After two hours of nonstop work, Roger stepped back, grin bright. “Turned out pretty damned good, if I do say so myself.” Then, to Slade, he said, “If you’re not too busy at the compound, I’d love to have you come hang out with me during the day. I want to learn your techniques. I… um… subscribe to your channel.”
About time someone gave Slade something to do other than sit around and worry.
“Tonight is the full moon,” Sam added. “While you’re welcome on the compound, two hundred shifted wolves can be a bit unsettling at first.”
Two hundred shifted wolves.
Slade sent Noah a message and spent the day and most of the night talking shop and creating tattoo designs with Roger, the tattoo artist witch.
Wearing a new, inked-on protection spell.
The White River Pack emblem.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lightsnowfellinthe clearing where Noah trudged along with the other adult shifters. The younger ones, who bore watching, gathered elsewhere on the compound. Pups as young as two years old shifted here, making Noah an extremely late bloomer for having his first shift around age fifteen. His new teachers named the probable cause the lack of a pack’s influence.
The moving line stopped, the wolves forming a rough circle. Already the moon’s pull sang in Noah’s veins. Soon he’d drop the heavy robe he wore, step out of his shoes, and shift with an entire pack for the very first time.
His nerves jangled—so many strangers.
How he’d dreamed of this, longed for a pack run. Yet, missing Paul and Slade made the event a bit less perfect. Aunt Debra and Uncle Ed joined the older wolves while those near Noah’s age huddled around this end of the clearing.
With roughly two hundred wolves on-site, the shift needed orderly progression. Those with less control shifted first, pups, seniors, those who’d otherwise lose the battle against the moon. A howl went up, sending chills down his spine, followed by pounding footsteps heading for the parklands. No need for stealth here. The park offered safety.
By age groups, the wolves shifted and followed trails into the woods, so two hundred wolves didn’t try to crowd in at once. Finally, his turn came to abandon his covering. Damn, the night was cold to human skin. In a flash, he changed forms, stood, and shook out his fur.
Time to hunt. With this many packmates, no limiting himself to small game. He’d always wondered what taking down a deer would be like. Sadly, with so many wolves going ahead, any deer probably caught the scent in time to escape.
Still, to be free, totally free, to run with no worries. He rolled in a patch of snow, waving all four feet in the air. Another wolf waited nearby, tongue lolling out in a wolfie grin. The wolf sneezed.
Noah chased the wolf into the trees, then took his turn running while his new friend chased. Some wolves performed duties, such as watching the perimeter or keeping an eye on the pups. Noah lacked the training, so dedicated himself to play.
After a while, he caught a scent trail, gave a soft “woof,” and led three other wolves on a tracking expedition. He chased without catching. So much to sniff, to see, to feel, but mostly, Noah felt a sense of belonging.
Of being pack.
In the wee hours of the morning, the wolves returned to the clearing. Noah sniffed around for his robe. He’d love to have seen the moon shining down on the ground. Cloud cover hid the brilliance of a full moon tonight.
With one last howl, he lay down on the ground, willing himself human again. Damn! Cold. He located his robe and shoes, wrapped himself as best he could, and raced to the bonfire now burning at the center of the clearing. A building to the side also offered warmth. Tonight, he wanted the full experience, how his ancestors had enjoyed the shift. What had pack shifts been like for his parents? His grandparents? He held both hands out to the flames, reveling in the warmth against his cold skin.
Having witches around made sense. They kept the pack safe with their wards, not needing to shift, so they were available to offer warmth and food after the pack returned. The aroma of cooking meat beckoned from the building. Stomach growling, he followed others inside.
“Hey,” a man said, sidling up beside him, holding a laden tray.
Noah recognized the friend he’d played with earlier, having seen him in wolf form. “Hey, Snow Wolf,” he replied, letting the guy know he’d been recognized.
“We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Eric, Mac’s nephew. I would shake your hand…” He lifted the tray in explanation.
“I understand. I’m on my way for food, too. I’m Noah, by the way.”
“I know.” Eric winked, nodding toward a far corner. Men and women, roughly their age, sat around a table. “Wanna join us?”
Should Noah get home to Slade? No, Sam said something about an all-night tattoo session or something. Besides, a wolf needed to eat. Eric appeared younger than Noah, maybe twenty-five, attractive with his dark hair, eyes, and skin. He wore an amulet around his neck: the moon, shining down on a river—the White River Pack emblem. Like Noah, he wore a robe, firmly belted at the waist.
Noah clung to his former pack’s symbol. He filled his tray and followed Eric to the table he’d pointed out. The others shifted chairs to allow him room. “Hey, everybody, this is Noah, the new guy.”
Cue the feelings of aloneness. The group chatted among themselves about people Noah knew nothing about. They’d all grown up together, knew each other’s families.
