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PROLOGUE

Ifollowed closely behind my mother. It was dark, but we could see well enough. The sun wouldn’t be up for at least an hour. I shivered from the cold as we moved along. We had to be out early if we wanted to reach the spot where the deer bedded down before they woke up and moved on. I hated the early mornings, but I knew my community depended on fresh meat. And I knew grumbling wouldn’t convince my mother to let me stay in bed or keep the deer from waking at the crack of dawn.

We didn’t talk as we walked between the buildings, picking our way over grass-covered rubble and around rusted-out cars. We moved deeper into the abandoned city. The grass and brush gave way to tall weeds and cracked pavement.

My parents told me what it had been like before, but as I looked at the crumbling buildings, the gaping storefronts, and the overgrown roads, I found it hard to imagine. The dark towers looming above were larger than anything I’d ever been inside. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of them. Had people really lived and worked behind all those blackened windows? A shiver rippled through me that had nothing to do with the morning chill. Not that we’d ever have to go into those buildings, I reminded myself. The old stores and homes had been picked over long ago.

I hardly remembered eating store-bought food. If I wanted a fresh meal, we needed the deer. Despite wishing I was back in my warm bed, I felt my cat prickle under my skin at the thought of shifting and chasing the large beasts. My cat didn’t care how early it was.

My attention was drawn to my mother as she dodged a pile of rubble. Her gait was easy and powerful for her small frame. She was lean and muscular, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail that bounced as she walked. The cheerful movement of her dark curls was at odds with the serious expression she usually wore.

Everyone said I looked just like her, but I suspected I didn’t scowl nearly as much. I wondered if I would have a crease between my brows one day like she did. I reached up and rubbed the spot between my eyes. As if my mother could hear my thoughts, she stopped and turned her gaze on me, her scowl deepening the crease in question. I dropped my hand and flicked my eyes back to the ground. I watched my mother out of the corner of my eye, both hands gripping the straps of my backpack.

My mother started up again, then quickened her pace and leaped onto a large concrete slab overlooking the decaying downtown. She turned her weathered face into the wind. Small strands of her hair blew loose from her ponytail, and her brow furrowed with worry. I stepped up beside her and inhaled deeply.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s nothing,” my mother replied.

“It doesn’t smell like nothing.”

My mother turned to face me, wearing a blank expression that was her version of a smile, yet she didn’t meet my gaze. “It’s nothing to worry about. Let’s go,” she said, dropping from the perch to the asphalt below before I had time to respond.

It was nearly twenty minutes before we reached the clearing in the old park. I could smell the stream’s water, the nearby deer, and a new, much stronger scent. The new smell was so intense that it nearly overpowered the herd’s odor entirely.

My nose prickled. There was something both familiar and terrifying about the scent. I sensed a warning in the rich, complex aroma. My body instinctively reacted; sharp claws pricked the insides of my boots, and I fought the urge to shift and run. I glanced at my mother. She appeared calm and unfazed, which gave me courage. I stood taller and tried to steady the shaking in my legs.

“Mom?”

“Shhh,” she hissed, her eyes darting over the ground ahead.

I pointed at a dark shape resting at the base of a low wall in the distance. “There.”

“Wait here.”

“Mom?” I said again, my voice laced with the annoyance I felt. I could sense my mother’s worry, but I hated being ignored.

My mother turned her head sharply, and my protests died in my throat. “Wait here,” she breathed through clenched jaws.

My mother turned away in silence, dropped her pack, and strode into the clearing. Her body was tense and ready.

My hands began to sweat, and I rubbed them against the fabric of my old jeans. My mother’s reaction heightened my anxiety. I watched as she approached the dark shape. Her careful movements and coiled energy resembled a large cat on the prowl, and I wondered why she didn’t shift if she was so worried. We were both much better fighters as big cats and much faster, too.

I waited, tense and ready to shift if my mother did. I followed my mother’s movements closely in the pre-dawn darkness, noting the moment her posture relaxed. She bent down to examine the object on the ground. I took a deep breath and released my shoulders from up around my ears. Even from a distance, I heard my mother’s low curse as she stood and backed away. She paused several paces from the dark shape, her hands resting on her hips, not taking her eyes off whatever it was.

“Bring the packs,” she called out.

I shouldered both bags and hurried to see what all the fuss was about. As I got closer, the smell intensified, overwhelming my sensitive nose and making me want to turn back. I paused and tried to steady myself. This might not be the hunt I’d anticipated, but I wasn’t going to run from the challenge. My mother wouldn’t put me in danger, and I wasn’t a little kid anymore; I was nearly twelve years old. I took a deep breath through my mouth and pressed on until I stood by my mother’s side.

Looking down, I saw that the thing on the ground was a man—no, not quite a man, my senses told me.

“He’s not one of us,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“No. Of course not.”

“He’s not human either.”

“No. Absolutely not,” my mother replied in a strange tone.