Lycan avoided disturbing the peace of the wood wherever possible. It wasn't just out of respect; it was pack culture, our way of life. Yet, that night, there was nowhere indoors vast enough to contain our emotions.

The flicker of anger and pain I'd glimpsed in Alison's eyes told me she needed to get out of that cabin. I'd only just arrived, I'd barely spoken three words, and she'd burst past me and fled into the trees. As her clothes fell to the floor and her fur blossomed over her pale skin, she yowled. My heart ached watching my love in pain; my brow furrowed, and fresh tears sprung. This was all my fault, and it hurt. I'd turned to chase after her when Eli appeared in the hallway. He'd heard his mother's cry and come to her aid; instead, he found me.

"Dad? What's wrong with Mom?"

"Oh, hey, bud'" I sniffled, pinching the dampness crying had brought away from my nose. "She's just got a lot on her mind at the moment. Don't worry, okay?"

Slowly, he nodded, but his eyes didn't accept my answer. I'd known for a long time that his adolescence bore curiosity; he'd begun to doubt if I always knew best or if everything I said was a white lie. These days, my lies were grey, haunting ghosts.

"Are you gonna go after her?" Eli asked, taking one step closer to the doorway.

"I'll give her a minute to calm down." I said, "Is everyone else home?"

"Lottie's bathing Emma, but Benji's playing with the neighbour kids out back."

"Alright, you go back inside and look after your sister's, I'll go talk your Mom around." I'd lied again; there would be no talking her around, but I'd try. How was I supposed to tell my boy that I was the reason for the gaping hole in our family? He was barely sixteen and already the man of the house in my absence. The reason I didn't live in the cabin with them wasn't because of my work, because I needed to barrack with the other guards, it was because his mother couldn't bear to look at me, because of all my lies.

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Alison's familiar, feminine scent made her easy to find amidst the bark and ferns. I caught sight of her, still graceful, though she frantically padded through the undergrowth. On the edge of the clearing, she came to rest. Silently, standing in her Lupine form, she stared up at the night sky between the leafy boughs of the canopy, her buff-coloured coat catching moonbeams. As I approached, her form shrunk, her fur slinked off her skin to reveal a curvaceous and equally elegant woman. Her swathe of waist-length blonde hair curled at the dimples on her back.

"How could you? How could you tell me you miss me?" She choked, peering back over her shoulder. Pain trickled down her cheeks as tears that I joined her in.

"Because I do." I shrugged, at a loss. "I miss you so much I can't sleep at night."

"You can't sleep because you feel guilty, Nate."

"I know." I put my head in my hands. "I do. But please... please let me come home?" I begged, clasping my hands in prayer before my quivering lips. With nothing left to lose and my pride long gone, I would've got down on my knees and kissed her feet if she'd asked me to.

She grimaced, fresh tears bursting from her eyes. "I can't." Her breath caught. "I can't pretend. I'm not as good an actor as you." Helplessly, she yowled again, looking away, whether to hide how hard she was weeping or because she couldn't bear to look at me. Maybe both. "I wish you hadn't told me. Oh God, I wish I didn't know. It's been two years, and it still kills me. Why couldn't you just keep on lying?"

"I didn't lie. I told you the truth."

"Omission is just as much a lie." She spat, her eyes found mine again, glaring. "What made you say it? After sixteen years of marriage, Nate, what made you finally say it?"

"It was the first time you'd asked me point blank. I was as surprised as you were."

We hadn't had sex in eighteen months; kisses had been fleeting pecks, and that was even if I dared approach her lips. Laying in bed one night, a moment after I'd turned out the bedside lamp, Alison had whispered a question into the dark that had weighed down her heart since the birth of our daughter, Emma.

"Do you find me sexually attractive?" and I'd answered, "No."