Bound by the Moon

5.

CALEB

''You smell that?”

I paused mid-step, my nose identifying something I hadn’t smelled in a few years. The scent was borderline sacred, as reverent as it was rare.

The first change.

I looked over the heads of the humans alongside me to lock eyes with Keller, the only other wolf in our little group.

“Smell what?” one of the humans asked, swiveling their head this way and that, even though they didn’t have the organs to pick up on the siren’s call beckoning to me. “Tacos?”

I ignored him, instead watching Keller as he nodded thoughtfully in response. Ah, so I wasn’t crazy—he smelled it, too. The intense call of someone beginning to step into their full wolfhood, to answer the call of the moon and everything that came with it, like the thrill of the hunt and, of course, pack.

But what was a wolf doing out in the middle of the city so close to their change? The mystery pre-shifter was likely a female, which put her in an even more vulnerable position. She was coming into the enhanced abilities and strength that came with being one of us, and they’d be new and unwieldy. Not to mention all the other side effects that came with learning how to control the inner beast blooming within her.

“Yeah, tacos,” I said with a laugh before allowing myself one last concerned look at Keller. If it was a girl, much as I hated to admit it, one of the biggest threats to her was other shifters.

Other male shifters.

I’d prefer to think our kind would watch out for each other, as the world was hard enough for wolves without us biting each other’s throats. But it wasn’t exactly unheard of for experienced shifters to find a newly minted or about-to-turn wolf, then take advantage. It was far too easy to do, whether physically or mentally.

Not that I blamed the new shifters—the weeks before and after the first shift were an incredibly important time, as well as an influential one. New shifters didn’t imprint, yet they did tend to form pseudo-pack-like bonds incredibly quickly, and making such connections with an abuser... it rarely ended well.

A new shifter, no matter their gender, was supposed to have a guardian. One who’d watch their back and make sure they didn’t get taken advantage of. Either the newbie I was smelling was a lone wolf who had no idea what was about to happen to them, or they were from the Black Hawk Pack and their guardian was indisposed.

Or royally f*****g up their job.

None of those options were good, so I hoped there was a fourth reason.

It wasn’t really my business, not technically. Yet, I felt the natural protective alpha urge within me rise up. Someone was possibly in trouble. Someone who was vulnerable and likely didn’t know the difficult time they were about to be thrust into.

I should keep my nose out of it. I really should…

I glanced over at Keller again, and I could tell by his expression he already knew what was going on in my head.

“Hey, I hate to do this,” I said to my human companions, “but I got a text that I’m needed back home. Pipe burst and everything.”

“Oh, s**t, really?” Keller asked, ever the actor.

Shifters were good at spotting liars—between heartbeats and scent changes acting as blinking neon signs, it was second nature to most of us—but Keller had a preternatural talent for it. He always claimed he should have been a Hollywood action star if he hadn’t been a wolf, and while I usually thought it was a joke, our years of friendship proved he might actually be serious.

“You’re gonna need my help, then,” Keller said. “We can swing by my place and grab my welder.”

I knew for certain that Keller did not own, and would never own, a welder, but I nodded along. “Yeah, sure,” I said. “Many hands make light work.”

There was a chorus of disappointed sounds from the gaggle of humans we were with, but I didn’t care. They were friendly acquaintances and knew Keller better, so it wasn’t like their opinion of me mattered. Especially when there might be a fledgling wolf on the line.

“Maybe next time, guys!” Keller said in parting. “See you.”

Keller and I turned to our right and headed to the closest intersection, waiting for the light to change before crossing. In reality, I could bound the entire span of the street in one jump, maybe two, but I needed time to catch more of the scent and what direction it was coming from.

The extra time waiting on the light did allow me to catch the dulcet notes again. It was coming in faint waves, carried on the night wind like the slightest bit of succor to the normally crisp, dry Denver air. Finally, I could say with confidence what direction the newbie was in, and I headed that way with a purposeful stride.

It was a sweet scent, that was for sure, one that grew more and more feminine as Keller and I strolled along. Still, sharp as our noses were, the scent was obscured by all the facets of the city. The acrid burn of gasoline, the long and stagnant weight of tar in the air. Cigarettes, blunts, and stale alcohol from patrons stumbling out of bars far too early to be so inebriated. The car exhaust, feral strays marking their territory, the byproduct of too many houses stacked too close together, too many people struggling to survive. The city was quite the assault on a shifter’s senses. One of the many reasons I didn’t stay in it for long.

I was a wolf through and through, despite my human trappings.

My pace picked up as we went along, until both Keller and I were in a light jog. I was hoping I’d stumble across this new shifter and find their guardian as well, obscured by scent-blocking lotion or perfume—or perhaps they were too old to be noticed. I knew the glands in our body that produced our more visceral hormones and scents got weaker as we aged.

I’d understand if a grandmother or grandfather was explaining things to their shifter grandchild while looking up at the stars. After all, it was under the dark velvet of night that I, too, had gotten my first talk from my grandfather. I’d already been well aware that I was a wolf, but that was when he’d taken me aside to explain the true responsibilities on my shoulders as an alpha: how some abused that power to hurt others, but in reality, our job as alphas were to be protectors, shepherds, and nurturers. We were meant to encourage those we took care of to be the best they could be, as much as we were meant to throw a punch or defend with teeth and claws.

It was a lesson I didn’t really understand at the time, but ol’ Henry Mason was right, as wise grandfathers tended to be. It’d taken me too long to get it, and I’d made some bad decisions in that time, but I liked to think that I understood now.

“Man, she’s really out here, huh?” Keller asked, cutting into my introspection.

“So, you think she’s a she?” I kept my voice low. Thankfully, wolves had incredibly sharp hearing, so I didn’t have to worry about Keller not being able to hear me.

“Fairly certain. Doesn’t it smell that way to you?”

“Yeah, it does.”

Our conversation ebbed after that, both of us concentrating on tracking our target. It was after we passed a tire factory and the awful smell of burning rubber stopped forcing its way into my nose that I noticed something else about the scent we were following.

Something familiar.

What was that?