I fume all the way back to Spyglass Stables. After pulling my truck off the lane into the parking area, I get out and force myself to look at the view.
The barns and a sweep of green pasture to my left, sloping down to the fence.
The road, cracked pavement dusted with sand, slithering through the low swells of the earth.
The dunes in the distance, tufted with sea grass.
The big bluff to the north, crested by the lighthouse, with rocky peaks of land around it and beyond it.
The flat blue of the sea merging with the soft, melted colors of sunset—lemon yellow, soft greenish blue, rose-pink. Thin streaks of deep gray cloud, like long pieces of cotton pinned across a watercolor painting.
Usually the sight helps me. Settles me. But I’m too far gone. It’s been much too long since I purged my emotions. I’m balancing on the edge of the chasm, one breath away from the freefall.
The sea breeze flirts with me, teasing wildness, singing of salt and bones and the beautiful dark.
I’m still so angry about the presence of that man at the Toast & Tide, that stranger, that interloper, the one who thinks he knows what I need. I can’t possibly talk rationally to Ashala and Tess right now, and I’d rather not yell. That’s not me… or at least, it’s not the person I want to be.
I tug off my boots and toss them into the truck, then shut the door. Barefoot, I jog down the lane, across the road, and along the twisty path to the beach.
Of course I feel every pebble, every stalk of grass, every bit of shell. I’m not invulnerable. But the discomfort isn’t as bad for me as it would be for a human, and if my feet do get cut, they’ll heal quickly. Perks of being a member of my species. We heal rapidly from anything… except each other’s teeth. Those wounds heal much more slowly, if at all.
I run faster once I’m through the dunes. My feet fly over the pebbled section of the beach, toes crushing damp hollows into the flat sand.
It’s dangerous, running full-out like this when I’m angry. I’ve transformed involuntarily before, and it could happen again. But that was long ago. I’ve gained more control since then. I can manage it.
For me, everything is a delicate balance. Certain activities can serve as an outlet, but if I overindulge, they become a gateway to the very thing I’m trying to prevent.
Running helps, as long as I stay grounded in my humanity, as long as I don’t start yearning for the sensation of the gallop, the air flowing through my mane and tail, the whistling of the wind between my sharp teeth, the satisfying thud of sand beneath my hooves.
Stop thinking about it, Marlowe…
I veer aside, into the surf. The cold foam splashes around my bare feet, shocking me out of the trance I was about to enter. I wade a few steps deeper, feeling the sludgy sand suck at my toes.
Lou is dead. I didn’t even ask how it happened. Didn’t offer my condolences. I was unbelievably selfish, thinking only of my own needs.
To be fair, if Idon’tthink of my own needs, I tend to become a flesh-eating monster. So really, what looks like selfishness is for the protection of everyone around me. No one can judge me for that—certainly not some grizzled, granite-jawed man with insolent eyes and the grouchiest voice I’ve ever heard.
I don’t want this new guy. I wantLou, sweet old Lou with his bristly gray eyebrows and his apple-cheeked smile, with his beer-and-burgers belly and his big hugs. He always smelled like grill grease and coffee and maple syrup. He took care of me. He knew my secret.
Only a handful of people in Crescent Cove know what I am. They were members of the admission panel that let me join this community.
There’s an application process if you want to live in Crescent Cove. You either have to be some kind of supernatural yourself, or you have to be referred by a supernatural and possess a skill or service the town can use. Regular old humans don’t belong here. It’s supposed to be a safe place, an idyllic spot where those of us who are deeply, truly different can feel accepted.
My kind isn’t allowed around here, though. There are rules for everyone’s safety, and certain supernaturals are just too unpredictable and dangerous.
But I convinced them I could behave, so they gave me a chance. They let me start my business just outside the town’s border, with permission to come and go in Crescent Cove as often as I like.
During the past nine years, I’ve built a solid business, offering therapeutic horse encounters and coastal rides to mentally challenged, disabled, neurodivergent, or traumatized humans. The slim profit margin allows me to offer sanctuary to abused horses, some of whom can be rehabilitated and integrated into the program.
Thanks to our placement, Spyglass Stables can serve both humans and supernaturals. But even though the land I’m on doesn’t have wards around it like the town does, it still falls under the domain of the council. They could force me to leave at any time. So I have to follow the conditions of my residency agreement, which include therapy sessions once a week. I did two remote sessions while I was away on my trip, but I’m overdue for another. I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon.
Somehow, I’ve got to get myself under control by then. If my therapist, Dr. Ruby Ennis, encountered me right now,she’d be able to smell the bloodlust and rage on me from a mile away.
I swish one foot through the water. Sand particles swirl across my skin, suspended in the chilly tide. I release a long sigh, trying to settle into my new reality.
Lou is gone. His nephew has taken over the diner. I didn’t even ask the new guy’s name or tell him mine. All my manners zoomed right out the window the second I got hit in the face withchange.
I don’t approve of change. I don’t handle it well. I like my routines, my habits. I have a limited tolerance for variation, but certain things need to be exactly the same every time, or I’m unmoored. For example, I’ve always liked taking my mood-altering potions in coffee form at the diner, even though I could get them elsewhere in town as sweets or snacks. I like to sip mine and feel the heat on my tongue. The Wild Eye to immerse myself in anger, the Tristesse to feel all the sadness. Sometimes both if I have a lot of strong feelings to purge.
