, but the look on his face turned from intrigue to worry.
“What’s wrong?”
Roscoe lifted his leg and reached down to pull off one of the anklets. It was threaded through one of the colorful stones the ferals gave us weeks ago.
“Aw, no. Those dummies went into the woods.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s a fresh scent trail.”
Eerie cackles called from the trees, the same songs I’d hear from behind our property. I turned to Roscoe who kept his stare alert and his hackles raised.
“We should get Willa,” I said, pulling Roscoe toward the direction of town.
“I… can’t leave ’em. Not again.” He took more shaky steps to the forest’s edge before locking up, like he was standing on a cliff several thousand feet in the air.
“Again? What are you talking about?”
Roscoe didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his intense stare on the blackened trees. I pulled him back.
“Run to get help. You’re faster than me.”
“You can’t go in there.”
