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My height stretches to over nine feet tall, knees reversing direction, popping into place as I settle on my hind legs. My arms and hands elongate, tipped with razor-sharp claws, while thick black fur sprouts from every pore covering my entire body. Jawbone cracking and growing to form my snout. The sharp point of my fangs curl around my lower jaw, and a snarl works its way from my chest out my throat.

I take off into the forest, crouching to propel myself forward with my hands and claws. The trees fly by in a blur as I run. The anger already beginning to dissipate the farther into the forest I go.

I don’t consciously pick a direction and don’t even realize where I’m heading until I slow on instinct. Standing on my hind legs, I slowly walk towards the small clearing where I first metLottie days ago. Then when I arrived the meadow was empty, this time it isn’t.

Before I see her, I hear her. The gentle strumming of a guitar and her sweet, melodic voice carry through the still forest. Her voice is perfection. It floats through the air and slivers into my bloodstream. The sound is melancholic and uninhibited. Her words laced with a feeling of freedom. A sweet singing nightingale. It eases my simmering rage, cooling it to nothing more than a tepid puddle.

Her scent is stronger in this form, my enhanced nose inhaling deep and pulling every bit of her into my body as possible. It sends tingles through my nerves, and impulses I’ve never felt course through me with my desire for more of her. More of her scent, her voice, and her soft touch threading through my fur. The need to claim a blaring alarm in my mind that I have to silence. The growing lust a fire I need to put out.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t spend any more time with Lottie than I already have. Especially alone, especially in this form. Realizing I’m still a nine-foot beast, I take in a deep inhale laced with gardenias, clove, and mint and shift down to my basic wolf form. I can’t shift to human; I’d be naked and would freak her out just as much as my true form.

That’s probably what I should do. Walk out into the meadow butt-naked and say something lewd. She would definitely keep her distance if she thought I was some sort of exhibitionist perv stalking her in the forest. But that could cause so many other problems... Unassuming wolf form it is.

Within a few silent steps, I’m at the edge of the meadow, listening to her sweet voice. I don’t want to interrupt; I want to hear more of her singing—more of her pure essence. Her words sound familiar; I think she’s singing a song I’ve heard before.

“And I don’t want the world to see me.

Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.

If everything’s made to be broken.

I just want you to know who I am.”

Irisby The Goo Goo Dolls, but in a way I’ve never heard it before. Softer, quieter, more vulnerable. Sadness and joy mixing in a swirl of scents. Sugar and salt. Like flakes of sea salt on caramel chocolate.

Stepping into the clearing, her singing stops, and her head whips around to search out the source of the disturbance. When she spots me, her startled expression transforms into a smile so sweet, so heart-stoppingly brilliant, it almost knocks me on my ass.

“Hello there, handsome. I was worried I wasn’t going to ever see you again.”

Lottie is angelic in the golden rays of sunlight creeping in through the tops of the tree canopy. Her blonde hair glows like a beacon, drawing me to her light. The dark blue of her irises glittering like the surface of Blue Agate Lake only a few miles away, bringing the feeling of being adrift in the sea of her smile churning in my gut. A rapid pattering in my chest is the only indication that I still live.

No matter the logical reasoning I have as a man to stay away from her none of it matters when I’m in this form or my true form for that matter. I can’t deny my inner beast's desire for her. The draw to her. Her sunshine hair and ocean eyes and nightingale voice. And finally, I give in with all of me. Relenting to my demanding inner self. If this is where my soul wants to be, then, at least for now, this is where I shall be. Sitting at her side and rubbing my neck against her shoulders. Scent marking her like I never have another. At least for today. Her presence the only thing reigning in the temper and anger Vincent brought on. The only thing keeping me from relapsing into uncaring oblivion.

Tomorrow, when I get back in the office and am once again a man and mayor and thinking with a straight head, I’ll resume faking disinterest.

Chapter 11 – Lottie

The wolf is back. And this time he’s less wary of me. I suppose I am of him as well. I don’t fear him now, not after Michael’s reassurance that he won’t hurt me.

The large black wolf walks right up to me, rubbing against my shoulders and then my neck. I reach up and scratch his scruff and pet him in greeting. Tilting my head into his neck when he decides he wants to get as close to me as possible.

Is it weird to befriend a wild animal like this? I should be cautious and frightened, but I’m not. The animal’s presence soothes me in a strange way that nothing else ever has. I don’t think about it too much; it’ll only baffle me more than I already am. And I kind of like the idea that I made friends with a big bad wolf all by myself.

On this trip to the woods, I brought a blanket since I planned on staying awhile to play and absorb the world around me. The wolf arrives as I'm lounging and playing a favorite song of mine, but I immediately change to a less depressing tune.

The wolf lies down at my side, wrapping his large furry body around mine protectively. Circling around my back, his head is lowered to eye level on my right. The mass of the deadly beast at my back makes me feel safe.

“Would you like to hear a song I’ve been working on?”

He perks up, and I swear there’s understanding dancing in his blue eyes. Glacier blue eyes that regard me with such humanistic intelligence. They remind me of the nickname they gave Frank Sinatra because of his distinct eye color; Ol’ Blue Eyes. His snout is so close to my face he could easily lick me from chin to temple. He doesn’t, though. Just sits patiently waiting.

“Blue eyes as bright as a glacier in the middle of the ocean. Would you mind if I gave you a name?” I ask the animal whom I know can’t speak or likely understand me.

“Your eyes remind me of Frank Sinatra’s; they called him Ol’ Blue Eyes. So, how about I call you Frank?”

The wolf chuffs and scowls. I didn’t even know a wolf could scowl, but he does it.