“But what could possibly be bad about our wolves being big?” asked Jules. One of Dalton’s proudest achievements was the fact that Cleary wolves were bigger than real wolves when they shifted. Hell, our wolves were bigger than werewolves in some cases.

“I don’t know for sure,” Storm said, “but did you ever think that maybe all these rules and restrictions are why your pack is aging? It’s unnatural to take something that’s wild and try to bend it to your will. Every wolf knows that.”

When she said it, something inside me stirred. It uncurled and stretched like someone, or something, that had been sleeping for a very, very long time. I felt the truth in her words before I even had time to think them through.

Jules was quiet after that. He was quiet on the way home too. Jules was as loyal as a wolf could ever be. I knew it hurt and derailed things deep inside him to hear Storm talking about Dalton and our pack like that.

That night, I had my second shifting dream. It was like the first one, except that it was darker and more violent. In the dream, the moon was a silvery sliver. There was no light in the forest. It was pitch black. I could hardly see, but I could feel. I could feel one thing. One thing only. That time, the rage I felt in the dream didn’t fade until long after I’d had my second cup of coffee in the morning.

11. Eleven

11

Jules turned twenty-one a few weeks after Storm left. For the first time in his life, he was in no mood to party. He went through the motions, and maybe most people bought it, but I sure as hell didn’t. I knew how he was feeling. I felt it too, but for me, it was different. I was sad to see Storm go. She was amazing and I was crazy about her. No doubt about that, but I was conflicted. In a way, Storm leaving was almost a relief. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the way I was looking at Jules when he and I fucked Storm was, for want of a better word, fucked up. I knew that.