Chapter One

Pine River, Montana present day.

The air was dry and heavy with the promise of fall. A crisp wind ruffled the trees, making their bone-like branches rattle together noisily. There was magic in the air, and every living thing within the mile could feel it.

It was the time when my kind returned. Drunk on the smell of winter and cold, they emerge from the trees, falling from their animal skins into their human ones. It was the time when my people came home: the Shapeshifters.

I leaned heavily on the gate, listening to the leaves whisper over my head. The gate was wood, and painted with a peeling white paint. It was unlocked, of course. What was there to hurt me?

I signed, closing my eyes. Eyes that had seen too many summers. Eyes that would see too many more. My feet scuffed on the dry mud.

"Hff," for anyone normal, the sound would have been nothing more than a gentle blow of the chilly fall breeze. But I knew better. Lifting my head, I felt my mouth curve up in something between a frown and a smile. A wolf stood facing me, his amber head low, eyes blazing.

Peter. I called to him, speaking through his mind. The wolf cocked it's head, confused. It heard me. Come on, Peter.

There wasn't a response. Rather, limbs twisting and eyes lolling, the wolf flopped onto its side, apparently seized in some kind of morbid seizure.

A low human cry came from the trees not long after. Crawling on his knees, a boy appeared, skin an ashen grey. His dirty blonde hair was streaked with mud and grime, his dark eyes mournful. He looked absolutely retched. And naked.

"You'll be fine once you throw up," I called to him. "You always are." He turned a sickly shade of green, spewing his guts noisily in front of me. When it was over, he straightened, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his palm. Changing was never pretty.

"It's never easy, is it?" He asked in a dry voice, a voice that hadn't been used in months. I gave him a sympathetic grin. He didn't return it. "I mean, we have to spend six months in a foreign body eating nothing but road kill and rotted garbage, and when we finally come back, we're buck-ass nude and don't remember who we are. I don't remember this section of the contract."

"There never was a contract," I mumbled, swinging the gate wide. He stumbled through, awkward on his two feet. I could see the hard signs of summer on him; his ribs and spine jutted out at awkward angles, and he had the hangdog expression of somebody who hadn't seen the sun in months.

In reality, all he had seen was the sun and the forest, but that didn't matter. I awkwardly clapped his shoulder. "You'll feel like yourself again when Maria gets some food into you, Peter."

"Peter," he mused, "is that my name?"

I didn't answer. It's better when they figure it out themselves. Jogs their memory a little better. See, wolves aren't as smart as humans, and it takes a few days to regain memory of who you are, what a shower is, how to put on clothes, that kind of thing.

We made our way up the winding path, Peter shivering, me loping along in my too-big leather jacket. The cold was like a kiss to the skin, promising you a few good months as yourself before the heat came. But when you had been waiting sixteen hours for somebody to show up, you did get a little cold.

The big white house looked warm and inviting. Breaking into a clumsy, stumbling run, Pete broke for it. Waiting arms pulled him inside, shutting the screen door behind them.

This was my home. The place I came every winter for as long as I could remember. The place I left every summer, even if I didn't want to. The people inside those walls were as dear to me as family. I loved them more than myself sometimes.

Until I met her.

Inspirational song of the chapter: Welcome To My Life, Simple Plan

Do you ever feel like breaking down

Do you ever feel out of place,

Like somehow you just don't belong

And no one understands you