Page 2

“Sounds good. Let me know when to turn.”

The car sputters, and I sigh as a puff of dust blows from the vents.

“Might be a good time to let the car cool off, too,” Dillon comments, and I nod.

“Yeah, we can get some gas and stuff too.”

We drive in silence for a few miles before the turn for Twisted Oak comes into view.

“If we turn here and continue for about four miles, we should pass a gas station,” Dillon says, setting her phone back in the cup holder.

“Got it.”

“We should figure out where we want to stop for the night soon, too,” she adds.

“I can drive for a few more hours if the car can handle it.”

“I can drive for a bit, too. Give you a break,” she offers.

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll cover gas. Let me just grab my purse.”

Dillon twists in her seat, and I take the turn toward town. I make it a few more feet before it happens.

A flash of gray fur darts in front of the car. I gasp, slamming on the brakes and swerving. I try to avoid the giant wolves on the road, but it’s useless. I’m going too fast, and the tires are too bald. They skid across the gravel road.

“Mabel!” Dillon screams, reaching for me as the car runs off the road.

We skid into the ditch. I hear the crash of breaking glass, bending metal and Dillon screaming as we tear through the bushes, heading right for a patch of trees.

The car jerks and my head smacks the driver’s side window. I wince, yelping as the pain radiates through my head. A gush of something warm spills from my forehead, and red liquid pours into my eyes.

Then everything goes dark.

TWO

Miles

“Don’t you dare,”Jensen warns me as my foot inches toward his chair.

I grin, but he doesn’t so much as glance my way. His eyes are locked on the little basketball hoop on the back of the break room door. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he throws the basketball. We watch as it hits the rim, bounces, and sinks into the net.

“Yes!” he cheers, turning to me with a victorious smirk.

“Lucky throw,” I grumble.

“It’s pure talent,” he argues.

I roll my eyes. “Let’s go again.”

“All right.” He sighs. “Might as well. It’s not like there’s anything else to do.”

He’s right. We’re EMTs for Twisted Oak, which means there’s never much of anything for us to do. Almost everyone in town is a shifter, and they can all heal themselves for the most part. Which means Jensen and I spend a lot of our time on shift playing cards or basketball or watching TV.

“Maybe we’ll get a call soon,” I say.

He snorts. “Doubt it. I don’t think we should be hoping for that since it would mean someone was in trouble or the Red Fog Pack pulled another stunt.”