31

You follow behind the pack, keeping just enough distance to avoid being seen. The wolves are in a frenzy, howling as they speed on all fours in pursuit of their human quarry. Block after block the pack runs, and you briefly wonder how the humans have stayed ahead for this long as you begin to flag behind. Soon you can run no farther, and you stop for a moment to take a breath just as the wolves ahead of you howl in triumph.

They've caught the humans! I need to keep moving!

The pack has surrounded a small group of terrified soldiers. At first you wonder why they aren't firing on the advancing wolves, but as you get closer, one of the men throws his weapon down with a yell of despair while his companions desperately try to fire their own malfunctioning rifles. They've been sabotaged!

You cleave your way through the pack, holding back only lethal blows in your efforts to spare the human soldiers from being ripped apart. If your packmates remember your actions when they're back in their right minds, they probably won't thank you, but it will be worth it to avoid outright war against the humans. You feel an unusual surge within you as adrenaline pulses in your veins. It reminds you of when you first took the humans' experimental serum.

The soldiers don't need an invitation; they turn about and run in the opposite direction while you have the pack's attention. You can't blame them. A few unarmed men would have no chance against this horde, a fact that you're quickly learning yourself as your opponents pile on, one after another, driving you to the ground as they howl in bloodlust.

This is it, you think to yourself. This is the end. There's no regaining your footing as claws rake your flesh and heavily muscled feet rain down blows upon you. You draw back instinctively, hands held over your face protectively while your eyes scrunch closed in a rictus of pain and fear.

And then the blows stop coming all at once, and you're surrounded by the hum of dozens of low growls. What fresh hell…?

You open your eyes in a squint, peering up between the shield of your arms. Instructor Lonan is crouched over you, eyes alight with an atavistic fire. Of all the wolves you could imagine killing you, he would never have made the list. Your teacher hesitates before delivering the final blow, the muscles in his face twitching irregularly.

Hesitation will get you killed, and you're not willing to die today. You thrust your claws forward with all the strength you can muster, driving them through the resistance of Lonan's thick werewolf hide until a claw catches on one of his ribs.

His eyes widen as you twist your hand before pulling free. A wave of warm wetness floods over you as the teacher's body slumps forward, crushing you to the ground under its weight.

As you struggle to pull yourself free and roll the body away, you notice the whining. At first it's only a few, but soon more join in the chorus of desperate painful cries. You whip your head around, spinning in a circle until you're certain that you're safe from imminent attack.

Each wolf is holding their heads in their hands, the whimpering cries not at all unlike the sound of a mind-bending hangover. How had it come to this? The Hunter's Moon ceremony has always been a cause for joy, of celebration! You fear now that the humans and pack alike will attach a much less favorable meaning to the yearly ritual.

One by one, wolves you've known your entire life throw their heads back and howl despair into the void, the mournful chorus tugging at your primal core until joining the choir is irresistible.

You tilt your lupine head back and lock eyes with the moon, black fur standing up in a ragged bristling along your spine. An unfathomable weight upon your chest presses your lungs to bursting even as you heal from the assault. The dam that long protected your heart ruptures at the pressure, and a whimper bubbles to your lips, chased presently by a full-throated outcry of grief.

For the simple life you will never possess by virtue of your birth. For the fates of your brothers and sisters, a family forged by shared struggle if not by blood. And for your long-departed mother, recently remembered, if only in dream.

The unfeeling Hunter's Moon attends your outburst, its light cold and tyrannical, spun and diffused through a scattering of cloud with calculated disinterest. You know in that moment that it will not lament the passing of either you or your kind. For the first time in your short life, surrounded by dozens of other lost souls, you feel well and truly alone.

Next

One by one, your packmates rise from the pavement, legs shaking, many of their faces crumpled with shame. More than one of them approach you, mumbling apologies for their actions before limping away.

Seized by apprehension, you scan the crowd for your friends. Most of the pack have shifted back into human form, and you're able to pick out Dena and Lapu sitting on the opposite sidewalk.

Lapu is staring at the ground, his arms held limply at his sides as Dena talks to him. You spy Jolon as well, for once out of the shadows and helping other wolves to recover their feet, dusting them off and saying a few comforting words before moving on to help another in need. Farther to the east, Bly emerges from the gaping mouth of an alley between two dilapidated apartment buildings. She remains unchanged, her wolf form walking with steady legs despite patches of her jet-black fur that are slick and wet in the bright light of the full moon. Someone else's blood, then?

Dena looks up to you as you walk over, a forced smile on her lips.

"Hey, Elizar Evenwood." The smile falters. "Are you okay? None of us can figure out what happened. I've never felt like that before. The bloodlust…to think that there's a beast that evil inside me." She raises a hand to her mouth and stifles a sob. "I couldn't control myself—I could barely think!"

Lapu remains silent, staring daggers at the curb as though it has done him some egregious offense. Dena puts an arm around his shoulders and whispers comfortingly to him. You can tell that she wants to help the boy, but you've known Dena long enough to know that she finds a sense of calm and control while helping others. It reminds you of a wounded bird she once nursed back to health. You don't think you've ever seen her happier than she was at that moment.

"Is there something wrong with me? Did it happen to everyone?" Dena asks.