Isaac pulls me farther around the back of the house and we come to a barn, fairly new. I can smell the heavy scent of freshly cut wood and paint which the red door had recently been painted with.

“Do you hear anyone inside?” Isaac says, crouching with me still in the cover of the trees.

“In the barn?”

“No,” he says with a hint of laughter, “the house.”

I listen for voices and movement, but all that I can hear this closely is the purring of a cat.

I shake my head no.

Isaac points toward a part of the back of the house, just off to the side near the deck that looks like a small add-on room.

“Do you smell it?”

I look at him confusedly, wishing he would start elaborating his questions more.

“Coming from that room,” he says, “do you smell the detergent?”

I inhale deeply and shut my eyes, thinking only of that room and I do smell detergent strongly, along with fabric softener and dryer sheets. Normally, stuff like that always gives me intense headaches, but not this time. It’s as if I’m immune.

“Yeah, I do smell it,” I say and I’m starting to understand what his plan is.

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand again.

My heart is pounding in my chest as I follow him out into the open and toward the back of the house where the laundry room waits for us. We duck behind a large tractor, stop to look around to make sure no one is outside and then when Isaac feels it safe to continue, we dash across a long stretch of yard and make it to the high deck. I hear the cat purring inside more clearly now and I look up to notice a white fluff-ball curled up inside next to the window, sleeping. We inch our way around the deck and make it to the laundry room. He tries the knob, but it’s locked. I hear both the washing machine and dryer humming inside.

I start to say something about needing a key, but just before the suggestion leaves my lips, the doorknob cracks and falls into Isaac’s hand, broken.

“Isaac!” I whisper harshly. “Why’d you break it?”

He turns at the waist to look at me. His gaze strays up and down my nak*d body, the grin on his face getting bigger. “As much as I like what I see,” he says, “if we don’t hurry and get dressed we run the risk of being found like this.”

“Oh, right,” I say, now wanting to speed this theft up.

The laundry room door creaks open and we slip inside the tiny room barely large enough to contain both of us at the same time. Isaac pulls open the dryer and a mound of clothes tumble round and round before coming to a full stop. A few pieces of clothing fall out and onto the floor. We both crouch low and start sifting through the items, which I’m glad are fully dry already.

Isaac jerks out a pair of tan slacks and holds them up, but he doesn’t examine them long before he’s slipping his nak*d legs down into them.

“Hurry up,” he says, motioning toward the dryer.

Gah! It’s mostly old lady clothes! One by one I pull out something hideous and flowery, not to mention oversized by at least two sizes. Holy shit, is that a moo-moo? Embarrassed to even be holding something so un-sexy in front of Isaac, I shove it deep into the dryer.

“Someone’s here,” Isaac says peeking around the door. “Hurry up!”

My heart beats even faster now and the nervousness is starting to make me a little nauseous. I’m not sure which scares me more: getting caught stealing someone’s laundry, or getting caught butt-naked stealing someone’s laundry.

“Adria,” Isaac says from above, still watching from the door, “this isn’t a fashion show. Doesn’t matter what it looks like, just grab something, quick.”

Without thinking about it, I reach inside and yank out whatever my hand touches first, hoping like hell it’s not the moo-moo.

A cream-colored granny slip-gown. Great. Just great. It’s almost as bad as the moo-moo, but Isaac’s right, there’s no time to be picky.

I practically throw the gown over my body and feel how it literally engulfs me, falling past my h*ps and stopping just above my ankles.

Isaac glances back at me. “Damn, you’re sexy,” he says, trying to hold in the laughter.

I glare at him, letting him know I won’t forget that and he’ll be paying for it later.

As we go to leave, the back door opens up onto the deck and an old lady with bluish-purple hair steps out, looking right at us. I sort of freeze and so does Isaac.

“What—Hey! What are you doing with my clothes?” The woman’s eyes dart around the deck and then she waddles quickly over to the mop and takes it into her hand.

“Time to go,” Isaac says, dragging me along.

We take off running across the yard and back toward the forest.

“Stop! Bring those back! I’m calling the police!”

I can hear the old woman trying to run after us, but she gives up and stops once we dart into the cover of the trees.

I’m laughing manically. I can’t help it, but that kind of rush does weird things to a person.

We run a good distance through the forest and I realize that I should be out of breath by now. I should be sweating, or feeling something to indicate I’m overworking my body, but minutes later and I still feel the same as I did before I started running. Finally, we come to a stop near another makeshift trail that looks to lead right toward a highway; the sound of cars passing over an exit bridge seems closer. And with my keener sight I can see a set of railroad tracks far out ahead.

“Never thought I’d be the one to figure it out first,” I say, holding the thin fabric of the ugly gown at my back hoping to make it look tighter around my form.

Isaac looks at me curiously and I just grin.

“Werewolves have been the cause of missing clothes on laundry day all this time,” I say. “All of those frickin’ socks!” I shake my head.

Isaac rolls his eyes and laughs under his breath.

“I don’t think socks are going to help cover much,” he says, “so I doubt that explains the Great Sock Disappearances.”

“Oh yeah?” I say, cocking my head to one side. “I take it you’ve never seen a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert before then?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he says, and judging by the grin, he’s fully aware of the sock-wearing-capade I’m referring to.

We leave the path and make it to the railroad tracks. The highway stretches southeast out ahead and it’s obvious we’re closer to a town by all of the houses, churches and various other sorts of buildings I see just past the highway. Cars buzz by every few seconds.

“We can’t walk two more hours back to Hallowell dressed like this,” I say, looking down at myself. “Well, you could get away with it, but me…not so much.”

Isaac is still trying so hard to hold back his laughter, but he might as well let it all out and get it over with because he couldn’t be any more obvious, really. And he does look hot, even wearing some old guy’s khaki slacks. They fit him perfectly and rest at just the right measure down low on his hips, revealing the sculpted curvature of his waistline, six-pack abs and bellybutton where a little happy trail hides below the top button.

But me, on the other hand, I am about as mortified and embarrassed as I’ve ever been dressed in this gown and looking like I just spent a rough night in the woods.

“You stay here,” he says and instantly my brows crease with objection, “and I’ll go over to that gas station and call Nathan to come pick us up.”

An hour and a half later, Nathan is pulling up along the side of the road and we’re hopping in the back seat of his FJ Cruiser. Harry is with him, as I had a feeling he might be.

“Damn, girl,” Nathan says after turning around in the front seat to see me sitting in the middle next to Isaac. “Not even you can do that gown justice.”

“Shut up, Nathan,” I say, gently hitting the back of his seat.

Nathan grins back at Isaac. “We were starting to get worried, bro.” He puts the Cruiser in gear and we pull away.

“That’s an understatement,” Harry says from the front passenger’s seat. “How did she get out, anyway?”

Isaac sighs heavily next to me and I feel his arm tighten around my waist.

“She just did,” Isaac answers and I can hear the irritation in his voice.

Harry was sort of overprotective of me even long before he found out that he’s a Praverian and that I’m his Charge. But now, ever since he went through his Becoming not even a month ago and everything was revealed to him, that overprotectiveness has definitely gone up a few notches.

“You all know I’m sitting right here, right?” I say. “How did I get out—you’re talking about it like I’m an animal or something.”

All three of them look right at me with grins and raised brows—Nathan from the rear-view mirror—and I shrink back into the seat. An animal. Of course. Talk about sticking my foot in my mouth.

Oh my God…I’m an animal. I’m a werewolf. It’s already my second time shifting, but I think I still have a long way to go before all of this will completely sink in.

Isaac pulls me closer. “How do you feel?” he says, and I can sense the gentle smile in his voice because he knows I must feel fantastic.

I tilt my head to see his eyes. “I feel…powerful.” It seemed a little weird to say that word, almost as if it were ridiculous, but it’s absolutely true. I feel like I can do anything: scale a high wall with ease, rip a phone book in half with my bare hands. I feel like I can fight anyone with no fear, but instead with complete and total confidence that I will win…well, humans anyway. I’m nowhere near confident when it comes to other werewolves. But I’m not the slightest bit afraid of the prospect. And that in itself is amazing to me.

Fear. That’s it…I have absolutely no fear. None….

“Powerful and crafty,” Harry says with a little playful mockery in his tone. “It’s only her second time and already she’s outwitting the Alpha boyfriend.”

I notice Isaac’s eyes narrow and I squeeze his hand, looking up at him with eyes that say, Baby, it’s just Harry. What do you expect?

He smiles faintly back at me, knowing I’m right.

“While we’re all alone,” Nathan says, “we need to get this whole thing about who Adria can talk to straightened out before we get back.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, “they’re all starting to talk—most of them aren’t buying the story about how Adria just needs time alone to deal with her new existence.”

“Rachel, for example,” Nathan says, “is coming up with all kinds of crazy stuff.”

“Like what?” I say, raising up and holding onto the back of his and Harry’s seats.

I hate Rachel. The feeling has always been mutual, but before, back when I was just a ‘weak, ghastly freak of a girl with a fantasy’ (that’s what Rachel called me the day I caught her with her tongue in Isaac’s mouth), I couldn’t say anything because she might try to kill me. Now that I’m on her level, I can defend myself and I’m looking forward to it.