Wild Rising

Chapter One

The smallest of the big cats, the puma, stared at me with sea-gold eyes through the clear walls of his glass enclosure. His rust-brown body lounged on the rocks, paws tucked under his chest, as sun and shadows flickered sinuously across his fur.

His ears twitched as noisy groups of people passed by.

Staring at the elegant, languid form, I restrained the purr that threatened to erupt from my throat. I only meant to observe and learn. I didn't want to agitate him. He couldn't smell me through the glass but if I made a feline noise, he would lose it.

I'd learned, after observing different pumas in different zoos over the years, that it was too painful to watch them react to me, to recognize me. I wanted to learn, yes, but I didn't want to hurt the animals while I did so.

I brimmed with curiosity and bewilderment, but they were only trapped creatures, and I wasn't cruel.

Watching his large paws knead the rock, his claws catching and releasing, I sank into the moment. I wondered if my claws flexed like that when I shifted.

When I changed into my animal form during the full moon, I retained no sense of my human self and when I changed back at dawn, I never remembered being a puma, hence my total fascination when I had the chance to observe one.

As I left the zoo, I checked my phone and saw the moving company's confirmation. They'd be at my apartment next week to take my belongings to my next duty spot. My heartrate sped up and my mind rioted with possibilities. I couldn't believe I'd finally nailed my dream job. I was officially a Yellowstone National Park Ranger. I rubbed my hands together in glee.

WALKING quickly through the gray and purple twilight, I ignored the footsteps behind me. It was D.C. after all, of course people walked here and there. It didn't mean anyone followed me in particular.

That was wrong. I knew the footsteps followed me specifically.

I'd made a mistake visiting the zoo that day. I couldn't help it; I liked to watch the big cats—I'd sit in the shade and stare at their enormous paws and their wide, yawning mouths, and I'd imagine myself doing those same puma behaviors under the moonlight.

Sometimes, however, the D.C. wolf pack members liked to hang out at the zoo too. I'd seen them there before and I knew that meant I shouldn't come again.

Now, I would pay for that lapse. Or they would.

I quickened my pace, snapping my fingers twice to call my puma to the surface before inhaling the city air deeply into my nostrils. I sifted through the different scents, classifying them. I didn't have a great sense of smell, even when I accessed my puma nature, but I had a decent one, and I couldn't mistake the stench that followed me—wolf shifters, stinking of wet dog fur, musky wildness, and, a little bit of blood.

They'd already had fun that evening and now they wanted to continue their revelry. Well, they could look somewhere else. To them I smelled like their favorite enemy, but I wasn't, not really. If they attacked me, I would be seriously hurt. Or they would all die violently and gruesomely. There was no middle ground when my Beast came to play.

I glanced down the alley to my right. It appeared empty, except for some tall boxes. Perfect.

Abruptly, I darted down the dark space and crouched behind the largest of the boxes. No need to cause a big fuss if they passed me by. Just because I felt paranoid, didn't mean everyone was after me. Wait, I had that wrong.

I thought back to reading Catch-22 in my high school English class. "Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they aren't after you." Oh yeah. Very prophetic, I said to myself as the shifters ducked into my alley, looking alert. They were definitely after me.