Two weeks passed in a blur of normal, everyday activity at Silver Moon Wolf Sanctuary. Brandy had kept busy tending to the wolves, entertaining school groups, helping Parker with his college students, and writing four articles for the various science journals and blogs she contributed to.

But mostly she watched Alator.

The big, black wolf had healed nicely, albeit faster than she’d expected. None of the other wolves she’d worked with had ever recovered from a broken limb in under two weeks, but Alator had. An X-ray Parker took of his leg showed nothing but strong bone. Odd, but Brandy let it go in favor of the notion that the wolf was just a fast healer. Some wolves were like that.

Right?

Regardless, in less than two weeks, Alator was checking out every corner of the sanctuary as if he was committing each sector to memory. He sniffed. He pawed at the ground. He pissed along the entire perimeter. He claimed the area as his and the other wolves didn’t seem to mind at all. She’d observed the rest of the pack using a certain kind of reverence when interacting with Alator that she couldn’t quite explain. She’d chalked it up to the fact that the black wolf exuded testosterone and the others had merely accepted him as Alpha.

Which was beyond odd.

Alator had been there the least amount of time. The other wolves had been together for years. Even Lug, who’d been quasi-leader of the pack, had deferred to Alator without a fight. It didn’t add up, but so far everything had been peaceful at the sanctuary and Brandy wasn’t going to complain about that.

She also wasn’t going to complain about letting Alator into her log cabin at night. Since Hank Swift’s threatening visit, she’d been double checking locks, doing perimeter sweeps for traps, leaving outside lights on. She’d called for the security system and that was supposed to be installed this week. That had allowed her a chance to climb back from the edge she’d been on since that bastard had pinned her to the wall in the clinic.

The nerve. Every once in a while that scenario popped into her head. Okay, okay. Maybe it was more than once in a while. Maybe it was every time she freaking closed her eyes. She could smell the beer on Hank’s breath again. Feel his forearm against her throat. See the veins bulging in his poorly shaven neck. She’d wake up in a sweat, heart racing, hands clutching the sheets.

And then Alator was there. By the side of the bed. His head resting on the mattress. His ripped left ear twitching. His green-gold eyes visible in the darkness of her bedroom where he insisted on sleeping on the floor. Every night she offered him a comfy bed out in the living room. Every night he turned it down and followed her to her bedroom where he slid down onto the hardwood floor at the foot of her bed. He’d curl up into a tight ball, but she could tell he’d spring into action if necessary.

Alator offered some comfort with his presence, but Brandy still ended up having nightmares. She got angry about them too. Why the hell should Hank Swift be keeping her up at night? When she drove past his property on the way to her own, goosebumps broke out on her skin. If Hank happened to be outside, he stopped whatever he was doing to narrow his eyes at her as she passed by. Just a look from him chilled her.

Grr. It pissed her off that a stupid neighbor could screw up her normally balanced chakras.

As if sensing her unrest now, Alator walked out of the deeper woods toward her, his gait smooth and confident. Brandy yanked several more weeds from the garden she’d been tending under the warm June sun. Every summer she filled the earth with herbs on a patch of land about twenty feet from the log cabin where she and Dylan lived. She loved cooking with the fruits of her labor. Basil, oregano, thyme, rosemary… she could just sit there and breathe it all in.

But right now a very excited boy nearly knocked her over.

“Umm… is someone pumped that today was the last day of school?” She pulled Dylan into her lap and covered his face with kisses, which he pretended to wipe off. She knew the day would come when he probably wouldn’t be pretending but instead be completely appalled if she kissed him. For now she’d shower him with whatever affection he would tolerate.

Alator sat on his haunches and observed as he often did.

“Today was the best day ever!” Dylan shouted as he wiggled out of her lap.

“And do we have a report card, Mr. Wendon?” Brandy stood, brushed dirt off her bottom, and held her hand out to the boy with a stern look on her face.

“It’s called a performance report, Mom.”

“Oh, right.” What was the difference? Why did the world of education love changing the names of things so much? Brandy could hardly keep up.

Dylan got to his feet and retrieved the backpack he’d flung to the ground. He stopped for a moment to scratch between Alator’s ears. Brandy loved how the boy and the wolf had bonded during Alator’s time at Silver Moon. When the wolf wasn’t shadowing her around the sanctuary, he was hanging out with Dylan, playing fetch games—which she’d never seen a wild wolf do—or running alongside her son through the woods. It was fun to watch them together. As if they’d been friends for lifetimes.

“Here you go.” Dylan handed over a large manila envelope with his name on the outside.

Brandy could tell by the smug look on the kid’s face that he’d done well, which was no surprise. He came from a long line of academic types after all.

She made a big show of dusting dirt off her hands, adjusting her Silver Moon baseball hat, slowly opening the envelope, and sliding her hand inside.

“OMG, Mom!” Dylan danced around her. “Hurry up! I gotta show Gram. She promised me an X-Men movie marathon if I had good grades.”

“Did she now?”

He nodded. “With popcorn and soda and pizza!”

“Well, isn’t she a bucket ’o fun?”

Dylan’s smile widened. “Gram is the best gram on planet Earth.”

“Truer words have not been spoken.” Brandy ruffled Dylan’s hair with one hand and shook out the folded report card with her other. “Let’s see what we have here.”

Dylan opened his mouth, but Brandy put a finger to his lips.

“I need to concentrate,” she said.

He giggled and went back to where Alator sat. The wolf hadn’t moved a muscle and Brandy marveled over how still he could remain. As if he had all the time in the world to just watch.

What is he looking for?

Because, call her crazy, Alator did seem to be looking for something.

Shaking her head, she focused on Dylan’s report card. Ah, hell. Performance report.

A smile bloomed on her face as she took in all the “above average” ratings Dylan had received. Oh, Diane. You’d be so proud. If only her sister could be there to enjoy this fabulous boy she had brought into the world.

Something nudged her knee and she moved the performance report to look at Alator sitting in front of her, his head tilted as if he were about to speak to her.

“What’s up, big boy?”

“He’s wondering why you’re crying.” Dylan blinked up at her. “So am I. Aren’t you happy about my performance report?”

“Oh, honey.” She bent and gathered Dylan in a tight squeeze. “I couldn’t be prouder. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“Then why do you look so sad?” Now he looked sad.

Dammit.

“I was wishing your mother were here to see what you’ve become.” Brandy held him out at arm’s length. “She’d be so impressed.”

Dylan chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Are you impressed?”

“Of course.” She waved the report card. Shit. Performance report. “This is amazing. You are amazing.”

“Like my real mom? She was amazing too, right?”

Every now and then Dylan asked questions about Diane, but for the most part, he treated Brandy as his mom. End of story.

“Your real mom was the best sister a gal could hope for.”

“You miss her?” Dylan’s hands found their way into the fluffier fur around Alator’s neck.

The wolf didn’t move as the boy sought comfort from the creature. Brandy wanted to do the same, and she could have sworn Alator’s green-gold eyes were telling her to take whatever she wanted from him.

But that was silly.

“I miss Diane. All the time,” Brandy said. “But…” She held up a finger and pointed it at Dylan. “She left a piece of her behind that I get to enjoy every single day.”

Dylan slid his arms around her waist. “Thank you for being my mom now.”

“Oh, honey.” Brandy locked her arms around Dylan’s shoulders and kissed the top of his blond head. “It’s my pleasure.” They hugged for a few more moments then she backed up a step to look at Dylan’s face. “Where did that come from?”

He shrugged in that way ten-year old boys had mastered. “I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about it lately.”

“Okay.” She studied him a bit longer and realized he really was growing up fast. “Well, maybe I should thank you for letting me be your mom.”

A tiny grin turned up his mouth. “Don’t mention it. And if I become President some day, I’ll give you a big room in the White House with space for all these wolves.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, kiddo. Here, go show Gram your report card.” She folded it back up and slid it into the envelope.

“Performance report.” Dylan giggled as he took it and picked up his backpack.

“Whatever.” She watched him head for the library where Meredith would be hanging out at this time of day. “Hey, Dylan?”

He turned back toward her.

“You want to go for breakfast tomorrow morning? You know, to celebrate your geniusness and kickoff the summer?”

“Can I get the chocolate pancakes?” He arched a brow.

“Sure. Don’t tell Gram though. You know how she likes us to order the healthy ones.”

Dylan scrunched up his nose. “Those taste like Frisbees.”

“And how do you know what Frisbees taste like?”

“Alator told me.” He looked at the big wolf who had remained by Brandy’s side. “Right, boy?”

Alator let out a ruff that Brandy took to mean his agreement.

“What else has he told you?”

Because this wolf had secrets. In the time he’d been at Silver Moon, Brandy hadn’t been able to find out where he’d come from or how he’d ended up in the woods beyond her borders. She checked all her usual avenues, and no one had any information about a missing wolf.

Possibly he was a true wild wolf that had stumbled upon her sanctuary, but that was highly unlikely as wolves had been considered extinct from Vermont since the 1800s. Brandy always held out hope wolves would return to the state and had worked on campaigns to plan for the eventual return of the great canines.

Still, it was a long shot with more and more timberland getting cleared. At least her land was a safe place for wolves, and as long as she had air in her lungs and a heart beating in her chest, it would remain that way. Someday, if he wanted to, Dylan could continue the work they did at Silver Moon.

If he didn’t decide to be President of course.

****

The next morning, Brandy’s SUV bounced down the dirt driveway as she and Dylan went on their breakfast date. Reardon wished he could have joined them. Their moods had been so jovial, and he understood they were celebrating the boy’s learning success. A boy who took his studies seriously was definitely cause for merriment, and it had been a while since Reardon had been involved in any true merriment.

Besides, everything was better with Brandy and Dylan. In the time he’d spent at Silver Moon Wolf Sanctuary, Reardon had grown quite fond of both of them. He’d learned quite a bit about the Wendon family. About their dedication to one another. About their superior work ethic. About their deep concern for all things nature.

About the love that was a tangible presence on that sanctuary every single day.

Reardon had never been part of such a community. His own family had barely been functional. He’d been born out of wedlock to the town strumpet. His mother hadn’t been able to tell him who his father was with any certainty when he was a small boy. She’d pointed out several big, strapping lads when they were in town—ones that looked as if they could have carried stallions on their shoulders—and said, “Aye, he could be your father.” She’d said that so many times he’d stopped listening.

It didn’t matter anyway. He hadn’t needed a father. He’d had his mother and a younger brother—also a bastard child—and that had been family enough. He grew up quickly and discovered his size made him good at one thing and one thing only—fighting. He started out getting into small scrapes for the fun of it. Poking at trouble here. Throwing a punch there. If an altercation was happening somewhere, Reardon had a gift for sniffing it out. Literally. Raised levels of testosterone were easy to smell when you were part wolf.

Only he hadn’t known he was part wolf at the time. He believed he had a knack for being in the right place at the right time for a fight. Then one day, he came home with a terrible fever from the job he had helping a local blacksmith. His entire body ached. His very bones felt strange. His mother took one look at him and her usually smiling lips formed a grim line.

“I know who your father is.”

“I care not, Mother. I’ve told you this.” He shivered and yet his skin was clammy, his cheeks burning.

“You will care.”

Her response was cryptic, but he was too ill to make much of it. He barely heard the door to their cottage open and close. His mother was gone for what had seemed like forever while he wavered between feeling icy and fiery. His throat grew incredibly dry and an all-over itch crawled along inside his veins. He was quite certain death was near. Jaemus watched him with wary eyes from across the room as if he didn’t want to catch whatever plagued Reardon.

When his mother returned, she wasn’t alone.

“Reardon.” Her voice sounded far away, tinny. “Wake up, lad.”

He forced up his heavy eyelids and regarded his mother through fevered vision. Her image wavered as his stomach pitched. A looming shadow behind her barely registered in his mind.

“This is Zian McDade,” his mother said. “He will take care of you now.”

Before Reardon could protest, that looming shadow became a hulking man bending down and scooping him off his bed.

“Aye, I will help you with the transition, lad.” The man’s voice rumbled in the small room.

Transition? Reardon didn’t get the chance to voice his questions because his mother’s crying squeezed at his heart. She was a promiscuous woman, but she loved her boys.

“Don’t be afraid, son. Zian knows what to do.” She gripped his hand. “You will see me and Jaemus again. I promise.”

A soft kiss on his forehead and his mother turned into a retreating shape as Zian carried him out of the cottage. The hard wooden bottom slammed into his back when the mountain of a man deposited him into the back of a horse-drawn wagon.

“Where are you taking me?” he managed to choke out.

Zian paused. “A safe place.” Without elaboration, the man climbed onto the wagon, clicked his tongue once, and guided the horses out of the town, away from people, away from his mother, his brother, the life he knew.

They rode for most of the night from what Reardon could tell. He wavered in and out of consciousness, but when the wagon finally halted, he sat up and looked around. Trees stretched out in every direction and the night was pitch black.

And yet, Reardon was able to see perfectly. The details of tree bark were crystal clear. Each feather on a night owl perched high on a branch was visible. The stars were touchable so great was their clarity.

“What is this place?” The question came out on a whisper.

Zian helped him out of the wagon. “It is our sacred space.”

“Our?” Reardon’s legs wobbled and his head swayed.

“I am part of a brethren as old as these trees.” Zian spread his arms out to encompass the woods surrounding them. “A brethren of special men.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Reardon put his hands on his head to stop the spinning. It didn’t work. “I’m nothing special. I’m no one.”

Zian shook his head, a mane of black hair swishing around his shoulders. “You are my son. My Seventh Son, more specifically.”

Reardon’s eyes widened. “You have seven sons?”

“I do and you are my last. Born under the December full moon, you are like me.”

“Like you?” They both had black hair, odd green-gold eyes, and physiques larger than average, but Reardon didn’t know anything about Zian McDade. How could anyone know if they were alike?

They were strangers.

“Close your eyes,” Zian said.

Reardon shook his head and immediately regretted it. His stomach pitched and he was certain anything he’d ever eaten was on its way out.

“Trust me, lad.” Zian put his hands on Reardon’s shoulders and suddenly the woods stopped spinning. “Close your eyes.”

Reardon did as he’d been told, still not sure he should trust Zian. The man had discarded his mother. What made Reardon think he wouldn’t do the same to him? Alike or not, this man hadn’t been a true father. He wasn’t family. He was just a strange man who’d brought him out into the woods while he was ill. Not a stellar start to a father-son relationship.

As he stood there with his eyes closed, an image flashed into his mind. An image of a great black wolf with eyes like his own—eyes also like Zian’s. Reardon was scared at first. The beastie looked capable of tearing him to bits, but as it ran closer, its muscular legs rippling beneath that shiny black coat, he had the undeniable sense that he… that he knew this wolf.

“You see it, lad, don’t you?” Zian’s voice was calm.

Reardon cleared his throat, but his voice was still scratchy. “Aye.”

“It is your wolf form, Reardon. Let it come to you.”

“Wolf form? I-I don’t understand.” He started to open his eyes, but Zian’s voice stopped him.

“Keep your eyes closed. Accept your fate, and I will guide you.”

Reardon’sheart pounded against his ribs as the huge black wolf approached at a frightening speed. What would the beast do when it reached him?

He didn’t want to know.

Opening his eyes, he stumbled back when the wolf disappeared.

Zian let out a growl—one that hadn’t sounded quite human. “You are more like me than you know. I didn’t let it reach me either.”

“What would happen if it did?” Would the wolf bite him? Would it become a part of him? Would he die? He had so many questions.

“You would have had a smooth transition.” With a sympathetic expression on his face, Zian turned and walked deeper into the woods. “Now you’ll have to follow me.”

Reardon considered climbing into Zian’s wagon and going back home, but he didn’t think he could make the journey. He still felt weak, as if his insides wanted to become his outsides. He’d been with Zian for hours now and the man hadn’t hurt him. That didn’t mean Reardon trusted him, but he didn’t not trust the man either.

His feet moved in Zian’s direction. Soon a clearing came into view. In the center, a huge stone slab was illuminated by the full moon’s light. Around the stone, several large men stood, their faces grim and the shadows making them appear ghastly.

“Is he why you’ve called the brethren?” one of the men asked.

“Aye. He’s my son. He’s one of us.” Zian put a hand on Reardon’s shoulder. “He opened his eyes.”

Curses had colored the night air while the men shook their heads. Reardon had never heard such language.

“Why give us the option when most of us are not able to keep our eyes closed?” another man asked.

“Flidae likes her fun,” Zian said. “Let’s initiate the lad ourselves. He’s got the fever now.”

Before Reardon had time to react, the men were on him, dragging him to the stone slab, tying him down, chanting. He struggled against them, but there were too many of them and they were too strong.

Then the chanting changed to snarls.

“Hey, Alator.”

Reardon’s entire wolf body jumped at the sound of Meredith’s voice. He turned his head to see her walking toward her car in the driveway.

“Did I scare you, buddy?” She bent down, her hand held out to summon him. “I didn’t think one could scare a wolf. Learn something every day, I guess.”

He shook off the memory of his first change from human to wolf and trotted toward Meredith. Her hand running over his coat did wonders to bring him back to the present and bury the horrors of that night in the woods. During his stay at Silver Moon Sanctuary, he’d come to appreciate the motherly role Meredith played so well. She never failed to throw some maternal attention his way, which he greatly appreciated.

After he’d met Zian, he’d never seen his own mother again, despite her promises that they would be reunited. It wasn’t her fault though. He’d been the one to stay away.

“I’m heading to the grocery store, Alator. Got to get some healthy stuff for my sweet-toothed brood. Brandy and Dylan would bathe in sugar if I didn’t pay attention.” She chuckled and gave him a final pat. “Be back in a few. You’ve got things under control, don’t you?”

Reardon angled his head at her, wishing he could talk to her using words. Instead he pushed his nose into her hand and let out a short ruff.

“I thought so.” She waved and climbed into her car.

Reardon watched her leave as he’d watched Brandy and Dylan. For the first time since he’d arrived, there were no humans at Silver Moon Sanctuary.

He ran past Lug and Bele who were sunning themselves nearby. When he got to the clinic, he glanced around to find only the trees watching him. He shifted to human form and drew in a deep breath. Gods, he hadn’t been in human form in two weeks. His legs actually felt shaky, his muscles tight, his beard wild and unruly.

Lifting a hand, he turned the knob on the clinic door and sent a thank you to the gods that it was unlocked. He stepped inside and marveled at how different the large room looked from his human height. He was so used to trotting around at counter-top level that he’d never gotten a proper look at the clinic. It was neat and orderly and somehow cozy despite the strange equipment he’d seen Brandy and Parker use to keep him and the other wolves at the sanctuary healthy.

The advances in medicine that had been made since the time he’d come from were remarkable. It’d taken him the full two weeks to understand how humans lived in Brandy’s time. Cars instead of horses and wagons. Lights instead of candles and torches. Stoves, ovens, and microwaves instead of fires in hearths. It was all so amazing, and he rather liked the way of life these humans enjoyed.

Scanning the clinic now, he found a pair of Parker’s scrubs often worn when the veterinarian tended to the wolves. Reardon slid them on to cover his very naked body then set about looking in drawers and cabinets. In Brandy’s desk drawer, he located a nice stash of money which he stuffed in a pocket. He’d overheard Dylan asking for money when he wanted to buy a comic book and understood that one could acquire things with it. The first things he would acquire would be better garments because Parker’s scrubs were… snug.

After finding the bathroom and a pair of scissors, he used the reflective glass in the room to tidy his beard and hair as best he could. Both had become unruly because he’d been in wolf form for so long. He located a pair of work boots by the clinic door that were a little tight but tolerable and he walked back outside. Staring at the tire tracks Meredith and Brandy had made on their departures, Reardon kneeled down and sniffed the imprints. He could easily follow them. Both women had mentioned going “into town,” so he figured town would be the place to acquire more suitable clothes and perhaps find Brandy.

Because he could wait no longer for her meet his human form.