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Melissa’s promise of protection was shattered. Avery was run out of not just the city, but the entire state.

He learned a lot after that. He learned about alpha magic deriving from a stronger grade of the werevirus, mutating to mimic shifter dynamics. He learned that, unlike shifter family groups, where having multiple alphas born into the pack wasn’t uncommon, the patchwork were-packs often had unstable politics, and two alphas in one territory opened the werecreature in power up to threats for control.

Avery didn’t want to be a werecreature, and he didn’tchoose to be an alpha. He had no desire to control a pack, but that didn’t matter. None of it fucking mattered—a lesson he learned in city after city as he worked his way through Ohio to Michigan. He was debating drowning himself in the greatness of Lake Erie until he found a ramshackle building in Pontiac where chronically packless werecreatures had an uneasy truce.

Having a pack to provide safety in numbers is critical for a werecreature who wants to survive, but no existing pack would take an alpha who’d sprout into a giant mutant bear every time the moon turned into a dinner plate. That left starting his own pack, but no one wanted to be deferential to a five-foot-four punk for the rest of each lunar cycle.

Hulking out and nearly killing a human who tried to mug him before getting nailed by Parahuman Civil Compliance was the worst and best way to get him out of that reclaimed building in Pontiac. It won him that ticket to Dennings Farm, which wasn’t much better in terms of security, but a real bed, consistent access to food, and an escape from endless territory battles was too good to refuse.

So, while he made it here, those eight months of misery have caught up to him. Last night, Avery unwittingly messaged an alpha shifter on a hookup app only to discover him to be the nicest person he’s ever met. And then Avery rewarded the guy’s kindness by passing the fuck out and dipping without even a morning handy to take the edge off.

Avery needs to run.

Not, like,away. Just run until the numbness comes back, until he’s breathing too hard from exertion to let the anger tighten his chest.

In addition to being home for an impressive six-hundred people, Bliss Township is snuggled up with the Wilderness State Park, which isn’t too far from Dennings’. He’ll run there until he’s so tired he has to drag himself back, which will hopefully happen before two.

That decided, Avery hops a fence, ignoring the little shock he gets when he bumps one of the electrified wires installed to keep animals from escaping. He starts at a casual jog, looking around and straining his enhanced senses to make sure he doesn’t cross paths with anyone who’d be keen to start shit. Once he’s far enough from the farmland, he breaks into a full-out run. He powers down a field, weaving between sparse trees, and even though he knows this is far from testing his endurance, it still amazes him.

Before turning, Avery couldn’t last more than a couple minutes at a normal run. He was a typical nerd, preferring to stay inside and read or watch shows when he wasn’t working shifts as a receptionist at a behavioral health clinic. His trim figure was more metabolism than exercise, and he was far from having any muscle mass to brag about.

Now, ten minutes into the attempt to clear his mind, Avery isn’t even winded. Being on his feet so often has toned his legs considerably, and he’s already started to notice his arms and torso developing faster than a human’s would, even with aggressive strength-training.

A sudden urge to shift brings Avery to an abrupt halt, his stomach sloshing. The flare of instinct is so intense he briefly thinks he’ll vomit, and it takes a moment for the motion sickness to ease.

Avery doesn’t know how to control his shift. He’s been told it hurts less when you lean into it, but without the mentorship of Melissa’s pack, he’s never been taught what that means. It’s horrible every single time, painfully transforming into a huge, clumsy mutant. Full moons are the only times when every werecreature on the farm is left to their own devices after tying up loose ends after lunch. For obvious reasons, Farmer Dennings doesn’t want a horde of balls-out werecreatures prowling around his farm.

While Avery has heard that learning to partial shift allows greater control during a full moon, he couldn’t begin to guesshow he’d initiate the transformation, much less halt it partway through.

He looks around the field, scenting the air in case there’s something there he can’t see. Nothing comes back other than a few wild animals, all of whom will hopefully run for cover when toxic magic from the werevirus begins to leak into a dangerous aura. Avery has never meant to harm or kill anything, but one time he came back to himself at dawn naked, covered in blood, and staring at a half-eaten moose carcass.

Learning to control those violent instincts would be a relief, but it all comes down to Avery being strong enough to stop the warped ursine from taking over.

Sucking in a breath, Avery tries to focus on that inner beast, approaching it in his mind the way he would an actual bear. Awkward, since he’s never been stupid enough toapproach an actual bear. Getting mauled doesn’t sound fun, and being the one doing the mauling isn’t that much better.

He’s flying blind, hoping to cajole the monster out just enough to negotiate before losing his mind to the beast. It feels weird, trying to convince something that wantsoutthat they should play a new game called ‘self-restraint.’ Just long enough to see what would happen. Right?

But the ursine doesn’t emerge, unconvinced by incomplete promises. Before Avery can firm his argument, he hears a piercing howl in the distance. It throws him entirely out of the moment, and that’s when the ursine pounces.

Foreign impulses seize Avery by the throat, fighting his mind for control. A single wolf is no threat. Turning the apex predator into prey is a game much more fun than Avery’s pitiful attempts at restraint. Warm saliva floods Avery’s mouth and rolls over his lips, triggered by the ursine’s lust to be untethered—a beast of pure, indulgent instinct.

The wolf howls again, and this time, a chorus of answering howls bursts from the trees. Where the fuck didthey come from? Avery didn’t sense any wild animals a moment ago, but now, there must be at least a dozen.

A surge of fear forces the enraged ursine down. Avery’s head clears, but by then he’s been surrounded, and in his experience, running will trigger a shifter’s killing instinct faster than holding ground and appealing to the more human logic. Human-like, because no shifter considers themself human, as opposed to werecreatures who clutch their shredded humanity like a comfort blanket. But the werevirus is incurable, and you can never go back.

So he calls out instead, going for what he knows. “I’m a worker from Dennings Farm, which is nearby. Not trying to take anyone’s land or anything. I just wanted room to run, but I can leave now.”

A number of canine yips follow, but no voice answers him, and none of the wolves advance.

Avery turns, then staggers back with a gasp. He didn’t feel a flare of shift magic, but far too few feet away stands a tall woman with shorn hair dressed only in a ghostly white gown, half-shredded and barely clinging to her tanned shoulders. Barefoot, she smells of wolf and loam, her eyes a bright, inhuman gold. Her pupils are pinpricks fixed upon him, and she doesn’t blink until he swallows hard, dry throat sticking.

Then she smiles. With teeth.

“You’re not welcome here, werecreature.”

“I’m just a worker at the Dennings Farm,” he explains again, holding onto the hope that he can exit this encounter without killing or being killed. “We’re all werecreatures there.”

The wolf shifter takes a step toward him. Avery responds by retreating several steps, knowing he’s backing into the collective maw of her pack and, even worse, showing weakness by giving up ground.