The light from my computer screen casts blue shadows across my office, the only illumination besides the small desk lamp I've angled away from the door. My body aches with the recent memory of transformation, muscles still remembering a different shape, but my mind is sharp, honed by suspicion and the lingering heightened senses of the wolf. The building is quiet at this hour—the kind of quiet that makes my ears strain for sounds that shouldn't be there, for footsteps that might interrupt what I'm about to do.
I roll my shoulders, feeling the tension knot and release. Three days since the full moon, and still my body protests, reminds me of what I am. What I've become. The transformation takes more from me each time, demands payment in soreness and fatigue that lingers like an unwelcome g
