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-rb

Sam never said a word from the minute she stepped on the plane in California to when she got out of the door of the little four-door coupe that drove her from the Atlanta Airport. Headphones helped—half the time she wasn’t even listening to anything, but it made other people uncomfortable to talk to someone who wouldn’t talk back.

It wasn’t that Sam couldn’t talk. She just had nothing to say.

She had two backpacks—one stuffed with clothes, the other with more important items—and she shrugged one onto either shoulder as she looked up at the house in front of her as the car pulled away. It was a one-story ranch style house, isolated from the main road and nearly swallowed up by pine trees, with a sod front lawn and a lawn gnome that sat in a front flower bed with no flowers. Sam thought he looked lonely with his green hat, white beard and dirty face. Sam could definitely identify with being lonely.

It was too warm, even in December, for the coat Sam was wearing, but she didn’t take it off yet; it hung down low on her short, waifish figure. She stared at the house for a long time, debating between contacting the gig driver to come pick her up again, or ringing the doorbell. It took her a long time to make that choice.

She rang the bell.

Bing. Bong.

Shifting the pair of weights on her back, Sam waited. A full minute passed. She hesitated again before pressing the doorbell a second time.

Bing. Bong.

Now she heard movement, footsteps muffled behind the heavy door. There was a grinding of the deadbolt sliding back and then the door opened, revealing a man in a pair of jeans, no shirt or shoes, squinting in the morning sunlight. Sam craned her neck to look up at him; he smelled like fabric cleaner and sugar water—soda, she guessed.

He blinked his eyes, then looked at her. “Can I help you?” He had a faint accent but it was still there, more subtle than the cliche twang that Southerners were supposed to have. He was pale, well built but with a faint softness in his belly; his hair was black, thinning, and only half-made like he’d been sleeping, which matched the tired, puffy eyes.

Sam realized she was staring. She licked her lips, swallowed past a sore throat. Her mouth was so dry it hurt to speak. “Are you Philip Johnson?”

“That’s me,” he said with a quick, familiar manner that said he was used to saying it a lot.

“I…” Sam fumbled with her backpacks and fished her phone out of her pocket. A few flicks of her thumb later and she held it up for him to see a photograph of a photograph; she had the physical copy in her backpack as insurance.

The colors of the photo were washed out, and a bright beam of sunlight had thrown a nimbus across the lens, sending most of the view out of focus, but it was clear enough to see a man and woman together: he sat on a large rock and she was kneeling behind him, her arms over his shoulders; her long black hair was swept up by a strong wind, obscuring some of their features. Their faces were pressed together, and they smiled at the camera while a mountain vista behind them opened into a valley full of dark, tall trees. It was a picture of Esther, her mother, and—

“This is you, right?” she said, extending the phone towards him.

He blinked again, but confusion had overwhelmed his exhaustion. He looked at the phone for a moment, and she saw awareness come over him. “Oh, God.” He looked back up at her. “Yes, that’s me. And that’s… You’re her, aren’t you? You’re—”

“Samantha,” she said, nodding. “That was you. With my mom.”

He rubbed his mouth, staring at the picture for a moment. “I haven’t seen that picture in a long time.” He handed her the phone back, patting his pockets as though looking for something. “Do you want to come in?”

“Can I?” She didn’t expect him to invite her inside. Her heart started pounding. “Is it… Is that okay?”

“Of course! Please.” He stepped to the side and opened the door wider for her, smiling in spite of her unexpected arrival.

Sam threw one look back down the driveway, towards the road, before stepping inside, trying to keep her breathing calm even while she was fighting off an urge to panic. The living room was a wide space, with several couches that were either new or didn’t get a lot of use. A TV was hanging on the wall. The living space connected to a dining area with a table and chairs that seemed to be in the same state as the living room furniture—barely used, given the thin layer of dust on the table. Several rooms and a kitchen completed the layout, but several doors were closed so that she couldn’t see into them.

“Nice place,” she said. It was functional, serviceable—kind of boring, really.

Philip stepped into what looked like a master bedroom and then into a closet space. He had a big bed, and it was mostly made except for the rumpled sheets and the comforter that was thrown back. “I, ah, didn’t expect you to be here quite this early,” he said, raising his voice to be heard.

“It’s almost 11 o’clock in the morning,” she answered. The walls were mostly bare of decor, painted white; the carpet was plush and thick, a drab brown that was functional and unimaginative. The curtains were drawn, which left the space caught between evening and morning light.

He reappeared, now wearing a t-shirt with a motorcycle, a brand name she didn’t recognize frames by the British flag. “Good point. I was up late last night, is all. Do you want to sit down?” He gestured to one of the couches. “And would you like me to take your bags?”

Sam ignored his offer, hefting both packs and setting them down next to her. It was a nice couch: comfortable, plush, plenty of give in the cushions. She leaned back with a sigh, watching him take a seat on a smaller loveseat. “You got my letter, right?”

“I did,” he said, nodding. “I was surprised to hear from you.”

“Yeah. Not everyday you find out you’ve got a kid, huh?” She forced a smile, but only a small one.

“Yeah. That came as a bit of a shock.” He coughed. To call the moment awkward was an understatement. “How old are you, Samantha?”

“Nineteen.”

“You know, your mom…after she left, she never contacted me. I tried to find her—believe me, I tried.”

“It’s okay. Mom wasn’t really big on asking for help from anybody.” Sam folded her hands in her lap. “Look. I know you weren’t planning on this, but if I need to find somewhere else to stay—”

“No.” Philip put his hands. “No, I want you to feel welcome here. I don’t get a lot of visitors, I don’t have much to offer, but you… Damnit.” He licked his lips, rubbing his stubbled chin with one hand. “I wasn’t sure what to think when you contacted me, and you don’t know me from a hole in the ground, hell, I know that. But…still—you’re family.”

“So you believe me,” she said. “About the photo.”

“I don’t think anybody else ever knew that photo even existed,” he said. “So yeah, I believe you. I wouldn’t have sent you the money for a ticket if I didn’t believe you, didn’t want you to come visit. There’s some things you just can’t do over a phone.”

Sam let out a breath that, she had to admit, she’d been holding back in anticipation. “Thank… Thank you.” She sighed. “I don’t have to stay long if that’s not your thing.” She squinted at him. “You’re not married, are you?”

“Nope, not married. No girlfriend. Just me.” He spread his hands.

“Boyfriend?”

“What? Pssh, naw. That’s definitely not my thing. I just don’t do relationships very well. Especially after your mom… Well.” He coughed, rubbing his hands together. “It’s not much, but I fixed up my spare room for you—wanna see?”

Sam blinked. She’d been expecting to sleep on a couch, assuming she got to stay at all—a small part of her hadn’t even expected him to let her inside. “I… Yes, I would, actually.”

“C’mon.” He clapped his knees as he stood up, then beckoned her to follow. She picked up her bags in both hands and followed him across the room to one of the closed doors.

The room was small, enough space for a single bed and a table with a chair. The blankets were simple but looked clean, dyed a deep forest green. The floor wasn’t dirty and she didn’t see any cockroaches, so that was an improvement over her last place.

“The, ah, closet is full at the moment—got some old things I need to throw out. The bathroom’s next door.” He knocked on another door just down from the bedroom. “Spare toothbrush and paste; there’s a bar of soap in the shower. I don’t have any of those frilly shampoos or anything some ladies seem to like, sorry.”

“I don’t want to impose—”

He sniffed. “It’s no imposition, Samantha, not to me. It’s actually a good thing you came along when you did; I’ve got an appointment to get to, so I needed to get out of bed anyway. Do you want to…y’know, ‘tag along?’” He nodded his head in the direction of the door.

“Actually, if it’s okay to stay here…”

To her surprise, he nodded. “Of course—you just got off a plane and all that. Sorry. I’ll check back in with you before I take off, if that’s okay.”

“You sure?” She set her bags on the table. “I mean, I just got here. I don’t want you to think I’d take anything while you’re gone.”

He had an easy smile. “Fact that you’d say so means I’m not worried. Besides, the only thing valuable I’ve got in the place are the electronics, anyway, and if you can find anybody to hoc the TV to in just a couple of hours, you’re better than you look.” He winked, then turned and headed back to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Sam waited until he was gone, then shut the door and took a seat on the edge of the bed. She finally shrugged out of her coat, setting it down next to her as she fished out her phone, thumbs moving with practiced ease.

She opened up the photo again, the one of her Mom and Philip on some nameless mountain somewhere. They looked young and happy. Sam had imagined a thousand different things happening after the shutter snapped—how they might have gone on a hike together, or sat down for a meal, or just how they might have sat and laughed together, talking in quiet, hushed voices as they took in Nature’s beauty.

“Damn it, Mom,” Sam said, under her breath. She sighed, then swiped the photo away. Sam plugged the phone in to charge and then looked around the little space. The only decoration was a small painting or print of a wolf’s head, framed by a full moon.

“Because that’s not out of place or anything,” she muttered to herself. She was curious about the full closet, but decided against poking through things—it wasn’t her place, and he was still home.

Her dad. Sam had lived her entire life without one, wanting one, wishing for one, and now, here he was. He did look good, and she meant that in every sense of the word—after an entire childhood and the worst kind of shove into having to grow up, now she could see him, hear him. She could touch him, know he was real, that he existed.

She pulled some of her things out of her bag and set them on the table, more to force herself to unpack: it was an exercise she was trying, mentally forcing herself to not be ready to grab her bag and go at any moment. Some of the places and people she’d been frequenting lately had made her want to keep her bags full and very, very close.

But Philip didn’t do that. He seemed nice. Maybe he was capable of something twisted—like dissecting people in his garage—but something in Sam didn’t think so. So far, he seemed nice. She hoped he’d stay that way.

There was a knock on her door: the sound was so unexpected she jumped and rushed to the door. When Sam opened it, he gave a little jump himself and raised his hands. “Whoa there, where’s the fire?”

Sam stared. “Huh?”

“You just opened your door so fast, and I… Never mind.” He was wearing the same shirt, a pair of hiking shoes and a thin blue fleece jacket. His hair was combed and he’d shaved his face. Now she smelled like cologne—it wasn’t too strong, and not unpleasant. “Are you sure you’re okay? Stuck in a strange house and all? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

She shook her head. “You don’t. It’s okay.”

“Fair enough. Then, anything you want in the kitchen or fridge is yours.” He paused a beat. “You old enough to drink yet?”

“Define ‘old enough.’”

He snorted a laugh. “Fine. Just no wild parties until I get home to join in the fun. I wouldn’t leave, but I can’t miss this meeting.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

He smiled again. “I appreciate it. Maybe when I get back, we can…talk? Feels like we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

She nodded. “Eighteen years’ worth, I think.”

“Yeah.” Something like pain flashed on his face, there and instantly gone again, like she’d ripped off an old bandaid he wasn’t ready to part with. But then he forced a smile and pulled a phone out of his pocket. “If you’re okay with it, why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you so you can reach me if something happens.”

After they’d swapped numbers, he slipped his phone back into place and stepped back. “Well: ‘welcome home,’ I guess.”

“Thank you.” Sam smiled a little smile. “You didn’t have to let me stay. I didn’t think you would let me stay. I appreciate it. A lot.”

“Hell, girl, what am I supposed to do? Make you sleep in the woods?” He shook his head. “Anyway, you’ve got my number. Stay out of trouble.” He waved goodbye, then walked through the kitchen; she heard a heavy door shut and the hum of a garage door start to open.

Curious, she stepped over to one of the windows near the front door and watched. At first she didn’t see or hear anything, but then there was the sound of an engine firing and rumbling to life. A moment later, he slowly rolled out on a green-and-gold motorcycle, wearing a full-face helmet—Sam didn’t know anything about motorcycles, but the one he rode on was long and narrow, not like the super-fast bikes she saw people ride back home. The bike made more noise as he rolled down the driveway, onto the road and out of sight.

Sam did a little poking around to satisfy her curiosity—kitchen cabinets, his entertainment center, peeking into his bedroom and such. His spare room was used as an office space and had stuff strewn everywhere, but she knew it was safest to leave things alone. He might be nice, but there was no reason to piss him off by making a mess.

Sam waited ten whole minutes until she was sure he was gone, or long enough where he wasn’t likely to come back. Then she locked the front door and confirmed the garage was shut. The back door opened onto a small yard covered with more sod, but the trees stretched out as far as her eyes could see.

She took a breath and began to undress—it was now or never. As Sam took her clothes off, she laid them out on her bed with her lingerie closest to the door, the easier for her to retrieve in a hurry if she had to. She had several tattoos—a small heart with wings on her left shoulder, and a wolf’s head with a crescent moon on her right wrist. She’d also had her nipples and navel pierced a year ago—they hurt like a bitch going in, but she liked the way the steel barbells looked against her hazelnut skin.

It felt a little strange to walk naked through a stranger’s house, whether he was her dad or not. The plush carpet felt nice between her bare toes. Sam had an urge to go roll around in his bed to memorize his scent, but that seemed to be asking for trouble, so she resisted the temptation.

Once she made it outside and pulled the door shut, Sam walked out into the grass. As she suspected, the trees sheltered her from any unwanted onlookers, not that there were any of those for miles in any direction. Philip seemed to like his privacy, which suited her just fine.

She bent down to her hands and knees, feeling the grass in her fingers. It was mostly dry on account of the winter, but the air was still comfortable enough for her bare skin. Sam bent her head, taking in a deep breath of the vegetation and the earth below—it was tangy, different from the type of dirt she was used to. She wrinkled her nose, not liking it very much.

When her body began to change, it felt like she was melting inside her own flesh. The process was quick and painless, but she’d only been doing it for a couple of years now—Sam was a late bloomer and only hit puberty when she turned sixteen.

In moments, her transformation was complete: she was covered in a fur coat, colored dark black with gold streaks; her sense of smell was even finer; her limbs had shrunk but she felt stronger, faster, like she could start running and never have to stop again. The human Sam was gone, and a she-wolf was in its place. Sam licked her lips, cocked her ears and sniffed the air. Certain that the smell of gasoline was faint and getting fainter, she jogged across the grass, heading into the trees and started running.

The night she’d changed into a wolf for the first time was during a camp-out with her only friend, a girl named Alyse—they were both the loner type, so they’d bonded over similar things: boys, Korean pop music, stuff like that. Sam woke up transformed, terrified both at the physical changes she’d undergone while asleep, and at the prospect of her friend waking up and seeing her.

Sam ran the whole way home through the dark and found a place to hide until the moon set and her body changed back on its own. She was naked and hyperventilating, forced to break into her own bedroom window to get into her house; she screamed and told her mother someone had tried to break in. Alyse was so angry at Sam leaving that they never talked again.

The wooded hills around her father’s house were an interesting place: plenty of other animals, as well as places to explore when she had more time. She also smelled more wolf scents: they were mostly faint, so old they were nearly gone, but Sam knew them when she found them.

Georgia didn’t have much of a wolf population; the ones native to the state had been nearly wiped out decades before she was born. So she was sure who the smells belonged to by the time she heard an engine rumbling from far off in the distance. She doubled back and made for the house at a full-on sprint. Sam had several years to learn how differently she had to move on four legs, so she made it back to the house without tripping on anything.

The scent of a male sent her haunches to burning; her heart started pounding in her chest. Since she was unable to sweat, Sam started panting; she felt like a thousand ticks were stuck into her flesh, gnawing away at her. It was all on account of the moon: it ruled Sam’s life, and every twenty-eight days she turned into a wild, raving sex maniac. Another full moon was coming soon, only days away. It was almost impossible for Sam to control herself and her sex drive when the moon was starting to wax, and when the full moon finally arrived…well, she’d figure that out when the time came. Maybe she could lock herself in her new room and go porn-crazy for a night.

Sam walked onto the grass and felt her fur coat recede—she called it “sliding,” like slipping out of one skin and into the other. She stood up and gave herself a full shake, feeling the hairs bristle on her nude skin. It made her think of Philip again, of how different his European paleness was compared to her darker, Chinese mother. He was fit, or fit enough, and even though his hair was thinning out, he might look good bald—plenty of men did.

Sam smirked and shook her head, grabbed the back door, pushed it open and stepped inside…just as she heard the hum of the garage door closing and the door into the kitchen start to open. In one, fluid motion she came in at a full run, threw the door shut behind her, slid into her bedroom and shut that door next. Her heart was pounding and she was panting like she’d just finished another full-on sprint through the woods.

“Samantha?” Philip’s voice was muffled on the other side of her door, and it got clearer as he got closer. “You alright? I heard a door slam.”

“I’m okay!” She cleared her throat and tried to calm her frantic heart; her naked body had broken out in a sweat. “I was on my way to the shower when I heard the door.”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“It’s alright,” she said. Her skin felt tight all over; now she could smell him on the other side of the door—that masculine scent from the woods was back, combined with the smell of oiled leather and motor oil.

For some reason, she was horny as all fuck. That was unexpected. Probably the full moon that was coming.

“I’d like to take my shower now, if that’s okay.”

“Sure enough,” he said. “Sorry again for scaring you.”

Sam was more excited than scared—she’d almost gotten caught. If she wasn’t more careful next time, it was up to the moon’s own luck as to what would happen.

Sam had a love-hate relationship with the moon. Her destiny was bound to it, and had been ever since her body began changing—she felt its hum in her body, in her blood. When it got closer and closer, her physical hungers—the need to change, to run, to fuck—grew stronger and stronger, sometimes becoming impossible to control.

After her father nearly discovered her, all Sam could think about was getting out of the house, sliding into her fur and running again. Once her appetites started getting the better of her, running was what helped her cope. She could burn off as much energy as she needed back home, roaming the city streets or heading down to the beach near her mother’s old, rundown house. With such sharpened senses, Sam always knew how to avoid getting caught. She had some close calls, but it was nothing she ever had to worry about for long.

Now she was in a new state, in a new town, and had a veritable forest to roam for miles around…if she could just get out from under the eye of her father. Sam wasn’t ready to talk to him about that part of her life yet, and those trees were tantalizing and torturing at the same time, like candy under glass: so close she could practically smell them, but impossible to touch for herself.

Philip was a quiet sort. He worked out of his home as a programmer, so for a lot of time during the first couple of days after she’d arrived, he spent a lot of time in his office. He kept odd hours too, sometimes working overnight and sleeping during the daytime hours. When she asked what he did for a living, he tried briefly to explain the work he did—“building educational platforms for third-party contractor resources”—and Sam started to feel her eyes cross and decided not to ask anymore questions.

Those first days after her arrival, they both carefully navigated around each other: feeling each other out, making polite conversation and such things. Philip made the first move when he suggested that they share lunch together—he ordered pizza from a local place, and they sat in the living room, eating and talking. It was a more relaxed, comfortable affair, at least for Sam: she laid back in a set of sweats and fuzzy socks. He’d picked her favorite toppings—mushrooms and banana peppers—and she chewed with an amount of relish she only saved for good pizza. And that pizza was, she had to admit, really goody pizza. Maybe not California good, but still good.

“So…tell me about my Mom,” she finally said.

He paused in-between bites, giving her a cautious look from the across the room, and swallowed before answering. “What do you want to know?” Philip had picked off every pepper and had a sizable pile on his plate; it was sweet of him, letting her pick dinner. He took a sip from a warm can of soda.

“What she was like before she went psycho.”

He coughed. “I’m not sure I’d put it like that.”

“Sure, you didn’t live with her for nineteen years.” When he still hesitated, Sam sighed and put down her plate. “Look—” She didn’t know what to call him, and sputtered a moment before continuing “—you were super-amazing to take me in, and I’m not going to do anything to make you regret that, but one of us has to rip the band-aid off eventually. May as well be me.”

“So…what made her a psycho?” he said, but his mouth twisted up at the word.

“She was angry all time, until she wasn’t. She’d scream and throw things, call me a cunt and a liar, then hug me and break down crying when she felt guilty about it a day later.” Sam pressed her lips tight together and was quiet for a moment. “I wanted to hear a little about what she was like before…all of that.”

He considered that, then nodded. “Fair enough.” He thought about it for an moment. “I met Esther the one semester I went to college—I hated it and dropped out after that, but not before I met your mother.” Philip sat back and got a faraway look in his eyes. “She was smart and fun, everything that a naive, depressed, lonely guy like me needed.” He met her eyes. “She saved me, Samantha.”

Sam picked up her plate again. “Saved you how?” she asked, taking another bite.

“I was a college drop-out with no prospects or plans for the future, no parents to fall back on, and nobody else to look to for support.” He finished his pizza and put the plate, banana peppers and all, on the coffee table. “I probably would’ve done something drastic—or permanent—if not for her.”

“Permanent how?”

He didn’t answer out loud, just made a mock handgun with his fingers and put it against his temple. “Like that,” he said, deadpan.

“Oh.” Sam chewed for a moment, letting the awkward moment pass. “Did she drop out, too?”

“No, she had family paying her way.” He paused, reminiscing. “She talked about them sometimes. I’m surprised you never met them.”

“I was named after my grandmother,” Sam said. She stretched over, picking up his plate and began to nibble on his unwanted peppers. “That’s as much as I ever met any of them.”

Philip gave a disgusted face. “Those things are nasty.”

“Hah! More for me.” She grinned and made a show of chewing. “Mom never talked about family and never took me to see any of them. I don’t think they ever called—there’s ‘falling out,’ and then there’s whatever my Mom did to the rest of her family.”

He shook his head. “That’s just so bizarre to me. Up until she disappeared, Esther was just so warm and kind, the sort of person I was thanking my lucky stars for finding every single day.” Philip sighed. “It about killed me when she up and left: no goodbye, no warning, just a letter and no forwarding address.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Samantha… If I’d known you were out there—”

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Don’t beat yourself up. Really. That’s why I came to see you, so we have a chance to make up for lost time.” She smiled, wanting to soothe him. There were other reasons she’d come, but she needed the right time to bring up those. The right time would come—she just had to be patient.

He sat back, quiet, and she had a few moments to fully observe and watch him. He smelled of his own musk, like he needed a shower, but that wasn’t an unpleasant scent. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was also pleasant to look at: purely as a man, her father was attractive, the sort of man she liked looking at. Sam had always gone for older men: first out of necessity, than out of personal preference. And he was practically a stranger, so she didn’t have any shame in looking, either. Who was going to know?

“Well, I’m sorry anyway,” he said, pointing at her. “You didn’t deserve to grow up that way. Maybe we can make up for it, somehow.”

“Maybe. I’d like that.”

“Good. Me too.” He yawned—it wasn’t the first time, either. “I think I’m tapped out now. Gonna sneak in a nap and check out of work early for the weekend.”

Her heart surged in her chest. “Okay,” Sam said, keeping her voice neutral.

“I’ll check back in on you later, then.”

“Okay, I’ll clean up. Thanks for the pizza, and for…y’know, talking some more.”

“My pleasure.” He gave her a farewell smile, then headed for his bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Sam made herself clean up, being meticulous about all of it, down to the last crumb. By the time she was done, almost a quarter-hour had passed, and everything was silent behind the master bedroom door.

Returning to her room, she quickly and quietly undressed, then counted to sixty with slow, measured breaths. Nudity wasn’t a requirement for the change, but peeling herself out of clothes meant for a human body when she was on all fours was a challenge. Changing while naked was a hell of a lot easier on her wardrobe, too.

Nothing stirred or made a sound as she slipped out of her room, shutting the door behind her. Sam quickly crept to the back door, slid outside and pulled it closed. Going down to her knees, breathing in the smell of the ground and the grass—it still made her nose wrinkle—she slid into her fur coat and was off at a full run in seconds.

Running was just as good that day as the one before—better, maybe, because the moon’s energy was just a little but stronger and her hunger was stronger to match. She took the same direction as the previous day, but only until she found the smell of the male wolf and confirmed her suspicions of the day before.

It was her father’s smell.

Sam would stake everything she had left—which, admittedly, wasn’t much—on her hunch. Her sense of smell was stronger when she was on four legs, so now she knew it for sure. It confirmed everything she’d been able to find out about people like her, people who were somewhere between humans and wolves. She didn’t like the term “werewolf”—it was too mainstream, too cliche—but it sufficed for lack of something better. If she could slide from one form to the other, that power had to come from a parent, and her mother was too schitzo for Sam to believe it was her. That only left Philip.

That only left the obvious question: how could she ask him?

The smell of him, of his scent as a beast, was doing things to her body and her mind that were both welcome and surprising. Sam hadn’t changed to four legs to deal with her lust, but given how much she was panting, the potent surge of her own desire made it impossible to ignore her pounding heart and aching loins.

Sam blamed it on the moon again—she always did that, mostly because there was nothing else she could do. As she ran, she tried to work out the energy through her pumping limbs and thrusting body, churning away at the distance, burning up energy as she ran, but the longer she tried to ignore it, the harder it was to resist that desire.

Eventually she reached a glen, a small parting in the trees with a wide patch of clear, open sky above. The smell of grass and pine trees was thickest there, and she guessed that her father’s house was only a few minutes of hard running away. It felt like a safe place: the only animal smells she could pick out were old, so old she was fairly certain nothing larger than a squirrel had walked there in days.

Sam lay down on a patch of thick weeds and grasses and slid back into her bare skin. Even though it was late in the year, it was an unnaturally hot day and she immediately began to sweat from the lingering exhaustion of her running, her increased heart rate, the ambient air temperature trapped in that little clearing, and from the intense heat aching between her thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Sam whispered as she lay back, opening her legs. Just the touch of her fingers set her clit to throbbing, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

Philip’s face flashed in her mind. Sam had a choice to make, to indulge herself on a fantasy that a part of her knew was wicked, or to resist its potent pull at the back of her mind. It wasn’t much of a contest, and soon any reluctance melted like the sweat clinging to her pale brown skin and trickled away, creeping across her breasts, tingling at her nipples, and slithering down into the crack of her ass before it was gone.

“You want me, don’t you?” she whispered. “God, I want you too.” Sam whimpered, not having to care or worry about who could hear her. She slid a finger in-between her pussy lips, sliding up and in, giving a long, soft grinding against her G-spot. It wasn’t powerful enough for her to cum, but this was just a quick session to get herself off before she got back to the house.

Moaning, grinding at the sweet spot deep in her cunnyhole, Sam licked her lips and used the one thing she loved to arouse herself with more than anything else: her voice. “Do I smell good? Do you want to touch me? Stroke your little girl’s pussy…? Mmm!” The heat of it, of her dark fantasy, made her shiver all over.

A hand—his hand—reached out of her imagination and started swirling its fingers around her clit, around and around, using the same motions she was pleasuring herself with. She could imagine his face, the way he breathed in her scent, or how he licked his lips.

“It’s so bad,” she said, mewling like a tiny beast, bucking her hips. “But that’s what makes it so good, too. Mm! More, please more!” Round and round her finger went while she sucked and nibbled at a knuckle on her other hand. Sam wanted to cum so bad she was trembling, spotting with more sweat; her juices were thick and hot, and she stopped to slide two fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean.

Rolling onto her knees, face in the grass, and opened her legs and stroked her clitty with a quick, practiced method that she hoped would end it quickly. “Doesn’t my pussy look so good? You want to touch it? Taste it?” Sam shivered as she took a breath. “Do you want to fuck me, Dad? Daddy? Daddy! Oh, Daddy, yes! Cumming!”

She climaxed with a burst of light at the corners of her eyes and a burst of fire in her belly, rushing out to her upraised pussy and ass, which tensed up and tightened from the intense force of it. Sam whined like the little bitch she was, closing her eyes and shaking again, letting the pleasure overpower every sense she had. It lasted longer than any orgasm she’d had in recent memory, and by the time it was done she wanted to melt into a puddle and lie there for a long, long time.

When she came to some moments later, Sam rubbed at her face and picked the grass out of her hair. She felt foolish, but also felt an urgency to return—she had to get back before he woke up. Shaking herself, Sam pushed down, raised her ass up, slid into her fur coat again and made for the familiar smell of her father’s house.

As suspected, she got there in a few more minutes of hard effort, and changed back to her softer, ganglier human body. The air felt cool and pleasant on her skin, enough to make her wish she could’ve lingered outside to rest. But yesterday had proven how risky going out was, so Sam carefully crept to the back door and pushed it open…

…just in time to watch the bedroom door on the other side of the living room do the same thing as Philip walked out.

They both froze as their eyes met. Sam wouldn’t be able to dart into her bedroom this time—she was caught.

They both looked at each other, stared at each other, frozen in place. Sam expected him to be embarrassed, to turn his head away or make some funny comment—weren’t Southerners supposed to be super-polite? It wasn’t the first time she’d accidentally run into someone after sliding back into her human skin, and without exception, everyone laughed it off as an embarrassing distraction.

Philip didn’t look away. Keeping his eyes on her, he stepped all the way into the living room, shut the door without turning around, then stepped around to the couch and sat down. “Gotta say, Samantha, this I did not expect.” From across the room she could see his eyes moving, twitching, like he was looking her all over in the few seconds that he had the chance.

Sam swallowed, stepped inside and shut the door and locked it as well. She was supposed to act embarrassed, to run for a bedroom or somewhere with a locked door. Her moon-lust was tempered considerably, but that had more to do with his calm manner and flat, unblinking stare. “I was out,” she said.

He nodded, still not looking away. “Clearly.”

“Running. In the woods.” She reached behind her back with one arm, curling her hand around her other elbow. Her skin felt extraordinarily tight over her body, like moving too fast might make her split a seam. Her breasts ached, pierced nipples burning as she pressed her thighs tight together. Sam was cold and hot all over, like she wanted to start shivering, but if she did that she’d never stop.

“Well, I’d heard they did things different out in California, but I didn’t realize it was that—”

“As a wolf.” She hurried over those words, almost tripping over them, they came out so fast. The male wolf smells she’d come across in the woods were strongest near and inside the house, and there was only one explanation for that. “You know something about what that’s like, don’t you, Dad?”

Philip sat very still for a long moment, like he’d stopped breathing, stopped moving, even stopped blinking. When he moved again, he leaned forward with a heavy sigh, elbows on his knees. His head fell forward as he closed his eyes. “So that’s the explanation.”

Sam didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. She did step further inside, past the dining room table. It was only several quick steps to her room, but she still stayed. “What explanation?”

“Why your mother never contacted me.” He rubbed at his eyes for a moment before looking at her again. “I knew she was afraid of me when she left, but I never thought she’d go to the lengths of hiding—”

“Mom didn’t know.”

Now he looked confused. “Didn’t know about…about you? About…” He gestured with both hands. “I want to see you change. Show me.”

“What—right now?”

“No, hold on, let me spread out some newspaper first, and—yes, of course, right now.”

“I’ve never done it in the house before!” As soon as she said it, Sam felt ridiculous.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you not housebroken or something?”

Sam flipped him off, then went down to all fours again. The carpet felt even softer under her palms and the scuffed surface of her knees, and when she bent down to sniff it, she smelled cleaning chemicals, more of the tangy dirt from outside, and dust.

“What are you doing?”

Now some of the embarrassment she hadn’t felt earlier started coming back. “F-fuck you! This is how I do it, okay?” She glared at him from under her eyebrows, thinking about what she must look like—ass in the air, nose to the ground.

Concentrating, she slid out of one skin and into another again, calling up her wolf instincts and the sensations she remembered from just a few minutes ago. It felt different to change in front of someone, in front of him—it felt intimate, the same sort of intimacy of standing in front of him in nothing but her skin from moments ago, but she hadn’t minded that. After her interlude in the woods, standing in front of him naked barely registered.

Moments later, Sam walked over to him and sat on her haunches, tail curled about her legs. She stared at him, waiting to see how he’d react.

Philip pursed his lips. “Okay, Samantha. I believe you.”

Sliding back from four legs to two again, Sam gave herself another hard shake and tucked her legs to one side while looking up at her. “You’re one of them too, aren’t you?”

“I might be.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You are. I did my research, and it was goddamn hard to separate what’s real from what isn’t. I wouldn’t be like this if not for you; my mother wasn’t like me, I’m sure of that. It’s an inherited trait, like colored eyes or baldness—no biting, no infections, just good old fashioned fucking.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“You didn’t have to point out the bald thing,” he said, running a hand over his head.

Sam smiled. “Sorry—was just the first thing that came to mind.”

“And you said Esther—your mother, she never found out?”

“Are you kidding?” Sam stood up, walking over to the other seat she’d used earlier and sat down; the cushions felt even softer under her bare bottom that time. She didn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed at him seeing her completely naked, and she had no idea why—it just felt right. “Mom would’ve flipped her shit if I’d told her about it. She was… Well, I told you what life with her was like. Anyway, it’s why I looked for you so hard, why I had to come meet you.” When he didn’t react, she added: “I needed to know the truth!”

“About me? Or about yourself?”

“Yes—both. So now, your turn: you show me.”

He raised that eyebrow again.

Sam grinned. “I showed you mine. Now you show me yours. Fair is fair.”

Her dad seemed to consider that, then he slowly nodded, looking reluctant but otherwise in agreement. After a moment, he reached down and began unfastening his shoes, setting them and socks aside. He then stood upright, pulling off his shirt—she got to see his bare chest again, which was nice.

When he unfastened his belt and hooked his thumbs into the waistline of his jeans, he paused, looking her in the eye again. “You’re sure you want me to do this?”

“What? You got to see all of me. Show me.”

He shrugged and pushed his jeans down, stepping out and kicking them aside. He was an impressive specimen below the belt, she had to admit, and it looked like—

“Are you…aroused?” she said, eyes widening a little bit.

When their eyes met, he raised his shoulders in a helpless motion. “This is a bad idea,” he said as he bent to reach for his jeans.

“No, no!” she said to stop him. When he paused and looked over at her, she stood up, clearing her throat. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s a little flattering, even.” She was looking at him when she said it: he was uncircumcised, not too large, but still well-endowed. Sam considered herself as more “open-minded” than most, moon or no moon. She’d dated and slept with older men; there was nothing wrong with her dad being eye candy.

“It’s been a long time since I had any real relationship, Samantha.”

Something in his voice, some catch or verbal tic she hadn’t noticed before caught her attention that time. Her voice softened. “How long, Dad? How long has it been?”

He looked embarrassed, and then angry at his embarrassment. “This isn’t the sort of thing I wanted to talk about—”

“Wait.” She stepped across the room. Knowing it was perhaps too much too soon, she touched his arm, looking up at him. He was a tall man, and felt as tense as a sprinter at the starting line. “I know I’m that I’m a stranger—a month ago, you didn’t know I existed. I don’t have any right to ask, but I want to know. I need to know everything—about you, about Mom, about what we are. Maybe it’s too soon, but if we can’t trust each other to be honest, how can we trust each other at all?” His face didn’t change, but the angry set to his shoulders seemed to deflate. “You can tell me. I won’t laugh, won’t make fun at all—promise.”

He searched her face for another moment, then tossed his jeans back onto the floor. “I haven’t slept with a woman since your mother left.” Philip took a deep breath, then let it out. “That’s the truth.”

“Oh.” When he opened his mouth, she waved her hands to stop him. “Not a criticism, just surprised.”

“Wolves mate for life, Samantha. I wanted that; your mother didn’t. It was her choice.” He shrugged, but it was obvious that the years had left him pained, even a little angry. “I didn’t think I’d have to defend that decision.”

“You can if you want to,” she said. “I think you dodged a bullet, to be honest.”

“Why?”

“Because growing up with my mother was the worst thing that ever happened to me. She was manipulative, controlling, argued about everything and made me doubt everything about myself. For years she had me convinced that if I ever tried to find you, she’d kill herself and no one would love me ever again.” Sam pressed a hand to her chest. “I believed she was the only person that could ever love me, and when she died, I…” She took a shivering breath. “I did some things I’m not very proud of,” she added in a lower, softer tone. “And I’ve done some shit, believe me.”

Philip looked down at her chest. “Yes, I think I can see a little of that already.”

Sam blew out a breath and scowled at him. “Not what I meant.”

“Right. Sorry.” He sounded contrite, at least.

“I…I almost killed myself: fucked anything that moved, drank like a motherfucker, went on a rage bender. I almost drove a car off a cliff. I’m lucky I didn’t do something even worse that I’d regret.” Sam compressed her lips tight, took a long breath. “But I still had myself—the wolf in me—and she couldn’t control that. And I knew you were out there somewhere. I had to find you.”

His smile was softer, more genuine somehow. “Looks like you found me.”

“Yes. Now I want it to be worth something.”

“But why? Why did you do all of that, all over somebody who hurt you that way?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Because I had to. That’s how I had to grieve. She was a bitch, and impossible to live with, but she raised me. She got me this far. Now I’m done grieving. I came here to meet you, to get on with my life.” Sam took a deep, cleansing breath. “Now… Philip? Should I call you that?”

“Dad is okay,” he said, his voice a little softer, as if she’d surprised him.

Sam smiled. “Dad, then.” she said. She thought it best to keep her earlier, private fantasy to herself. “Now you need to do something because you being naked is all kinds of distracting.”

“It’s the full moon that’s coming—your inhibitions get screwed up one way and down the other.” He folded his pants and tossed them aside, for the moment. “You learn quick how to repress the temptations if you know what’s good for you.”

Well, that explained her brain going all sex-crazed out in the woods. Sam touched his arm again—he was still tense, even more than before, but it was obvious he liked it. Living alone for so long with no one to touch, or feel, or even a voice to listen to: he was eating up the attention she was giving.“Now…show me, Dad? Please?”

Philip leaned in closer. “You’d best be careful how you phrase that, Samantha.” His voice was soft with a hint of a growl, but his smirk reached all the way up into his eyes.

Sam laughed again. “Stop stalling.” She then stepped back to give him room.

His features tightened, like he was concentrating. A moment later she saw him slide too, just like she’d always imagined how it might look: his body seemed to melt, colors swirling and shifting, as he grew both shorter in size then longer in shape. Soon he stood on four legs, taller at the shoulder, very nearly to her thighs and waist; his fur was pale, almost white, with a black streak across one eye and over one pointed ear.

“Wow,” she said, her breath a choked whisper. She went down to her knees in front of him, reaching out with trembling hands, and slid spread fingers into his fur. “That’s really you, isn’t it, Dad?”

The large wolf panted at her, blinking his eyes slowly. They were blue, a deep and beautiful shade.

“This is amazing!” she said. “I can’t believe—well, I can, but seeing it happen right in front of me is—!” Sam tried and failed to find the proper words. “Well, it’s still fucking amazing.” She wanted to laugh and to cry at the same time. When his body began to blur and melt she stood up and stepped back again, waiting for him to stand. Philip even gave his head and neck a hard shake, just like she did.

“You alright?” he said.

“I still can barely believe this is happening.” When he reached out for her hand, she gave it to him, following him to the couch where they both sat. His hard-on had faded somewhat, which was a good thing—at least it wasn’t a distraction that way. “It’s been two years—two-fucking-years—since the first time I changed. I haven’t been able to find anyone else who I could meet and talk to about it. And now!” She threw up her hands, falling back against the couch cushions with a sigh of relief. “Here we are.”

“I hope this means you’ll still stay,” he said.

It was so unexpected that she laughed. “‘Stay?’ Of course I want to stay!” She grabbed his hands in hers and squeezed them tight. “I want you to show me everything. Teach me everything. I’ve got so many questions!” She jumped up. “Can we go out again? Can we go now? Can we?”

“Easy! Eeeeeeasy!” Philip didn’t laugh as much as she did, but he smiled, at least. “We can go out again, sure. Ain’t much out there but bugs and shrubs for miles, but I don’t see why we can’t go take a look anyhow.”

“This trip was totally worth it.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so.”

After he put his discarded clothes back in his bedroom, Sam followed him outside into the back yard.

“Shouldn’t you lock the door?”

“Why?” He made an exaggerated effort of looking around. “My closest neighbor is miles away. I live this far out in the country for a reason. Nobody’s gonna mess with this place while we’re gone, trust me.”

The sun was still high overhead and there were thick clouds on the horizon, but she had all eyes for him. It felt strange to be so comfortable, but Sam felt safe with him. It was a nice feeling, one she hoped would last.

“Now, show me how you change again,” he said.

Sam turned around, grinning at him from over one shoulder. “You just want to see me with my ass up again.”

“No, dear, although I’m sure plenty of boys have commented on how nice an ass you have.” He gave her a dark look, but there was a quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Now: show me,” he repeated, his voice a little bit deeper and dominant.

Sam did as she was told. Taking her time, she bent down to the ground, got into all fours, then lowered her face and nose down to the ground. “Your dirt smells wrong,” Sam said, taking in a deep breath. The grass was dark and stiff, and it prickled against her breasts and tingling nipples. “Like it’s sour, or something.”

“It’s the clay,” he said, clearing his throat. “There’s a lot of iron oxide in it—you’ll have to get used to it. They probably don’t have that out West where you grew up.”

“Interesting.” Sam slid out of her bare skin and into her fur again; so much sliding was going to make her tired, but she was too excited at having a real “expert” with her to care about that. When she stood up, she turned around and found him already changed, seated and waiting for her.

It struck Sam just how much she could understand by the pose he took: since he was taller, he leaned over her in an assertive manner, his eyes focused on her, head pointed downwards, rising up onto all fours. She knew—without knowing how she knew—that he was now in charge of her as the dominant member of the pair; she was expected to show subservience, and recognize his authority.

Sam didn’t really think about these things, she just knew them, in the same way that she knew to move onto her all fours and then roll onto her back, showing off her dark neck and underbelly—she did what he expected of her. Sam also reached up and nudged her paws under his chin, because even though she was smaller, she wasn’t going to be a total pushover.

Philip led the way, heading off in a different direction of her earlier run, and she followed him. He had longer legs, but she kept up with eager speed and excitement, wondering just where he was taking her. Before long the house and the road were out of sight and they were up into the hills, far from any signs of civilization. It was impossible to get away from people where she’d lived with her mother, but in minutes the two wolves were so remote that the forest might as well have been growing on another world.

The large white wolf stopped, bounding up with spry steps onto a thick slab of shining white stone. He melted and in moments he was sitting on its edge, his bare legs dangling down. “You’re quick for being so small,” he told her, looking down at her. “You’ve had some practice.”

Sam took a moment to slide back into her skin again. It was enough of an effort now that she was panting when she sat on a thick bed of brown and green pine needles at his feet. “It took me almost a year to learn how to change on my own,” she said, looking up at him. “I still can’t completely control it when the full moon comes.”

“That’s how it works: you’re stronger when the moon is full, but you can’t control the change as easily.” He made a flipping motion with both hands. “Our entire lives are controlled by it—nothing we can do but grit our teeth and deal with it.”

By that time Sam caught her breath, and carefully moved up to the rock he sat on. Setting her hands on the lip of it between his legs, she looked at him, and deliberately kept her eyes off of the flesh and black curls between his legs. “What else does it control?”

“Well…” He had a thoughtful look on his face.

“Hunger?” She let him ponder that for a second. “Desire, maybe?” Pushing up with both hands, Sam lifted herself up to his level, face to face, brown eyes to blue. “That’s what the moon does to me—and it’s a full moon soon.”

“Samantha—”

“That’s why you were still in bed this morning, wasn’t it? You had to change last night, too—like me.”

He nodded.

“At first, I used to run myself to exhaustion to burn off the urges—the need.” She crawled up onto the stone’s edge, enough that she had to slide back to give her room. “It’s how you stay fit, how you keep the desires away. I’m right, aren’t I?”

He was leaning back on his hands—vulnerable, exposed. Sam was so close to him now that she wanted to reach out and touch him, run her hands all over his body. He just looked so good.

“But what if…what if you had another outlet?” Sam lowered her eyelashes, leaning in closer, letting him feel her warm breath across his lap. “Another way to handle things? Or—”

“Samantha.” Philip took a heavy breath. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t.”

That was a preview of Touched by the Moon: A Southern Paranormal Romance. To read the rest purchase the book.

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