Shifting would be faster. I started to undress, but howling sounded in the distance. A call for help. Danger was close.

More howls sounded from inside the stronghold. The call to battle echoed through the halls. I ran to the window to see if I could tell what was going on. Wolves rushed into the darkness. It looked like the whole pack was on the run.

Not being a part of the pack put me at a severe disadvantage. I had no idea what was going on, what their protocol was, or what I should be doing in an emergency.

I gave myself one second to decide and chose to stay human. Every single Were I’d seen was in wolf form and they were all heading toward town.

Wayfarers had a plan. In an emergency, we knew who was going to stay human and who was shifting. Everyone had a job, depending on the type of emergency. But Wayfarers were more organized than most packs. Usually, a pack didn’t see any trouble unless they were causing it.

From the way the Irish pack was reacting, they were more along the norm. In their panic to help whoever needed it, they weren’t thinking. Town meant humans, which meant at least one Were should stay in human form.

Apparently, that Were was me. I was going to need more clothes.

I upended my bag, grabbing the first shirt and sweater I found. A pair of leggings. Running shoes. I spotted my down vest on the floor by the bed and threw that on along with a knit hat. Good enough.

I ran through the empty hallways, cursing the fact that I hadn’t paid better attention to the stronghold’s layout. I was going to need a car but had no idea where they kept them. When I finally got outside, I found a line of black hatchbacks around the side of the main entrance.

Distant howls broke the silence of the night. Danger. They were fighting something and I was going to be late. I hated being late.

I sprinted to the closest car and flung its door open.

“Shit.” Ireland. Wrong side of the car.

I did a Bo Duke slide over the hood and got in on the actual driver’s side. Keys were on the dash. “Come on. Come on. Come on,” I muttered as I fumbled with the keys. The engine sputtered. I hit my head on the steering wheel.

Think, Meredith. Think. I glanced around and saw the stick shift.

An idiot. I’m a total idiot.

I was going to owe Max a bottle of amazing Scotch. I’d argued it was pointless to learn to drive a manual, but he’d insisted. It had taken me an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to not stall the engine, but Max was persistent.