“Whoopsie.” Mrs. O’Malley shrugged sheepishly as she opened her shutters early the next morning. “Wrong kind of storm. Must have gotten my wires crossed.”

Storm was a shifter like us. She was our age. A couple of years older, maybe, but let’s just say she was a lot closer to our age than any of the other wolves in our pack were. It was the first time we’d spent much time around a wolf close to our age in Clearwater Valley, and it was the first time I’d spent any time whatsoever with a wolf our age who’d already shifted.

She had long blonde hair that was a little tangled and shrouded her face like a mane. She wore ripped jeans and a well-worn leather jacket. She had high cheekbones and dark eyes. She wasn’t what you’d call conventionally pretty, but she was one of those girls who seemed to grow more attractive every time she opened her mouth. She spoke softly. Her voice was breathy and a little deep for a girl. There was something about the way her hips moved when she shifted her weight from one leg to the other that had a very, very profound effect on me. She might not have been the type of storm that brought rain or wind, but she certainly had the capacity to cause plenty of destruction.

I wanted her from the second I heard her speak. We were at the pack house and Dalton introduced her to Jules first.

“Hey,” she said to him, “I’m Storm. Why’s your mouth open like that?”

Jules clamped his lips shut, but I could see his jaw was still ajar. I don’t know if he wanted her then, too, or if he started wanting her after what she said to me.

“Sully, huh? Good to meet you. You should stop gawking, too. You guys are embarrassing yourselves.”

All I know is, before the sun set on the first day we met her, Jules and I both wanted Storm.

We spent the first couple of days showing her around. We took her for walks in the forest and helped her find materials. She was a sculptor and worked with objects she found in nature. Jules and I both took pains to find pieces of wood or rocks and the like that made her smile and nod and say, “Yeah, let’s keep that one.”

We took her down to the creek in the evenings and Jules pushed her on the swing. Her hair flew back like a veil as she sailed through the air and Jules giggled like a schoolboy every time she smiled at him. I felt embarrassed for him. It was hard to see him like that.

“Where’s the best place you’ve been on your travels?” I asked her.