Can he find his wild?


Forest scents hit Blaise with such clarity he wondered if this was what it was like to be on LSD. Wet moss, decaying bark, animal pheromones and the crisp freshness of a nearby stream. It was awesome. But how to dial it down? Had he known how to do so before the accident had screwed with his memory?

If he was going to accept this crazy theory, just how long had he been a werewolf? And had he been waking naked in lawns all his life?

“You ready for this?” Cady swung around the front of the car and took his hand.

Her grasp felt steadying. And he needed that as he spied the big man with broad shoulders—wielding an ax—walk around the side of the cabin.

“Blaise and Cady?” the man asked.

“Yes.” Blaise stepped before Cady to protect her. “You, uh…going to use that thing?”

The man shook his head and set the ax aside on the front stoop. “Sorry. Was chopping some wood for winter.” He offered his hand to Blaise to shake. “Jag Larson. Uh, you don’t remember me, do you?”

Blaise quickly retracted from the shake. “I…know you?”

“We met at the October Beer Fest a few years ago. And trust me, you are a wolf. So you’ve lost all memory of what you are?” Jag looked to Cady, who nodded confirmation. “Tough. You always were a lone wolf. Trying too hard to live in the humans world. Hiding behind your fancy suits and ties. So you need some answers?”

“Please,” Blaise said.

He knew the guy? And he was a lone wolf?

He squeezed his fingers together. That handshake? Yes, he’d felt something…familiar.


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