I suspiciously clutched the shoulder straps of my backpack and peered into the trees that hemmed the road in on either side. I’d gotten my shoes soaked all the way through to my socks when I’d walked across the lawn earlier, so I made a squelching noise every time I took a step.īut the moist noise wasn’t loud enough to cover the wet slap of leaves that came from inside the forest. The trees and patchy lawn were drenched in dew. I rubbed my cold nose and picked up my pace as I marched down the gravel road that would lead me into town.Īlthough it was nearly the middle of summer, this far north in Wisconsin our nights and early mornings were still pretty cool. I had the morning shift at the Timber Ridge Welcome Center, and if I didn’t get there ten minutes early to open the place up at eight, Mayor Pearl would stop by to give me the evil eye. My backpack thumped against my back as I hurried at that awkward too-fast-to-be-a-walk-but-too-slow-to-be-a-run pace. The hunts where I ran until my lungs ached with pain, the beautiful howls in the dead of night…but even after a decade, I still wasn’t used to the aggressive snuggling. As a hunter living with a Pack of werewolves, there were a lot of things I’d gotten used to.
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