Huddled in her wolf form under a threadbare blanket, she shivered despite the growing late summer heat in the hideaway she’d made beneath a narrow cot in one of the unoccupied huts in the compound. Maybe it was only psychological, but it always seemed cold here in the darkest part of the forest, no matter the season. Craving the forgetfulness of sleep, she wriggled and wrapped the ragged coverlet tighter. Her twin whimpered, the low whine at once fraught and urgent. Amber blinked open an eye as her sister’s jaws clamped around the frayed cotton. The red she-wolf tossed her head back and forth, trying to loosen Amber’s grip and drag the thin material from her slumber-slow body. “What is it, G?” She telegraphed the internalized growl in their secret twin language. “This place better be on fire, with Magnum’s sick and mangy hide kindling the blaze.” Older by four minutes, Amber had tried her best to protect her sister. But her best efforts had not been enough.
