I keep running. My heart hammers in my chest, so fast it feels like it’ll pop. My lungs burn. My feet ache and bleed, the flesh of my heels torn by hard rocks and sharp branches. I keep running. Under branches. Over logs. Through a slippery, slimy creek. I keep running.

And somehow, I make it.

The woods get thinner, the trees further and further apart. Eventually, I stumble into a grassy clearing and do an Olympic level face plant. The grass feels slick and cool on my face. Soft even. Maybe not bed-full-of pillows soft, but soft enough. I’d love to just lie here and catch my breath, but I know that’s impossible.

By the time I get to my hands and feet, the wolf boys have caught up to me. The White Wolf is few seconds behind, trotting towards me with a savage grin. Taking her time.

Why all the running? Her whispers echo in my skull. Were you trying to lure us to this place.

This place as she calls it is the abandoned lumberjack camp. Lit only by the crescent moon, the cabins are even creepier that the last time I was here. You can’t see the spiderwebs covering every square inch. But with all the thick shadows, the rotting buildings look like monstrous faces, with long cracked windows for evil eyes. The sagging roofs make me think of sharp scowling eyebrows. The piles of dirty dry pine needles are like rough patches of hair. A breeze sweeps into the camp, whistling through the dead, black trees.

Answer me. The White Wolf stalks closer. The wolf boys begin to circle me, fur bristling on their backs. Is this your pathetic idea of a trap?

“No,” I say. But the word catches in my throat and come out like a cough. Slowly, my trembling hand slides beneath the strap of the army backpack. I shrug my shoulder, trying to ease the strap loose. “I just didn’t want sister to see me change.”

Oh really? Then what’s in the bag, Kat?

I freeze. My hammering heart hits the brakes and comes to a full stop. “Nothing.”

The wolf prowls a bit closer. Saliva drips from her gleaming fangs. Do you think I am some stupid pup? I can smell the silver from here.

“I don’t know what you’re…” I never finish my sentence. Instead, I rip the pack off my shoulder and thrust my hand inside. I am about to yank it out of the bag when a wrecking ball of fur and muscle and bones slams against me, sending me stumbling to the ground. It’s one of the wolf boys. While I clumsily tumble across the dirt like a dizzy toddler, he lands gracefully on his paws.

The bag flops open and my secret weapon slides out into the moonlight—not so friggin’ secret anymore. It’s my dad’s basketball trophy from a million years ago. A shiny little guy stands on the trophy’s base. Back then, when you won the state championship, they gave you a special trophy, one created by the Silver Rush Mining Company.

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The trophy is made of silver.

The White Wolf sniffs in the trophy’s direction but keeps a few paces back. They sure don’t like getting close to the stuff. What were you going to do with this? Did you plan to stab me with it?

She prowls closer and closer then leaps up onto a thick tree stump. Perched there, she reminds me of a creepy stone gargoyle, always on watch. I step backwards, towards the run-down cabins. But I never take my eyes off her. The fur on her back begins to get all spikey. Salvia drips from her fangs as she lets out a low growl.

Stab me?! Her whispers grow louder and louder inside my skull. Did you really believe I would allow that to happen?

I back away even further and feel my heel bump against rough and scratchy. It’s the wooden porch around one of the lumberjack’s cabins. Something is chattering in the dark. I soon realize it’s my own teeth. I suck in a deep breath and watch the White Wolf on the stump, crouching low, her legs flexing.

Ready to pounce.

“Wait.” I put my hands up, like I’m surrendering. “Did you notice something?”

The Wolf doesn’t leap at me, not yet. Instead, she pauses and squints in my direction. What did you say?

“My dad’s trophy. Notice anything about it?”

The White Wolf throws a suspicious glare my way then turns and gazes at the shining trophy lying in the dirt. What are you talking about?

“Look closer, I say.”

She hops off the tree stump and pads over a few steps, cocking her wolfish head to one side. Then her whole body goes tense. I know she sees it.

My dad’s trophy is missing its arms.

She has just enough time to whirl back at me and bare her teeth, before something whips through the air and stops her in her tracks. The White Wolf yelps and tumbles to the dirt. She stumbles on unsteady legs before finally getting to her paws. Then she falls again, whining and thrashing. An arrow sticks out of her side. Bright red blood paints her white fur.

The wolf boys scamper to help her. They run so fast their paws kick up dirt and pine needles. Then a voice stops them cold.

“Get back!” Justin steps out from behind a tree, holding a bow in gloved hands. He has an arrow pulled back and ready. Moonlight gleams off the twisted arrowhead. Justin had replaced the normal one with a two-inch length of silver—one of the arms of my dad’s basketball trophy. The other silver arm was lodged in the White Wolf’s hide. Two arrowheads, that’s all Justin could make in such a short amount of time. He had to wear heavy leahter gloves to do it, quickly filing the silver to a point and attaching it to the arrow shaft. Even in with the gloves, his skin burned and his eyes welled up with tears. Gripping the bow now, Justin squints, his eyes looking red and irritated being so close to the metal.

Snarling, the wolf boys snap their fangs at the empty air, but they don’t get any closer. Justin backs them off, taking aim at one wolf, then the other. The wolf boys sniff the air as they retreat. They look confused.

“You like my new scent, boys?” Justin asks.

Lavander! The voice whispered. The White Wolf had quit thrashing around and crawls now, baring her fangs in rage. Blood leaks out of the arrow wound and darkens the ground. You stole my perfume!

“Had to cover my scent somehow,” says Justin. “Couldn’t have you sniffing me out while I was hiding. It was Kat’s idea.”

I pull the little perfume bottle from my pocket and toss it at the Wolf. She flinches as the glass shatters against a rock a few feet from her snout.

Very clever, Kat.

The White Wolf sounds ragged, like she’s having trouble breathing. Growling in pain, she twists around and snatches the arrow shaft with her teeth. With one angry yank of her head, she tears the arrow free and spits it out. The arrow bounces twice and comes to rest in the dirt.

But clever won’t save you.