Chapter 12: Moonrise

The moon cleared the pines, round and white, and the burning in my chest turned into a scream.

I let go of the rail and fell to my hands and knees on the bridge.

"Cora!" Garrick said.

"Get back."

My voice came out strange, low and thick, as if something else were speaking under it.

My spine bowed.

I heard my own bones move, a wet, grinding crack, and the pain was enormous and clean.

I clawed at the planks and my nails were gone.

What stood in their place were black claws as long as my fingers, sinking into the wood.

My coat tore.

My dress tore.

Fur burst along my arms, white and thick, and my face stretched forward, and the world dropped away from me and came back huge and clear.

I stood on four legs on the bridge.

I could smell everything.

The river. The pines. The fear pouring off the man in front of me, sharp and sour, and under it the sickly smell of something spent.

Garrick stared up at me.

I was taller than he was on his knees. I was taller than a horse.

My white fur caught the moonlight, and he put both hands over his mouth.

"That's not possible," he whispered. "You don't have a wolf."

I lowered my head until my muzzle was level with his face.

He tried to scramble back, and fell, and lay there on the planks with his heart hammering.

I heard each beat.

I wanted, for one clean second, to put my teeth around his throat.

Then I smelled woodsmoke and cedar.

A grey wolf burst out of the trees at the Blackwater end of the bridge and skidded to a halt.

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