Chapter 2
TWO
Quin
Mabel whined at Quin, even as he scratched her head to placate her. He felt awful enough at leaving her so soon after adopting her, and the whining made it worse. However, having her close over the following nights posed too great a risk.
Louie—the young man whom Quin had hired to dog-sit Mabel—cooed at her from his doorway before addressing Quin. “What a sweet little lady you have there. Seems like she’ll miss you. Going anywhere nice?”
“Just out of town for a few days,” Quin said. “On business.” He knew he sounded cryptic but didn’t care. He knelt down, getting to eye level with Mabel, and pressed his forehead to hers, hands playing with her soft, honey-coloured ears. “It’s all right, Mabel. I’ll be coming back to get you soon.”
Her tail wagged half-heartedly.
Quin stood up. He dwarfed Louie, who wasn’t particularly short himself.
But Quin wasn’t just tall; he was big and wide and lumbering, and so he hunched his shoulders as he reeled off Mabel’s care instructions.
The last thing he wanted to do was intimidate the man he was relying upon to look after her.
“Oh, and she’ll need her daily grooming,” he added, once he’d finished relaying everything he’d learned over the past couple of weeks.
“Of course,” Louie said, head bobbing. “I’ve looked after several cocker spaniels before. And I don’t have any other animals booked in either, so she’ll be able to settle into the house just fine. No extra stressors.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Do you want to come in for a cuppa? Do a quick recce of the place to see if you’re happy with it?”
Quin checked the time. A good few hours till sundown, and he had plenty to do. Still, he could ensure the house was the right fit for Mabel. He’d seen the photos, but it wouldn’t hurt to see it in person. “Sounds good to me.”
Louie gave him a blinding smile, which Quin thought made him look like he was posing for a school photo.
Quin was unsure what exact age Louie was—old enough to run a successful doggy daycare with hundreds of positive reviews, but Quin presumed himself to have at least a decade on the sitter, which would put Louie at around his mid-twenties.
With Mabel at his heels, he followed Louie through the door. He hoped Mabel wouldn’t be too sad by the time he left. He’d always been a sucker for puppy-dog eyes. She’d pleaded him out of a lamb chop or two already, and he had to be mindful of the number of treats he gave her for simply existing.
Louie’s home might have been a former rental, given the ubiquitous magnolia paint on the walls.
Quin’s own place had the same yellow-white shade, and he detested it to his core.
He wouldn’t have thought of himself as someone to have many opinions on things like wall colour and carpeting, but that was because, until now, he’d never had to think about it for himself.
Instead of dwelling on why he was renting a dreadfully decorated house on the east coast of Scotland rather than living in North Wales with his pack, Quin focused on surveying the various animal amenities. Dog beds, water bowls, and toys of all types littered the living room.
Mabel settled onto the most garish of dog beds, a leopard print monstrosity large enough to fit a Great Dane.
Quin’s senses were heightened around the full moon, and he could make out the specific scents of over ten different animals that had been there recently, and even tell the breeds apart.
Chihuahuas in particular gave off a yeasty smell that Quin detested.
“What do you think?” Louie asked. “Mabel looks like she approves.”
“It’s great,” Quin said. He moved over to the sliding glass back door, checking out the well- kept garden.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Dash of milk and two sugars, please.”
The sofa creaked as Quin sat himself down in the spot nearest to Mabel.
He idly scratched Mabel’s head as he ran through his mental to-do list. He’d need to pop to the butcher’s first, though he wasn’t sure what he fancied.
Pork, perhaps. Then, he needed to pack a bag and head out into the middle of nowhere before the change hit.
He’d spent the past few weeks scoping out appropriate locations to spend the nights of the full moon.
Mabel was a handy excuse to be out wandering the woods and fields, and he’d found a few places that were far enough from civilisation that he could change without worrying about anyone spotting him.
“There you go,” Louie said, brandishing a mug with, Quin should have guessed it, a kitschy pattern of red and blue bones.
“Cheers,” he said, taking an immediate sip and regretting it as the liquid burned his tongue.
“Oh god, are you all right?”
Quin smiled through the pain. “It’s fine,” he said. The spluttering cough he let out gave the game away, however.
“I’ll go get you some water,” Louie said, bouncing up and going into the kitchen.
“Sorry I’m being such a bother!” Quin shouted after him, grimacing. His face grew warm with embarrassment at his own stupidity. Trust him to be unable to drink a cup of tea without ruining it.
Mabel was looking up at him with worried eyes. “It’s okay, girl,” he said. “I’m just being an idiot.”
Louie came back out in a hurry. “Here,” he said, shoving a glass of water into Quin’s hands. Quin almost dropped it—the glass was slick with moisture—before he steadied it with his other hand.
“Thanks,” he said, painting on a smile. The water soothed his mouth, even if he would have healed naturally from the scald in a short while.
He chatted some more with Louie, staying only long enough to be polite. After another hug with Mabel, he gave them both a wave and went on his way.
The butcher’s was old-school, with organised rows of red meat under the glass display units, interspersed with little sprigs of green plastic herbs. Quin’s nose twitched when he entered the shop, and he salivated as he inhaled the aroma.
“Afternoon,” the shopkeeper said. The man wore a navy and white striped apron, and his skin was of a similar shade to his fare. “What you in for?”
Quin blew out his cheeks as he surveyed the offerings: sausages, burger patties, thick cuts of bacon with enough fat to cause an immediate coronary. A tantalisingly large hunk of prime rib caught his attention, and he eyed the leg of lamb, until he decided.
“The pork shoulder, please,” he said, pointing to the cut of meat that was perfectly pink, and larger than his head. It would last him a while, for sure.
“How much you wanting?” the butcher asked, pulling it out.
“The whole thing.”
He got nary a raised eyebrow in response. The shopkeeper wrapped the meat in paper and string, tying it off in a jaunty bow before handing it over. “Enjoy.”
Quin fought to keep his voice under control. “I will. Cheers!” He might have sounded a little raspy, but nothing that would raise the alarm. And if he held the meat more closely to his chest than others might, then that was only his business.
Meat secured in the boot, he popped to the Co-op to grab some other supplies: bottled water (terrible for the environment, but a necessary evil for the convenience), energy bars (dry as a desert, but useful for a quick refuel when he changed back), and a ninety-piece bottle of spearmint chewing gum (because raw meat was awful for his breath).
He stuffed everything in beside his emergency bag, which he kept stocked up thanks to the time that, as teenagers, he and his cousin Sage had run out of petrol when attempting to go wild camping.
Quin’s dad ended up coming to rescue them.
Ever since sitting through the ensuing fond but firm bollocking, Quin had always driven with spare blankets, a medical kit, and a petrol can.
Happy with his purchases, he returned to his house with plenty of time to go until nightfall.
His good mood lasted until he saw the messages on his phone.
Several members of his family had texted, wishing him well.
It was a crash back to reality. They’d left him to it so far, giving him space to get settled, but apparently the moratorium on contacting him was over.
And, because Quin’s mood hadn’t been ruined enough, Lark had also messaged.
He stared down at the little preview of the text, not wanting to open it.
Since he hadn’t updated Lark’s contact photo, he was assaulted with an image of the two of them together.
Ignoring his churning stomach, Quin clicked on the photo, intent on changing it.
Compared to Lark, who had his chestnut hair tucked behind his ears, posing with his freckled face turned towards the camera, Quin looked unkempt.
Photo Quin had the same dark, overgrown beard he had at the moment, his hair in dire need of a cut.
The worst part, however, was the way he was looking at Lark; like Lark was the only thing in the universe worth staring at.
Quin wondered if Lark had ever looked at him with such desperate longing and unguarded affection.
It didn’t seem likely.
Because it was so out of the way, Quin had to park some distance from the spot he planned to use for his change. He’d make the same journey there and back three days in a row, as long as the space worked out.
The weather was mild, the sweet coconut scent of yellow gorse filling the air. As the evening drew close, Quin’s senses went haywire.
His skin itched, his bones ached, and his teeth throbbed. He’d been chewing gum all afternoon, which at least quelled the instinct to gurn. He toed off his shoes and socks, needing to walk barefoot for the last mile or so. Direct connection with the earth helped, but he couldn’t shake his edginess.
This was his first change without the pack.
Without the familiarity of home. Without the area being steeped in the scent of family.
His own decision, of course, made in a hasty and hungover moment the morning after drowning his sorrows over Lark.
A decision that made him question his own rationality.
It had been a statement: a way of wrestling back his sense of self.
Quin hadn’t felt in control of his life for longer than he’d like to admit.
The change would rip away that control from him, too.
Though only full for scant moments, the moon would draw his beast out of him, leaving him subject to his instincts and driven by his beast’s desires.
He strode through the trees of the forest he’d found, puffing out a breath. The area appeared untouched by human hands and had plenty of small critters for his beast to hunt once released. The meat he carried would go far in satisfying its hunger, but Quin knew that his beast also liked a chase.
Hefting his bag off his shoulders as he arrived at his new spot, he took out everything he’d need, setting it all down on a blanket. He ran his tongue over his teeth. It wouldn’t be long before the moon forced the change upon him, so he stripped and put away his clothing.
Quin didn’t have to wait. He felt it deep in his core first, a fire building within him that spread along his limbs.
He fell to the ground on his hands and knees, letting the searing waves wash over him.
Even twenty years on from his first change, it still felt as world-ending as it had the first time.
It was like his skin melted off his bones as his body broke and reformed in what seemed like an endless cycle.
The worst, as always, was his jaw. It unhinged and elongated itself to make space for the rows of teeth that sprouted in his mouth.
When Quin next opened his eyes, it was not Quin alone who scanned the area. His beast homed in on the pork shoulder that Quin had left out for it—them. They were both Quin and the beast. Separate but the same; together, but not.
Quin trundled over to the meat, settling himself down to gnaw at it. He’d kept it whole, knowing that even with a bite strong enough to crack bone, it would still take him a while to get through.
He took his time over the meat before lying down on the blankets, getting comfortable. Part of him missed his packmates. Pain throbbed in his chest when he thought about how he’d get to roughhouse with Sage, or race the others through the pack’s lands after deer.
His beast gave a mournful little whine towards the sky. Quin—the rational part of himself—tried to calm his beast. It wasn’t much use. His beast was experiencing something it hadn’t come across: complete and utter loneliness. It had never been just them before.
Stomach full, he forced himself to stay on the blanket.
The unfamiliar location didn’t allow for the security of taking a nap, even though he was the only predator in the area.
A family of foxes hid about three-quarters of a mile away, having stayed underground since Quin arrived.
The rabbits, mice, and squirrels weren’t as smart, drifting closer to him as they scurried along the forest floor, searching for food.
The rabbits would make an ideal midnight snack.
Then he detected a fresh scent in the air.
Quin lifted his snout, sniffing. Something else had entered the forest, something that smelled sweetly spicy, like cinnamon.
His ears pricked up at the cracking of twigs under soft footsteps.
A person, moving on two feet. Quin rose to his full height, turning towards them as they headed further east.
This was prey of a different kind.
An electric current ran through Quin’s body.
His fur stood on end. He took a few tentative steps, then paused as the wind turned, sending more of the person’s scent in his direction.
This time, he couldn’t help it. He lifted his head, reaching towards the moon. He howled, making his intentions known.
And then he broke into a sprint.