Nat swallowed, trying not to let the boy see how scared he was. He glanced at the boy’s hand, sensing enormous power and strength. And his fingernails! To Nat, they looked alarmingly like claws.

“Well, what are you, then?” asked Nat bravely.

“Wolven,” the boy stated, removing his hand. “Shape-shifter.”

Nat stared in horror, remembering his dream.

“A werewolf,” he breathed, shrinking away from the strange boy and getting ready to run. He wondered if he could make it before the boy turned into a wolf and ripped out his heart, or whatever it was that werewolves did. As though he could read Nat’s mind, the stranger sat down again, and put his shaggy head in his hands in despair.

Nat hesitated. There was something about this strange person that was so familiar, so Woody-like, that he wanted to believe he would be safe. He cleared his throat to show he was still there. The boy raised his head and looked at Nat with sad eyes.

“OK,” said Nat, almost to himself. “Werewolves turn into wolves at the full moon, or they do in the books I’ve read. I’ve never heard of a wolf turning into a boy.”

The boy shook his head again. “Not werewoof, Wolven.”

Despite his fear, curiosity was getting the better of Nat. “So do you, um … change back again in the morning? Sort of like a werewolf in reverse?”

The boy shivered and nodded. “Can’t stop it … Dunno when it’ll happen. Al … Alec Tate didn’t like it.”

Nat thought of the dreadful Tate. “You mean he knew? He knew you weren’t really a dog?”

The boy nodded. He lowered his voice. “It’s not so … complic … comp … it’s easier if I stay Wolven. But I needed … to warn you …”

Nat’s eyes narrowed as he remembered something. “Hey. I’ve rubbed your belly!”

The boy smiled for the first time. It was a sweet, familiar smile, but Nat couldn’t help noticing the way his sharp, white teeth caught the light of the moon.

“I’m still Woody,” said the boy gently. “Still your friend. Please help.”

Nat tried to think straight; he felt an instinctive liking for this strange boy, who obviously needed help, but then he remembered the horrific wolf thing in his nightmare. He shook his head, confused and petrified. What if this boy turned into that … creature?

Again as if he could read Nat’s thoughts, the boy’s smile faded, his expression heartbreakingly sad.

“Wolven are not monsters,” he said simply. “Woody was born this way, not made, like werewoofs.”

“Werewolves,” corrected Nat, remembering the hideous wolf thing in his nightmare.