I scrolled through an app, looking at a bunch of pictures of three werewolves in different places. One had them posing in front of the Matterhorn in Switzerland and another had them relaxing on a beach in Fiji.
“What am I looking at?”
“It’s a social media app for werewolves called ‘The Fuzz’.”
I handed the phone back. “You know I hate this stuff. I never even logged into the DicTalk account you set up for me a couple months ago.”
“No, look at these guys,” he said, sitting on the bed and pulling me down next to him. “I think these were Austin’s packmates in the marines.”
“What?” I snatched the phone. “Are you sure about that? I thought they died!”
“Shhhh.” Adam covered my mouth. “I don’t want Austin to hear.”
“You saw ‘em in yer visions?” Roscoe asked.
Adam nodded. “Randall, Steve, and Blake. They’re alive and apparently doing pretty well for werewolves.”
“I don’t understand. Why does Austin think they’re dead?” I asked.
“He assumed they were. A couple soldiers threw their dog tags in the trash and kept hinting that something bad happened. But they also mentioned being contaminated, which may be why they threw the tags away—not because the werewolves were dead. Austin never saw their bodies either. He tried to break into the building, but it was too secure. He ended up assuming the worst and got the fuck out of Dodge.”
Roscoe’s tail thudded against the bed. “Where are they livin’ now?”
“I don’t know. They don’t really live anywhere. They just travel to different places, stowing away or hitchhiking. They’ve even got a channel where they record themselves hopping on freight trains like hobos.” Adam scrolled back to the top of the app and clicked his profile. “I’m going to send them a message with Austin’s picture and see if they recognize him. I’m like ninety-nine percent sure it’s them.”
“It’s been quite a few years. Hopefully they haven’t forgotten him,” I said, snapping my suitcase shut.
“Nah,” Roscoe chimed in. “If they were as close as Austin said, they’re probably searchin’ the whole world for him and haven’t stopped. Packmates have a really strong bond.” Roscoe’s tone cracked beneath his excitement.
“I sent the message,” Adam said, turning off the screen before looking up. “Now we wait.”
The moment he spoke, the phone vibrated again and again.
Thanksgiving was tomorrow, but today we’d begin our long road trip to White Dunes. Willa and Mosavi were coming with us, which meant we’d be traveling by limo. Roscoe sat on the living room sofa with a sour look on his face, his fur still puffy from all the blow-drying earlier.
“Don’t look at me like that. Mosavi’s not letting you into his limo smelling like ass.”
“I didn’t smell like ass,” Roscoe muttered. “I like my smell. Now I look stupid.”
“I’ll brush you in a bit. Oh! I’ve got a cute bandana with a bunch of little bones on it.”
“Ha ha.” Roscoe looked away from me. “Puttin’ me in that harness was mean, and when the hell did Adam get so strong?”
I picked up a wide wire brush and began running it through his fur. “I love this. You’re so soft, you smell good, and you’re handsome.”
“I look like a fat Pomeranian.”
“You’ll look great when I’m done, and you’re more Chow Chow than Pomeranian.”
The bathroom door opened, and Adam pulled Austin into the living room. The huge werewolf’s fur was just as puffy and unruly as Roscoe’s, and he had the same disgruntled expression. His ears were low, and his tail tucked, the whites of his eyes showing as he looked away.
“Can I get that brush when you’re done?” Adam wrapped his arms around Austin, his head sinking into thick chest fluff. “This is nice,” he said, his voice muffled.
“He got you with the harness, didn’t he?” Roscoe asked.
The sad-looking werewolf nodded.
“How’d he get you?” He shoved my arm. “This one promised me sex and breakfast in bed.”
