One, the same. I run. I seek pack, home, meat, mate. Escape the trap, still bleeding. Blood scent prey. But where? Open. Out! Prey fleeing. Lunge to bite. It gets away. Chase blocked. Wind shifts. Puzzling, puzzling. There! Paws slip. Tumble, bruise, tear. Yelp. Prey gone. No matter. Heat, ache, heavy, straining. Mate here. Tongue, teeth. Hers, mine. Slap! “Kieren!” I’m midshift. Quince is shaking me. “Kieren, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?” She shakes me harder. “Do you know who you are?” Quince struck my cheek. My whole face radiates pain. I catch her forearm before she can slap me again. “I’m back.” My half-shift retracts. I pull her into my arms. “How —” “Sabine,” she whispers, showing fangs. “You’re hurt. God, Kieren, your face.”
