Chapter 8: Run With Me

On Sunday Ansel knocked on my door at five in the morning, which was a first, because he knocked.

"I'm going to drive you to the beach at Cannon," he said through the wood. "We'll be there before sunrise."

He cleared his throat.

"I'd like to run with you, if you want to."

I opened the door in my socks.

"Why?"

"Nolan says an unreleased wolf can be eased if she runs with her Alpha. It's the only thing he knows that works."

He looked at the floor.

"That's the medical reason," he said. "I also want to."

"I want to," I said.

It was the truest thing I had said in a week.

The beach was empty and grey and cold, with fog sitting on the water.

I left my clothes in a pile on a driftwood log.

I had done that a thousand times with the pack, in the dark, with nobody looking.

This time Ansel turned his back and stared at the sea.

"I'm not looking," he said.

"I know."

"I'd like to."

"Ansel."

"I know," he said. "I'm turning around. I'm telling you so you don't have to wonder."

I shifted.

It poured through me.

For the first time in two weeks it did not hurt.

My wolf shook herself on the sand and lifted her nose.

Beside me, a huge black wolf with grey eyes stood where Ansel had been, steaming in the cold.

He lowered his head to mine.

Then he bolted, and I went after him.

We ran the whole length of the beach with the surf throwing foam at our paws.

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