A Breath of Fresh Air (Wolves of Lost Moon)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO

E very time I step outside it’s like a wall of heat hitting me. The doors of the cool pharmacy slide open, but instead of the joy I usually feel when I exit into the warm air — an exhilarating reminder that I’m here enjoying a holiday in sunny Australia — I just feel even more sick.

I grip the paper bag in my hands tighter, the box inside crumpling a little bit in my fist. No one knows what I’m holding but I feel like they do, every glance my way as I pass people on the street making me want to shrink away and hide.

It’s a relief, and at the same time terrifying, when I get back to my hotel room. I go directly to the bathroom, dropping the paper bag on the way, tearing open the box with shaking hands, swearing as I realise I’ve torn through half the instructions. Piecing them back together is easy enough, and really, it’s pretty bloody simple anyway.

Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line is negative, two lines means it’s positive.

Not even a minute goes by before two pink lines start forming. By minute three, they’re so strong they look red.

I sit on the hotel bed in stunned silence for a long time, that nausea ever-present in my gut.