Lyle crept closer to the small building he’d been walking alongside, his feet moving as though they were acting of their own accord. Before he realized what he was doing, Lyle was not walking but inching with one palm grazing along the brick and his eyeballs all but jumping out of their sockets to movements both real and imagined. It was amazing how tough he could feel when he wore fur, yet how unbelievably vulnerable when he was nothing but skin. He tried to slow his heartbeat with deep, controlled breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth—though it didn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever. Purple, blue and black were winning the battle for dominance in the heavens, and every alleyway felt like the open mouth of some dangerous, waiting beast. A breeze, colder than he’d remembere
