The next few weeks are spent in a dizzy haze, typical of budding relationships. My gloriously carefree Derry bubble gives me hope things might work out for us and potentially even for me. While I’m hesitant to trust the light at the end of the tunnel—it’s likely just a train coming—I allow myself to be happy.

I have no disillusions the road ahead of me will be smooth, yet I’m prepared to handle the bumps. You have seat belts now, Superego says warmly.

I continue running twice daily, though Derry’s presence eliminates any lingering issues with my self-control. Ryan was right about releasing my emotions. It has a more profound drainage effect on my energy than exercise, slowing it down…or using it up. Potayto. Potahto. Connor joins Brody and me on most occasions. While Molly’s wafted Pine and Ginger alerts me to her proximity, she doesn’t present herself. Since her chomp services aren’t presently required, I leave her to creepy peep, uncontested.

As punishment for their poor judgment in letting me play with my fire, Phelan ordered them to spend two weeks avoiding their creature forms. It’s been hard for them. It’s been equally hard feeling how much it bothers them. I don’t voice my complaint as I’m the reason for their grounding, but I did suggest on a few occasions for them to sneak a shift in. They explained that they can’t disobey directives once their commander gives an order.

“Are you running tonight?” Brody splashes my track pants by jumping in a giant puddle, washing away his lingering Acacia and Ash scent. Rude.

“Probably not.” I stop to wring out the sludge. “It’s Declan’s big debut. He and Kiley have been working like crazy on their songs. Can’t miss it. You coming?”

“Connor would feel left out.”

“Can’t he switch with Molly? It’s not like she’s coming to the show.”

“They’re both on rounds.”

“Why both?”

“Human legs are slow.”

Connor wasn’t able to join us this morning. He was tasked with perimeter rounds again. They take four times as long in human form, leaving little time for anything else. Phelan doesn’t like to leave the area unguarded in case any new arrivals come to experience all the wonders that are me, but I believe that’s a waste of resources. The only people interested in finding me already did. However, it isn’t my place to argue Phelan’s methods, so I don’t. I’m not a strategist, and I’ve stepped on enough toes as far as the Sentry is concerned. Also, Phelan’s scarier than Molly, which is really saying something.

“So, why a hybrid wolf-bear? Why not a cat-horse? Does it matter what kind of animal you are?”

“We can shapeshift into any warm-blooded ‘walking’ animal. Cats are more independent. Canines collaborate better in a pack. We need the pack order to function properly as a unit. Molly prefers a black panther but only uses it on solo scouts. The bear piece is because…well, bear. It’s a size thing.”

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“You’re bigger than bears.”

“That’s the elemental magic at play.”

“Can you talk to each other in creature form?”

“Yep.”

“Can you talk to her if she’s a big cat and you’re the dog thing?”

“Sort of,” he hedges. “It’s not the same as being multilingual. If I was a cat, and Connor was a cat, I could understand him perfectly. If he was a mouse, I couldn’t.”

“Plus, you’d want to eat him.”

He laughs. “Nope, doesn’t work like that. While there’s some natural animal instinct, we can tell the difference. As you’ve seen, it isn’t like being a regular animal. It’s something more.”

“Definitely more. How can you tell the difference?”

“By the smell.” He sniffs dramatically. “For instance, you have a distinct cinnamon smell mixed with tuberose. It’s duller in human form.”

“Not jalapeño powder?”

He snorts. “As if I’m sniffing that to compare.”

“You could try a bite instead.”

“Did you want me to have a lick and let you know?”

“Would you?” My sincerity immediately curbs his amusement. “I’m not after you eating me. I swear! I just mean, could I feed you without you killing me? Don’t you need energy?”

“I wouldn’t trust myself to try.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “We get our energy from missions.”

“Hmm. Should I ask how?”

His brow slams down. “No.”

I don’t press the matter.

“How often do you have to recharge?”

“Depends on how much energy we use.” He tilts his head to the side, seeing if I’ll be content with his vague response. Of course I’m not, so he continues. “Once every few months.”

“At the bonfire…” Phelan fed from my fire fuel. I gladly gave it. I’ll give them all some if it’s a possibility. “Phelan drew energy from me, right?”

“Yes.” Brody flinches like I’ve poured salt in an open wound.

“It didn’t hurt me or anything. It’s the least I can do, being you’re keeping the world safe from me.”

“We’re not charged with protecting the world, Sheyla. We’re charged with protecting you.”

I shrug. “Semantics.”

He cracks his knuckles. “Anyway, that’s why Connor’s still so young-looking. We have the choice to revert to a normal life, a human life. As long as he’s actively recharging, he won’t age. Technically, choice isn’t the right word.” They’re all young, but Connor seems abnormally young, no more than fourteen or fifteen.

“Why would anyone choose to be anything other than human?”

“During our conversion, we get a tiny taste of the thing that’s taken our energy. It’s like trying to hold onto something sweet and sticky. Even when you let go, you can taste it on your fingers. It’s addictive. Either we cater to the addiction to fuel ourselves or submit to a wicked withdrawal.”

“Survivable withdrawal?”

He grimaces. “Not so much.”

“He’s stuck as a kid forever?”

“He’s aged since he converted. They minimize his intake every once in a while, but it’s dangerous. Mostly, they leave it up to him. He gets a bit older each time he prolongs the intake. He’ll stop fighting it once he gets to whatever age he thinks is old enough.”

“Can you fight it off completely?”

He blows out a frustrated breath. “It’s the same as any addiction. With enough endurance, you might overcome it.”

“You’re choosing to be what you are?”

He grunts. “Yes and no.”

I don’t need him to fully spell it out. He’s anxious talking about it, meaning this is no ordinary addiction. Far from it, predictably. The withdrawal could kill him. Is it any different than me resisting the urge to transition? Maybe they just don’t want it bad enough to make the suffering worth it.

“Phelan fed from me.”

“Why do you think he’s avoided you like the plague?”

“Because I taste like jalapeño.”

He laughs again. “He’s trying to justify what he did but feeling guilty. As for tastes, supplementing would be more like choking down Brussels sprouts.”

“Phelan didn’t have a choice. Someone had to keep me from blowing the place sky-high. Forcing down a vegetable seems a fitting punishment, yeah? That makes it even more obvious he was forced into it. No one would do that by choice.”

“That’s what I said!” He grins from ear to ear.