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down the passage while I creep silently out the backdoor. The light from the moon reveals I’m near the rear of the property, the outline of the mansion looming way too close for comfort. I angle deep into the woods, hoping to come out near my jeep parked along the main road.
    My beating heart thunders in my ears as I slip between the tree trunks, trying my best to make as little noise as possible. The urge to run as a wolf burns under my skin, tempting me to succumb to the raw fear pulsing through my veins to let the animal side take control of my safety. A shout sounds far behind me and it takes every ounce of restraint I possess to maintain human shape. I can’t waste time changing back to a human and I can’t drive in furry form.
    Increasing my pace, I emerge from the dense growth, unsure if I’m being pursued or if my overactive imagination fears the worst.
    Unwilling to waste any time finding out, I hightail it to my jeep. I’m seized by a momentary blinding panic when I realize my wallet, keys, and cell phone are missing from my pockets. What the hell was I thinking? That they wouldn’t search me and take my stuff? Sure, let’s kidnap someone and give them access to their car keys and cell phone, just to make things interesting.
    Fucking idiot!
    Relief surges through me as I recall the backup set. I lost my keys on a job site and had the foresight to stash a second set in the spare tire hanging on the back.
    I dig them out and scramble into the jeep, turning the engine over—the noise shockingly loud in the quiet night. I pull away from the side of the road, returning the way I came, when a figure steps out from the trees directly into the jeep’s path.
    I fumble in the darkness and turn on the headlights, flooding the night with the harsh blue-white of the halogen bulbs. The angry face of Cecil, fangs extended, fury etched in every feature, leaps into clarity, pulling a startled shriek from me.
    Instead of swerving, I punch the gas, heading straight for the son of a bitch. Hatred burns in his maddened gaze as he jumps to the side, just missing my front left fender. I floor it, getting the heck out as fast as I can, my pulse drumming loudly through my ears.
    Glancing constantly in the rearview mirror, I sigh in relief when I reach Route 7.
    Holy shit. What have I gotten myself into?
    It’s only when I cross the city limits into Leesburg does it hit me: that bloodsucker has my wallet and knows where I live.
     
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    I stop at my new apartment, throwing every piece of clothing and anything lying around into bags— including a handful of cash, my bills, and my passport—eager to get back on the road. How much time do I have? Where can I go? Leesburg is close to the West Virginia border. Maybe I’ll find a pack there willing to help.
    Once again, having no way to connect with fellow werewolves through an organized system leaves me at a disadvantage.
    You’re going to beat that dead horse over and over, aren’t you? You could call Romeo and ask for help, you arrogant bastard.
    Good point. And I will call him. When it’s broad daylight, where there’s no fear of some bloodsucking nightmare grabbing me in the dark, and after I buy a new phone. This is one of those few times in my life I see the need for a paper address book.
    Yeah, if you could find a working payphone.
    Some days, technology sucks.
    I drive through what remains of the night, adrenaline and fear pushing me hard. I stop in Charlestown, West Virginia near the Maryland border and check into a cheap roadside motel using the scrunched cash I found in my glove compartment and on the dresser in my apartment. I race into the rented room and immediately check all points of entry and exit—two windows near the door are the only way out. No windows line the back. Man, from now on I’m planning better. One lost wallet and cell phone and I’m up shit’s creek.
    Yeah, well how often do people get into situations involving a