1 Chapter 1

Tate yawned, stretching his hands high above his head. Sunrise was an hour or two out still, and he’d spent the better portion of the night helping a family of dwarves get settled in their new apartment. Two stories above ground was a bit of a change, especially when they were used to living in mountains or underground. But the Underground, the collection of rundown buildings across the river from the proper city, didn’t have much in the way of subterranean dwellings. Tate did the best he could, with a promise to find something more suitable.

He did know of one place…

Shaking his head, Tate drove the matter from his mind. Later, he could see to it later. Wandering from the bedroom toward the balcony, he caught a brief reflection of himself. Upon returning home, he stripped bare, ditching his clothes in the hamper as dwarves always smelled musty. He was buck naked, from the very tips of his velvety antlers to the bottoms of his feet. And he stepped outside that way, relaxing as the cool air caressed his flesh. In that moment, he allowed himself to pretend he was back home and not lost in this forsaken mortal world. He could almost hear the melodious tune of the sunjays as they greeted the new day, smell the strong perfume of the night-blooming flowers as they shot off one last hooray before closing up until the stars reappeared.

But when he opened his eyes, Tate was greeted with the now familiar sight of red brick buildings, some splattered with graffiti, and weedy, cracked pavement. Across the inky waters, he saw the twinkling lights of the city.

And he loathed it.

Perhaps it was time to pick a place to plant a proper garden, a green space to help those trapped here feel at least a bit cheerier. Yes, that sounded like an exquisite plan.

Feeling his soul rejuvenated, the horizon turning lighter with each passing second, Tate took to performing the fluid movements of his morning yoga routine, ever mindful not to get an antler stuck in the balcony railing; doing that once was more than enough. When he finished up, the sun now cresting, Tate stepped into his apartment and headed for the door, still in the nude. He fancied a morning run through the streets.

Well, he actually would have preferred to frolic through the trees like those surrounding his lover’s cabin, but he would make do with what he had.

When Tate yanked open the door, there was a startled yelp from the other side. A pintsized critter stood in the darkened hallway, its tiny claw raised as though ready to knock.

“Tate, sir,” the creature started.

Tate cut him off. “Whatever it is, Snap, it can wait until I return. I shall only be gone a short while. Do make yourself at home.”

“But, sir.” The plaintive plea followed him.

The words fell on ears unwilling to listen. Work would just have to wait until later. There was something more pressing that called his name, that beckoned to the very wilderness nestled within his core. By the time Tate stepped outside the apartment complex, he was no longer walking on two human feet, but on four golden hooves.

* * * *

As the first rays of light began to break over the horizon, birds welcomed it with melodious songs. Tate sauntered down the middle of the street, ears flicking this way and that, hooves tippy-tapping on the pavement. His white coat shimmered with its own internal light, and he stood much taller than the average stag. Then again, there was nothing average about him.

Or the dark corner of the city he called home.

Tate glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes scanning the street. It was a rare time when the night critters sought shelter and the day lovers stretched, waking to new possibilities. The street and windows and storm drains were empty of prying, curious eyes. Just the way Tate wanted it. He approached an alley, constantly checking, listening to be sure he went unobserved. Tate slipped into the shadow between two apartment buildings. It stank. Stagnant water. Rubbish. A trace of ozone, and it was that which drew Tate.

In the blink of an eye, Tate resumed his human form. Cool morning air brushed against his bare skin. There, just as he expected, was the shifting, glittery mass secreted behind the dumpster. His heart skipped a beat.

It had grown.

“Well, crap,” he muttered. 2

Warden leaned back against the unmarked patrol car, a black Dodge Charger with all the bells and whistles. It was pushing midnight, and he’d been cruising the nearly desolate streets along the outskirts of town, feeling the familiar tug of the approaching full moon, now a week away. He felt testy, ill at ease, and he couldn’t quite shake the nagging sensation that something was wrong, a mess about to fall into his lap. So there he stood, arms crossed over his chest, gazing out over the lake, ripples making the reflection of the moon dance. The wolf within stirred, eager to be loosed upon the world for another three days, to run free.