My body feels like it's on fire. Staring up at the full moon, I instinctively know that there's something significant about it, but the reason escapes me.

I recognize the woods that skirt the eastern border of our territory. The air is cool, but I don't mind the temperature.

I'm confused. Why am I here?

The question is quickly forgotten when a distinct scent catches my attention. Suddenly, I'm running for the trees. I don't slow or stop as I enter the thick tangle of foliage, careless of the branches that snag my skin and tear at my flesh.

Nothing matters but finding my prey. I'm fleetingly aware of my speed, faster than I've ever been able to run. The feeling is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. It's as if there were two of me. One, free from fear and thrilled by the hunt—the other, fearful of the need that's begun to consume me.

With every step, the old me is disappearing, like a disguise I've worn for too long. I run and run. Time is lost to the new me. The smells of the forest are so much more complex than I'd ever realized. But one scent floating on the air and growing ever stronger, is the only one that matters. I'm so close to what I seek.

And then I see it.

A bonfire in the clearing lights up a small field and casts elongated shadows of the humans standing around the flames.

Humans?

My desire to kill is instinctual. As I clear the forest and enter the field, a pain rips through my body like none I've ever felt before. There is a moment when I believe the pain will rip me in half. Still, I don't break my speed. I push through it, toward it.

One of the humans turns, noticing my approach. He growls, alerting the others, but I'm only concerned with the one, the alpha. When he looks in my direction, I recognize the leader from another dream—another life. His expression isn't as confident this time. There's a challenge in his glowing amber eyes, but also a hint of fear.

That's what I feed off when I launch myself into the night. When I land, I'm closer to the ground and running the last few yards on four legs instead of two. The pain that gripped me a moment ago is no more.

So much freedom.

Leaping one last time, I land on the leader, hitting him in the chest with my full weight, knocking him off balance and driving him to the ground. My jaws are powerful when I bite into the arm he holds up to defend himself. The others step back but don't interfere. I have no fear of them. They won't do anything unless I lose this battle.

A faint voice in the darkest corners of my mind wonder how I know these things. But that voice grows more silent with every heartbeat. When I finally taste blood in my mouth, the feeling is close to euphoria. It's as though I was given a dose of adrenaline. My teeth rip and tear at the arm until I sense a change in my enemy.

His arm in my mouth seems to soften and shift. I'm startled momentarily, and my enemy takes advantage by kicking me off with powerful legs. I roll several times, trying to right myself. By the time I'm standing again, a great black wolf stands where my enemy was.

But, he is my enemy.

We circle each other, growling, teeth gnashing, jaws snapping in warning. The others circle us but I only focus on him. He has threatened my family, my pack. There are no morals, no choices, no sense of conscience. If he lives, we die.

Without warning my enemy lunges at me. I don't cower or shy away. Instead, I meet him in the air. When we collide, with a stroke of luck, I manage to lock down hard on his throat with my jaws. I don't dare let go. He thrashes and flails.

I hear growls and even cries from the others. With a viciousness born of survival, I jerk my head back and forth until blood suddenly floods my mouth.

One final jerk and the large black wolf lay still. I continue to ravage my enemy, only faintly aware the others are backing away—leaving me to my kill.

I growl and snap warnings to them until one by one they disappear into the forest. When they're gone, I look around. The dark tree line surrounding the field seems larger than before. I scan the trees and the deeper parts of the forest beyond. Finally, I look down at the dead man before me. Gone is the great wolf.

That small voice returns with a vengeance, screaming, 'What have you done?'

The phone lying next to the bed was blaring an obnoxious ringtone. I reached to silence it before my ears began to bleed.

Sunlight streamed into the bedroom, adding to the nauseous feeling I'd had since waking. My head was pounding so badly I thought it must be a migraine.

Normally a morning person, I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. Every fiber in my body was on fire. Something wasn't right. I had no time to be sick.

There was too much that needed to be done. A farm wasn't something you could clock in and out of. There were chores that had to be done, animals that depended on us, and everyone had their own jobs to do.

Knowing what I had to do didn't make it any easier. It was all I could do to drag my aching body from the bed. I sat on the edge and waited for the pounding to ease just enough. It didn't.

I reached for a pair of faded and torn jeans laying over a wooden chair next to the bed. Those jeans weren't purchased in a fashion store. They were faded and worn from hard wear and tear.

Cole used to joke about selling his old work jeans for big money on eBay. I wouldn't be surprised if he had. That kid always had cash and no job.

Pulling the jeans on, I decided to forgo the t-shirt. My skin was damp from that small effort.

I made my way to the bathroom down the hall and splashed water on my face. While looking in the mirror, the dream came creeping into my thoughts. I clutched the sink for support as the images came back to me as clear as day.

Though I'd been having bad dreams over the last couple of months, this was the most vivid dream I could recall. The thought of what I did and how I did it made my stomach heave. Whatever was left from dinner the night before came up violently, and I barely made it to the toilet.

After cleaning myself up, I felt better but not great. Walking down the creaking stairs of the old farmhouse, I touched the picture of Molly as I went. My way of saying good morning to the woman I called Mama for as long as I could remember. I'd been touching that same picture of my adopted mother for a year—ever since she passed away.

Her portrait hung in the middle of many other family photos, most of my two brothers and me. Molly loved her photos almost as much as she loved us.

I moved slower than normal down the stairs, each step heavier than the last. If Mama had been there, she'd have insisted I go back to bed, and would have made chicken soup. She would have checked on me each hour, dabbing my face with a cool damp cloth. Molly was so loving and kind. It was almost worth getting sick to have her dote on us like that. We all missed her something awful.

Before I hit the bottom of the stairs, Cole came from behind, skipping the last few steps. He practically knocked me over as he barely avoided a collision with the front door, carried by his momentum.

"Morning, Liam," he said without looking at me.

"Nothing good about it," I muttered under my breath.

I turned the corner into the kitchen, the smell of bacon floated on the air. Ordinarily, breakfast with the family was my favorite way to start the day. That morning, the smell and thought of food made my stomach feel queasy again.

When I entered the kitchen, Pa was sitting at the table reading the paper with a steaming cup of coffee next to him. Seth was at the stove preparing eggs, bacon, and hash browns...none of which sounded appetizing.

"Glad you decided to grace us with your presence, big brother," Seth said over his shoulder.

Pa never looked up from his paper but asked, "I heard you had some trouble at the diner last night. Anything you need to tell me?"

"Something happened at the diner last night? Why am I always the last to hear the good stuff?" Cole asked with too much interest to be healthy.

Pa gave him that fatherly look but said nothing.

"Someone has to be last, Cole. Just accept your fate, boy," Seth teased.

Cole rolled his eyes. His sandy blond hair was cut short on the sides and longer on top so that some of it always hung over one of his eyes. He was constantly pulling it back, which he did then. Pa was always threatening to cut it off for him.

"How'd you know?" Seth asked while loading eggs onto Cole's plate.

"Sheriff called this morning. Said he figured you boys might not volunteer the information." Pa gave Seth one of his special looks—the one that said, you can't keep anything from me.

"We didn't want to worry you for no reason," I volunteered, as I poured a cup of coffee. "It was nothing. Harmony was frightened and called the sheriff before Seth and I knew she'd done it."

When Seth finally glanced my way, his expression changed. "Damn, Liam. You don't look so good."

Pa lowered his newspaper and studied me for the first time. His hair was well beyond grey now. Black-rimmed reading glasses sat low on his nose and his face always had a redness to it. Leathery creases etched his friendly face from years of working in the sun. The eyes that watched me with concern, were faded blue and glossy.

Even though he was already an older man when he and Molly adopted us, he'd aged a great deal over the past year. Her death was hard on all of us, but I believed she took a piece of his heart and soul with her.

"You don't look well, Liam. Are you sick, son?" Pa asked, laying his paper on the table before coming to stand in front of me. Pa wasn't a tall man in stature, but what he lacked in physical mass, he surpassed in character. Paul McKenzie was a man of his word, and someone my brothers and I aspired to be like.

"Maybe just a little. I'll be fine. Think I'll pass on breakfast though." Pa raised his hand to my forehead. His eyebrows knotted together in concern. I must have been as hot as I felt.

"You'll not be working today, Liam. If you're not eating breakfast, get yourself back up to bed. I'll check on you after I feed the hogs," Pa said, turning back to his seat. Seth had placed a plate of steaming eggs, bacon, and toast on the table for him.

"I'll be okay. I just need to get moving, that's all," I tried to assure him.

"No. You'll do as I say. Off to bed. And I don't care if you're nineteen. Nineteen doesn't automatically give you common sense and a road map." He left no room for argument, and I didn't have enough energy to argue, anyway. Couldn't remember ever feeling this sick. I carried my cup full of coffee back up to my bedroom.

"Don't worry about your chores, Liam. Me and Seth will do them," Cole yelled from the kitchen.

"Speak for yourself," I heard Seth grumble. "It was his day to make breakfast."

Ignoring it all, I closed the bedroom door, pulled the blinds to darken the room, and collapsed onto the bed. I didn't want to sleep. The nightmare was stirring at the edges of my fevered mind and the last thing I wanted was to go anywhere near that dream again.

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