Ahead of me Dalton wove through the trees, a shadow in front of shadows, his body mutating and shifting. As he ran, he tore off his clothes. I bounded past his T-shirt and jeans, clawed to shreds and hanging like garland from the low branches of the evergreen trees. He was almost fully wolf-boy, and he went down on all fours, using his long arms to propel himself forward faster than I was able to run even as Nighttime. “Come on,” I muttered as I ducked beneath branches and leaped over fallen logs. “Change. Change!” But the werewolf refused to come. I could feel her in my brain still. She was shooting messages to me constantly—duck, move to the side, leap, run, run, run. The woods were a blur around me, and I dodged trees at hyper-fast speed. I felt like I was in the speeder chase scene from Return of the Jedi. Oh, hi, Daytime, I thought when the reference popped into my head. Welcome to the party. Dalton had disappeared completely. But I could smell him, the familiar werewolf musk mingling with the oh-so-rancid boy smell that had permeated his nasty-ass room.
