Amy

My first morning back on the coast, I stretch and yawn, then open the glass doors to the balcony of my loft. Malibu Beach. I inhale the salty air and smile, allowing the vast expanse of the Pacific to suppress my troubles. Malibu is nothing like the Forestvilas wilderness, but impressive nonetheless. The weather is perfect, the crowds are quiet, and the waves fold over the sand as if inviting me.

The mortgage on the loft is outrageous, however, and I’ve thought about selling it countless times. It’s when I return here that I remember why I bought it in the first place. Whenever I step outside, I feel as if it cleanses my soul. I lean my elbows on the railing and people-watch, wishing I got my sunglasses from the purse upstairs in the bedroom. Too lazy to fetch them, I squint my eyes.

A man is jogging. I recognize him. It’s my former boss at G, G, and G Law Firm. I could definitely get my old job back. Bottom lip between my teeth, I’m thinking I should intercept his jog, pretend it’s a coincidence, and feel the man out. By now, he’d have filled my position, but I left a good impression and didn’t burn bridges, so he might, at least, hook me up with someone who can give me a job.

Inside the loft, I throw on some clothes and nearly trip over my own feet as I scamper down the steps and onto the street, where I sprint all the way to the end, then cut a left, arrive at the beach, and jog back to the house, hoping like hell my old boss is still running the same way. Frantically, I search for him among the crowd. There! He’s sitting down, shoes off, wiping his sunglasses. Excellent.

I jog past him.

Oh, come on!

“Amy? Hey! Amy, is that you?”

Bingo. I pause to catch my breath, press my palms on my knees, and widen my eyes. “Oh hey, Roger.”

Roger approaches and shakes my hand. He sports a receding hairline, gray sideburns, and warm brown eyes. I like this man. He’s a good lawyer with a strong moral code, which is how he kept my demon on the leash. His style of practice didn’t allow for my straying ways, or I’d have lost my job. I lost my job anyway, but at least I walked away from it and didn’t get fired.

“I thought you left for the mountains,” he says.

“I did. Got back last night.”

“You’re staying or vacationing? My offer to buy your loft still stands.” He checks his watch. He’s not trying to be rude, but he’s a busy man. Still, I let him chat about the loft and subtly guide the conversation where it needs to go while I poke around in his mind for recent memories. While he talks, I’m processing both our conversation and his memories. It just so happens one of the lawyers involved in a case quit her job in pursuit of a writing career. Roger needs help, and I aim to fill the gap. “I moved back,” I say.

He checks his watch again. “Can you meet me at noon for lunch? Larnaca Lounge?”

“Sounds great. See you then.”

We part ways, and I jog back to my loft, a big grin on my face. I’ll get a job, persuade Roger for a five-thousand-dollar advance, and pay off Sevile. Done.

Pryus

Amy’s office is on the main street of our town. I park my bike, approach the window, and stare at the empty desk. She’s not in this morning. She should be. It’s Friday, so it’s a working day. The smell of jam-filled donuts awakens my hunger as Douglas from the bakery next door greets me. “Good morning, Pryus.”

My stomach growls. The aroma from his shop slipped out, and I didn’t eat this morning. I couldn’t sleep last night either, kept tossing and turning, thinking about Amy, my wolf wanting inside her house. “You seen Amy?”

“Mm-hm.”

“When?”

“Wednesday all day.”

“But not yesterday or this morning?”

He shakes his head. “Poor thing must be sick with a stomach bug. I make her fresh vanilla donuts every morning, but lately, she’s been asking for ham-and-cheese croissants. Today’s are still sitting on my counter getting cold.”

I clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll take the breakfast.”

I pay the man, drink Amy’s cinnamon vanilla coffee, and pack half a dozen croissants in my saddlebag.

I ride to Amy’s house and knock on the door. “Amy, it’s Pryus. Open up.”

Nothing. “Amy!” I bang harder.

Nothing.

Backing off, I kick in the door.

It flies off the hinges and falls on the floor. I stomp over it and into the house, my vision as sharp as my wolf’s, which tells me I’m sporting glowing silver eyes. I lift my nose and sniff. Citrus air freshener. I sneeze and put a hand over my mouth, then search the house. I peek into every room, including the bathroom and the attic.

Amy isn’t at home, but all her stuff is here. There are dishes drying in the sink and coffee in the coffeemaker. She didn’t skip town, but she isn’t home or at work either. I’ve asked the wolf patrol if they saw her last night, and they didn’t report her leaving town. So where the fuck is she?

I strip and go wolf. My nose is working the chairs, cupboards, her bed, her closet, all the fucking dresses, jeans, socks, bras, and underwear. I’m getting into every corner, nook and cranny. In the bathroom, I put my paws on the sink so I can sniff up there.

There’s a plastic object on the counter and nothing else.

I change into man and stare down at the strip with two lines.

My heart speeds up, my brain lagging behind in processing the item I’m staring at. I pick it up and bring it closer to my face as if I can’t see fine from a few feet away. I believe it’s a pregnancy test. I sniff and smell Amy. It’s her urine. I prop a hand on the counter because my legs might give out.

Amy is pregnant. The first thing that goes through my mind is that I’m the dad. The hope is quickly squashed when I remember Amy and I broke off our fucked-up relationship about five weeks ago, and she could’ve… I stop the thought because I’ll bite my own hand off if I think about someone else touching Amy’s fine body.

I stare in the mirror. The silver eyes of my wolf stare back at me. Pregnant or not, she’s still missing. It hits me then that her toothbrush is gone. I run to the closet and rummage through Amy’s jeans. Two of her favorite pairs are gone, as are her tank tops. Bras are next. I search the drawer for the tan-and-black bra Amy loves wearing. I remember which clothes she likes and why she likes them, and when I don’t find her favorites, I know Amy skipped town.

I sit down on the bed and stare at the black curtains. It’s pitch-black in the room even though the sun burns bright outside. The plastic test thing tucked in the back pocket of my jeans says Amy’s pregnant. Does Natie know? I’m fucking sure she knows, and I’m sure she’s covering for Amy. Damn it! I grab a fistful of curtains and tug. They fall on the floor. The sun heats my face, and I stare at it until it’s blinding me. I close my eyes and imagine another man’s hand on Amy’s swollen belly. It’s enough to send me into madness and enough to propel me into hunting mode.