As I drove toward the village, I passed Margaret’s cottage on the edge of the road. She was out by her letterbox (shaped like a squirrel, courtesy of the second husband), chatting to Caleb, who leaned over the handlebars of a monstrous bicycle. My heart flipped as I drove up to the road. He looked stunning with his tousled hair and his leather jacket pulling across his monstrous shoulders.

As I passed, I waved out the window. Margaret waved back. Caleb turned, and his eyes met mine. He flicked quickly away.

What’s up with that?

He deliberately didn’t acknowledge me. And he’d been so nice yesterday. I’d tossed and turned in the hard bed for hours last night, thinking about how nice he’d been and how naughty I wished I could be. I couldn’t stop analysing the way I’d felt around him, and the sparks that flew when we touched. I’d kicked myself for keeping myself at a distance. I’d been wondering about heading to his cabin after I’d done my writing for the day and asking him out for a drink.

And he just ignored me? Why?

Maybe in the light of day, my dark skin was just too much. Well, fuck him. You hear that, Caleb Lowe. Fuck you. I tapped the window angrily with my finger as the forest zoomed by around me. I was not going to let some guy get to me, even if he was a candidate for hottest guy of all time.

As my car sped into the village high street, I turned my attention to Crookshollow, trying to find a distraction from the disappointment welling up inside me. I’d read a little about the village on their tourism website after I rented the cabin, and it all matched what Caleb had talked about last night. According to poltergeist experts and ghost hunters, Crookshollow was the most haunted town in England. It was built on the crossroads of two key ley lines, which meant that throughout history, witches and vampires and other magical beings congregated on the town. That was, until witch hunters descended in droves in the 1700s and cleared the place out. More witches were burned in the town square here than any other town in Europe.

I drove down the high street past the very same town square, admiring the pride Crookshollow had in its sordid and spooky past. Crystal shops and tarot readers took pride of place in the row of shops, with window displays looking like something out of Diagon Alley. There was a bakery called Bewitching Bites, a haberdashery store called Curtains & Curses and, best of all, a tiny bookshop called Spellbinding Books.

I couldn’t help but grin as I drove past a statue of a crooked old witch in the middle of the village greene. This place was ridiculous. I couldn’t imagine a better setting from which to write my book.

Except … I couldn’t help but study the faces walking between the shops as I drove by. White, white, white. An ocean of grinning, happy white faces.

It doesn’t mean it will be the same, I reminded myself, gripping the wheel harder. It’s just a function of English life, that small towns tended to be less diverse. You know that, you learned that in university.

It doesn’t mean it will be any different, either, my mind shot back. I glanced across to my rearview mirror. A pair of dark eyes ogled me back from a dark face. I was different, and every time I looked at a crowd of people like this, I was reminded of how different I was. I could never just forget, never blend in. And after what the white people of Old Garsmouth had done to me, the idea of being the same sickened me.

I saw the Coles sign up ahead. Groceries first, then I might stroll back along the main street and have a look for some things to brighten my cabin. Maybe mosquito netting and fairy lights don’t have to be just a dream.

I turned into the parking lot and found a park near the front doors, so I could make a speedy getaway. Old habits die hard.

Inside, I quickly zoomed around with a trolley and picked up a few days’ worth of supplies. Milk, bread, cheese, Jaffa Cakes, tonic water, lemons, salami, chicken … down every aisle I walked, eyes burned in the back of my head.

White white white.

In the cheese section, two teenage girls were giggling and whispering to each other. They stopped abruptly and shuffled off when I approached. My face burned, and my heart started to pound against my chest.

You don’t know if they were talking about you.

An older woman gave me a filthy look from over by the humus. Her scorn burned into my skin, another scar that I had to wear. I gripped the handles of my trolley so hard, my knuckles turned white, and started pushing it toward the counters. I couldn’t remember my shopping list, or where I’d parked the car. All I could focus on was one single thought:

Get out before it happens again.

I joined a queue of people, all white, waiting for the register. My whole body was tight and tense. I gasped for air, but it seemed as though my lungs had seized up. My chest ached. Fear coursed through me. Please, don’t let this happen today.

I stared down at my trolley. The labels on the cans blurred together as the world spun out of control. My legs wobbled, and bile rose in my throat. I grabbed a Cadbury display shelf to steady myself, closed my eyes, and counted backwards, forcing myself to breathe slowly the way Nancy had taught me.

Not here. Don’t break down here.

After a few moments, the panic attack had subsided enough that I could make a break for it. Luckily, my vision cleared enough to notice that at the rear was a self-checkout. I scanned my items, my chest burning, and raced out of the store without waiting for my receipt. I tossed the bags into the car and sank into the front seat. As soon as I slammed the doors shut and locked them, tears spilled down my face.

I’m supposed to be over this. I’m supposed to have moved on with my life.

I drew in deep breaths through my nose, releasing them slowly through my mouth. I reminded myself I was in a new town, far away from Old Garsmouth, and that people here weren’t the same. I pulled out my mobile and punched in Nancy’s number, my finger hovering over the call button. She’d said to call her if I needed to talk about anything.

You’re just having a panic attack, Rosa, Nancy would say in her soothing voice. It’s perfectly normal after experiencing any kind of trauma.

Well, I didn’t want to be perfectly normal, thank you very much. I wanted to be the Rosa Parker who I was before Sam Seymour had walked into my life. But that wasn’t possible. That woman burned up along with her house. But I could be the woman who was putting it all behind her, getting on with her new life. I wanted to be bold, but I didn’t feel particularly bold right now. In fact, I felt pretty damn foolish.

Look at me, falling to pieces in a supermarket. This is ridiculous. I can do better than this.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, I felt calm enough to drive again. I shuffled through my playlist to find something upbeat. I had a really fun hip-hop list for just such an occasion. I was no longer in the mood for shopping, so instead I cranked the volume and took a scenic drive around the outskirts of the village, where several fine country homes sat back on luxurious sculpted grounds. I put my foot down, enjoying the way the grand houses flashed by.

Caleb’s bike was no longer parked in front of Margaret’s when I drove past again. Good. I couldn’t handle another one of those cold stares.

I parked in my designated space, grabbed the bags and headed up the path toward my cabin. Having to make this trip every few days for food was sure going to keep me fit. I puffed along, the handles of my cloth shopping bags digging into my wrists.

After about half a mile, it dawned on me that I was been followed.

Twigs snapped in the woods, as though they were being trodden on by clumsy feet. My neck grew hot, as I sensed eyes watching it.

It’s just one of the other cabin residents. You all use the same path to get in and out. You’re bound to run into them occasionally. Stop making yourself crazy because you’re hearing things—

Snap.

Okay, that really did sound like a footstep this time.

My fingers tightened around the handles of my bags. I wanted to get to my cabin, shut the door, and not talk to another person for at least a week. But my mother had taught me not to be rude. It’s time I introduced myself to my stalker.

I stopped in my tracks, the burning sensation on the back of my neck intensifying. “Hello?” I called out, scanning the path for another person.

No one answered.

My heart pounded against my chest, the muscles tightening. My hands tingled, and the corners of my eyes were starting to blur. Shit, I was going to have another panic attack. I squared my shoulders and tried to force myself to remain calm. “Is anyone there?” I called out, making my voice as strong and confident as I could. “I’m from cabin three. It would be really nice to meet you, if you’d just come out.”

From behind me, I heard a low growl.

I whirled around. There, sitting in the middle of the path, piercing eyes locked on mine, was a wolf.

I jumped. That’s not possible. There are no wolves in the United Kingdom. It must be someone’s big dog off its lead. I’d seen notices posted along the roadside warning about authorities cracking down on dogs in the forest. Maybe this was why.

The dog in front of me sure looked like a wolf. In the gloom of the forest, his creamy fur appeared to grow. A patch of brown fur ran across its forehead and down its spine, blending through to cream on its chest and legs. Pointed ears flattened back against its head. A long, bushy tail swung from between its hind legs.

But what held me frozen, mesmerised, was its mouth. Its jaw hung open, revealing rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth. The dog ground its teeth together as it growled at me.

Please don’t let it be rabid. Please don’t let—

“Nice doggie,” I whimpered, fear clutching my chest. Rabid or not, if that dog jumped on me … I wouldn’t be able to overpower it. And I was miles from medical care. Blood roared in my ears, and I could feel the fear creeping through my body. The trees started to warp and wobble, the leaves blurring together as the dog’s eyes burned into mine.

No, Rosa. Stay focused. Think. I was carrying raw meat in my shopping bag. That might even be what made it attack me in the first place. If I could just reach the package and throw it into the trees, that might distract the dog long enough I can run past and get to the cabin—

The dog growled again, baring its long, sharp teeth. Fuck, it really did look like a wolf.

From behind me, I heard another crunch, and a second growl joined the first.

Shit, there are two of them. How is this possible? Where are their owners? Don’t tell me after everything I’ve gone through I’m going to die from a dog attack in the middle of a forest?

“Excuse me!” I yelled into the forest, as I slowly bent at my knees, setting my shopping bag down on the dirt and reaching inside, fumbling for the package of mince. “Is anyone out there who can hear me? Your dogs are here off their leads and they’re about to attack me!”

Nothing. No one came running. It was just me and the two beasts. Great.

The wolf in front of me took a few steps forward. Panic rocketed through my body. My fingers closed around the package. I yanked it from the bag, and tossed it into the bushes on the side of the path.

“After it, boy!” I yelled. The dog lifted its snout toward the bushes, sniffed the air a couple of times, then turned back to me. He bared his teeth and gave me a long, terrifying growl. The dog behind me answered his growl with an even deeper, more guttural growl of his own. He sounded close, too close. They’d be on me in a moment. I’d have to take a chance and run—

Wait a second. What’s going on?

The dog leaned back, raising itself up on its hind legs, revealing a lean, muscled body. The fur on the underside of his stomach was so light, it was practically white.

As I watched, frozen in fear and surprise, the dog’s snout grew shorter, receding back into its face, its features flattening and widening. It kicked out its front legs, and the bones crunched as its limbs rearranged themselves, the elbows breaking and rejoining, the paws lengthening, the toes turning into long, thin fingers.

The grey hair retracted into the skin. The dog raised its forelegs and ran its new fingers over its face. I stared in horror. A man stood where the dog had been only a few moments before. He was naked, his tight muscles gleaming in the dappled sunlight. He was white, with short brown hair and a scar across his temple. His whole body was covered with tattoos, including an elaborate castle tower on his bicep, surrounded by the words VIRTUE MINE HONOUR.

The man glared at me with cold grey eyes, his mouth twisting into an ugly grin.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded, my fear registering as anger. From behind me, I heard another man chuckle. I whirled around, finally facing the second dog. Only, there was no second dog. Instead, another naked, muscled man advanced toward me, dark hair falling around his grinning face.

“That’s not your concern, lass.”

I whipped back to face the first dog-man, the one who had spoken. He had a strong Scottish accent and a deep, gravelly voice, the kind of voice that might be sexy if it wasn’t coming from a guy who’d just transformed from a dog and who was staring at you like he wanted to eat you up.

“I’m nobody’s lass,” I shot back. “And I want to know why you’re following me, and why you won’t let me past. Do you have something against women carrying groceries in the forest?”

I decided not to mention the whole “transformed from a dog into a human” thing, or the “running around naked in a secluded area” thing. Calling attention to these things seemed like a fine way of acknowledging that I believed them, and I wasn’t quite ready for that.

Dog-man’s gaze locked on mine. He stared me up and down, his tongue running across his lips like he was assessing a particularly juicy steak. “Aye, I can see why he chose you.”

“Who chose me?” Suddenly, all my questions came tumbling out. “What’s going on? Who are you? Where is the dog? Why are you wandering around the forest without clothes on? Are you some kind of new naked national-socialist group?”

“We ask the questions around here, girlie.” The second man stepped even closer. I leapt away as he grabbed at me, backing up toward the trees. “Where is Caleb?”

The dog-men were after Caleb? The concept made even less sense than them being after me.

“I’m not his keeper,” I said. “Try at his cabin or back at Margaret’s house. Now, if that’s all you need me for, I’ll just be on my way.”

Gulping back my fear, I took a step forward. The first man leapt in front of me, blocking my path with his huge, muscular body.

“You’re coming with us, lassie,” he said.

I can’t believe this is happening.

“I don’t think so.” I balled my hands into fists. They weren’t going to take me without a fight.

The second wolf grabbed my shoulder, his fingers digging into my flesh so hard I cried out. I swung my fist at his face, but he threw up his hand and blocked the punch easily, knocking me off-balance. As I reeled, he grabbed both my arms and pinned them behind my back.

My heart thundered against my chest. This is bad. I have to—

From out of the bushes, I saw a flash of grey and red fur. The first man leaned into me, his mouth open as though he was about to speak. His words turned into a yelp of pain as another giant dog crashed into him. The dog slammed my attacker against the ground, sinking its teeth into the man’s shoulder. The man cried out, struggling against the dog’s grip. But the dog held fast, each movement working his teeth deeper into the man’s flesh.

“Get off, you stupid mutt!” The man growled, trying to throw off the dog. The second man dropped his grip on my arms, and dived into the fray. He grabbed the dog around the neck and tried to wrench its teeth free of his buddy’s neck. This only made the teeth tear deeper. The man howled with agony, blood splattering down his toned chest.

Now’s my chance. I knew I should be running as fast as I could back to Margaret’s place, ready to call the police or the dog squad or the Avengers. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me. As I watched, the two men changed; their bones snapping, their faces elongating, snouts growing from their noses, hair sprouting across their rippled chests. As they tumbled across the path in a vicious battle with the third dog, they were completely transformed from men into wild dogs.

How is this even possible?

The three dogs snapped their jaws at each other, rolling toward me in a tangle of limbs and tails and snarls. I backed away, grabbing my shopping bag handle and retreating backward down the path toward the parking lot, not wanting to take my eyes off the fight for a second.

The first dog, his creamy fur now stained by blood, let out an almighty whine as he tore his shoulder free. He and the other dog backed away, up to the edge of the path. The new dog snarled at them, gnashing his teeth and pushing them back, back into the trees. They snapped their jaws back at him, but their tails were lowered and they didn’t attempt to regain any ground. The first dog had a large flap of flesh torn away from his shoulder, and he struggled to place weight on the corresponding foot.

The first dog let out one final, menacing growl, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the woods, his friend hot on his heels. The other dog gave a series of short, sharp barks, then backed away from the edge of the path and sat down. He stared up at me with icy blue eyes.

Why did that dog’s eyes look so familiar? It was almost as though I’d seem them before. But that was impossible—

The dog started to change.

First, its ears shrunk, moving backward on its head. Its fur retracted into its body, revealing beautiful white skin covered with tattoos. Its legs bent at odd angles, the feet elongating to create a flat heel and sole that braced themselves against the dirt. Its muzzle collapsed inward, the doggish features disappearing, and a human face emerging instead. A very familiar human face.

It couldn’t be … but it was.

My head was spinning, my whole body trembling. Soon, I was going to pass out.

Through my blurred vision, the man’s whole body came into view. Strong chin, tattoos across his chest – the curl of a tree branch stretching up across his neck – long red hair curling around his face, piercing blue eyes like razors digging into my soul.

“Caleb?”

Caleb crouched on the ground in front of me, squatting on his bare feet, his legs parted and his nakedness very, very obvious.

Holy shit.

He broke my gaze for a moment, turning to the forest. “Get out of here!” he yelled into the trees. “She’s under my protection, do you hear?”

He turned back to me, and stood up, giving me a full view of all his naked glory. Deep scratches covered his chest, one of them bleeding badly, smearing blood across his stomach and forearms. I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t make a sound. My legs wobbled. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen. What I was still seeing.

Caleb’s hands gripped my shoulders. “Are you hurt? Did those bastards touch you at all, or mark you in any way?”

My knees buckled, and I sank to the ground amongst the strewn remains of my groceries. I couldn’t process what I’d just seen. None of this is possible. It’s all some kind of dream. Any second now I’m going to wake up, and I’ll be back in the cabin and I’ll pour myself a glass of wine and laugh about what a fool I am for believing that I’d just seen Caleb … seen him …

“What … what are you?” I managed to choke out.

He looked up at me with those piercing blue eyes. “I guess I’ve got some explaining to do.”

Those were the last words I heard before the dark, swirling void swallowed me up.