I hit upon a pile of underthings pretty quickly and pull them out by the handful. This is a treasure trove. Undergarments are hard to find. I’ve only had a handful in my adult life, making it necessary to wash them every day. Here, I’ve found at least twenty different sets, and it’s hard to restrain myself from taking everything. I limit myself to two bras and six pairs of panties. It’s still more than I’ve ever had, and as long as I’m careful about my shifting, it ought to be more than enough.
I find a pair of blue jeans and pull them on, as well as a t-shirt, and over that, a hoodie. It’s an undeniable relief not to be naked anymore.
I trust myself to wake up at any sound. I’ve always been an alert sleeper. So I don’t hesitate to push the clothes on the floor together into a sort of nest and crawl into it.
I definitely haven’t found myself a long-term home. But at least this place is warm and sheltered. I’m safe for tonight. In the morning, I’ll figure out what comes next.
I can’t believe this actually happened.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling above me.
I’ve dreamed of my own mating night ever since I was a little girl. The night I would be paired with the man who would become the father of my children. I never doubted that everything would go well. I was so confident that I even believed without question that I’d be the one to carry children successfully. I saw no other possible future.
I think of my mother, who died giving birth to her stillborn baby when I was nine years old.
Whatever is going on with me, she knew something about it.
It’s the reason she never wanted me to ask questions about my father. It has to be. She didn’t want the truth to get out.
Well, it’s out now. And I’m going to have to figure out a way to deal with it.
Chapter 7
EMLYN
Somehow—Ihavenoideahow—I manage to sleep.
I dream, vaguely, about Victor. It’s one of those dreams where I know it’s him even though I don’t actually see him. I’m aware of his presence, mocking me, jeering at me. Rejecting me.
I wake up in a cold sweat, aching to go back to him, tormented by the fact that he’s nowhere near me and that I’ll probably never see him again.
I don’t want to see him again—and yet I’m craving him like oxygen.
I need to make a plan.
I need to know where I’m going.
And as that thought comes to me, I realize I already know where I want to go.
There’s one thing I’ve been preparing myself to do for my whole life, and that’s hunt Moon Casters. Whatever I am, whatever I’ve found out about myself, that doesn’t change. I’ve been training all my life, dreaming of being one of the greatest Moon Caster hunters who’s ever lived.
If I can get hold of one of them, take him prisoner, maybe I can get some answers about who and what I really am.
Before I leave the store, though, I’m going to see if I can find anything to bring with me.
I feel a connection to my mother as I wander through the wreckage, kicking things over as I go, looking for anything that might be useful. This must be what shopping trips were like for her. Looking for treasures to bring home.
In the first few years after the Lunar Reversal, places like this were raided for food and supplies. I wasn’t really a part of all that since I was a child at the time. I don’t have any memories of going through stores and taking what I needed. All my memories come from the years since the pack learned to be self-sufficient. Our clothes are made of animal hides, or else they’re garments that have been passed down from parent to child over the years. The tools we have are mostly things someone already owned when the Lunar Reversal took place. The pack shares almost everything now.
But I’m on my own. I have nothing. So I need to start gathering supplies.
The first good thing I find is a backpack. I unzip it and look inside. It’s pretty spacious, and it ought to hold several things without too much trouble. I stuff in the undergarments I found last night and sling it onto my back.
As I do, I make a fantastic discovery. In addition to shoulder straps, this backpack has two straps that buckle around the waist and the upper chest. I click them into place, noticing how they change the way the weight of the pack is distributed. If I were a human carrying something heavy, that would be helpful.
But I’m not thinking about this the way a human would.
If I adjust the straps just so, this backpack will stay on me even when I shrug my arms out of it. It will stay fastened around my torso—even when I’m in wolf form.