Dylan sat perched on the roof of his house, his knees pulled up close to his chest, his eyes narrowed as he contemplated the moon. He clutched a pair of jeans in his fingers—her jeans—letting them dangle casually over the edge. If he waited one more night, the moon would be gone completely, leaving him only cold starlight to guide him as he sought her out. It would probably be easier to sneak up to her home, or her lair, or wherever she was living, in the dark. On the other hand, he didn’t think she would run far if she did notice him.
And he didn’t want to wait another night.
Gena Pelletier. It hadn’t been hard for Dylan to find out. Several people saw her at the party—a few even saw them leave together and witnessed his solitary return—and they were happy enough to volunteer her family
