I lay there on the couch, fighting my urges. The first was to go barreling off into the woods, full tilt, to run as free as the wind, twice as fast.

There was no fucking way that was going to happen, though, even with Peter outside. Not in a million years, with my client curled up in the room next door. Even though I was curled up on the couch in just my boxer briefs, I was still on watch. I was confident, of course, that even if I was dead asleep I'd still come to in a heartbeat if someone kicked through the front door or tried to sneak through the back. Between me, Eli, and Wallach, we had this place secured.

The second urge, though, was even harder to fight. It was stronger than anything I'd ever felt, even worse than my blood growling at me to run wild through the woods, to howl at the moon, to chase down the prey with Wallach and Eli at my side. My blood sang at me. The crazy part of my mind told me to tear into Jessica's bedroom and tell her exactly how I felt about her, about how I knew from the top of my head to the soles of my feet that we were supposed to be together even though we hadn't known each other even for a whole day. To make love to her, to make her mine, and to never let her go.

I flipped over on the couch, repositioned my pillow, and snuggled deeper into the covers. Because all that, of course, sounded bat-shit even inside my own head. I rolled back over again, facing the back of the couch. That didn't work for me, so I switched sides again, my eyes squeezed tight against the tempting moonlight streaming in through the blinds and around the curtains.

What was going on with me? Was this just a shifter thing? Or did all men go through this when they'd met an amazing woman?

As far as I knew, though, none of my pack mates had ever had this happen to them. At least, of course, they'd never spoken about it when we were sitting around shooting the shit, kicking back beers after a long day. I guess shifter men weren't all that different from human ones, though. Even during my time in the military, I'd never really talked to the other guys about something like this. I mean, we'd talked about girls back home, about how much we missed civilian women we could actually date.

But even back then, the longing had never been anything like this.

My phone buzzed quietly on the little side table near the couch. It was a text from Peter Frost.

I'm still outside, watching the cabin, it read. Go run and get some of that nervous energy out. I know you need it. Can practically smell it from here.

I grinned, not even caring about how he'd known. All that mattered was that my pack mate—my pack leader—was watching out for me.

Just a quickie, I typed back, hitting send.

I got up off the couch and, still wearing just my boxer-briefs, padded softly to the back door on bare feet.

I unlocked the deadbolt and slipped out back, the nighttime air cool and soothing across my skin as I stepped out onto the deck. I stripped off my boxer briefs, baring my naked body to the woods, and walked off the wooden structure. My toes sank into the soil of the little copse of trees, dead leaves, and pine needles crunching between my toes, the cool air wafting over my nude form.

I took a deep breath as I stepped out into the grass, my head thrown back, my arms outstretched to either side. As soon as the moonlight hit my skin, it was like my body took that one little instance of relief and everything rushed towards it, like a balloon popped with a needle, exploding with excitement.

I changed, my body shifting, my skin sprouting fur. It was like the worst canine puberty ever, my teeth growing longer, my snout extending, my ears stretching and repositioning, my bones reforming. I fell to my hands and knees. My arms lengthened and my legs shortened until all that remained were four powerful wolfen limbs covered in a thick coat of brown fur. It was painful, but it was a good kind of pain—the type of pain one gets after a hard workout or a marathon. The pain of growth, of transformation.

At the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn't have changed this close to the house in case I'd woken Eli and Wallach, but I had to give into one of the urges thrumming through my body, and the one to change and run had been the less messy of the two.

I bounded off into the grass, down through the little creek that burbled behind Jessica's cabin, splashing through the icy water to clear my mind.

How exactly had Peter known I'd need to shift tonight? How had he been sure I'd need this release? Was this something he was aware of, a part of shifter lore I just didn't know because my father hadn't been around to teach me? Or was it something that even my father would have withheld, making sure I didn't just placebo effect myself into believing it?

There was so much about shifters, my own people, I still didn't understand. About my culture, about the blood rushing through my veins, even after all these years.

But as I sprinted to one of the nearby mountains, panting with my tongue lolling out the side of my jaws, I tried to forget about all the questions I wouldn’t be able to answer on my own. This was a time to let my brain clear itself, to rid myself of the tension and chaos for now.

Something told me that the threat to our client was very real, and Frost Security was the only thing standing in harm's way. Even if Jessica never felt a single drop of affection for me, she'd still need my help in the morning.