After I shifted for the first time, things became easier and harder all at once. I healed even quicker and was able to fight back better, but I needed much more privacy. There were times I only shifted once a month, just barely enough to let my wolf run. I had to learn to control her alone and quickly.

I don’t remember how many nights I wished my parents lived in a pack so I would have been taken in, cared for by my own people, but they lived off the grid as they called it. I never knew why they never hid things from me; they just didn’t live long enough to tell me everything.

I did know it wasn’t safe to seek a pack alone as an underage or un-shifted wolf. I could easily become someone’s property. Dealing with the humans was bad enough.

I never did tell my parents I met my mate that night all those years ago. Maybe if I had things would have been different, they could have explained to me why he left, helped me understand what to do with the rest of my life. We assume there will be time to tell the people we love the secrets we keep, whether from embarrassment or just thinking there will be time tomorrow. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.

When they first died, I was sure my mate would come for me. Every night, I would dream of him saving me. I even held out hope that after my first shift he would find me. Those thoughts evaporated when one of my dad’s tried to rape me not long after I turned seventeen. I walked away that night with the hope of a Prince Charming coming to save me gone. My foster dad didn’t walk away that night. In fact, I don’t think he’ll ever walk again.

As soon as I turned eighteen and could get to the money my parents left me, I was gone. I lived in a small apartment and finished high school. I took every self-defense and martial arts class available, making sure I’d never be a victim again.

Hello, pity party, table for one. I need a distraction, stat. Grocery store, here I come. Hours later, I’m loading the back of my white, vintage Jeep Wrangler with everything from a broom, vacuum, and cleaning supplies to all the groceries I could fit into the second cart. I love to cook, and it shows. Since I’ve been on my own over the past year, my hips, butt, and boobs thank me for not starving. I’m still short, just not as wiry as I used to be. My long, dark hair catches on the roll cage as I shove everything in. The broom and mop handle stick straight up out the top.

As I pull from the parking lot, I catch the scent of another shifter; it’s the first shifter I’ve smelled since my parents passed. I’m so taken aback I gun the engine before anyone can scent me.