Free In Deep Shift: A Wolf Rampant spinoff serial (Bloodling Serial Book 2) by Aimee Easterling Page A

and letting everyone admire me—sounded like a pretty good life.
    For a moment, I allowed my mind to wander to thoughts of a life at sea. Had werewolves ever sailed the open ocean? If I found myself shipwrecked, would I be able to dive off the floating debris and catch a shark? Maybe hitchhike a ride on a dolphin while two-legged?
    "Wolfie?" Chase asked, bringing my attention back to our woodland patrol duty. "Are we going to hunt the stranger down or not?"
    Reluctantly, I allowed the imagined salt wind to fade, then I rolled my eyes in lieu of answering. Vanquishing a fifteen-year-old didn't sound like nearly as much fun as hunting sharks. So I just shook my head, squirted a solid stream of my own urine over top of the stranger's, and fell back down onto four legs before turning my nose toward home.
    And even though he clearly disagreed with my decision, Chase didn't push the topic. Instead, he followed suit, donning fur and trotting in my footsteps as we high-tailed it back toward our clan's little village. I could smell Tia's cookies baking from a mile away, and if we galloped, we were likely to arrive just as dessert came hot out of the oven.
     
    ***
     
    But the sight that greeted us back home was less enticing than the milk and cookies my companion and I had raced out of the woods to consume. Instead, we came shoving and yipping through the door...and stopped dead at the sight of our entire pack congregated within Tia's living room.
    There at the center of the drama stood my uncle Oscar, an envelope gripped between thumb and forefinger and his nose wrinkled up in distaste. He looks like a housewife lifting a trapped mouse by the tail before flinging it out the door , I thought. And then, despite the tense emotions of the shifters around me, my attention wandered off on a tangent. Mmmm, mouse. Their little bones crunch so deliciously, and their tender hearts taste like the world's freshest pâté....
    Actually, in wolf form, mouse sounded much nicer than cookies. Perhaps I had time before dinner to go out and rustle a few vermin out of the shed? Just an appetizer—it really wouldn't ruin my appetite for the main course....
    Chase's human hand fell lightly atop my lupine ears and I knew the gentle touch was meant to remind me of my role within the pack. Immediately, the memory of fresh mouse fled from my taste buds and a much less pleasant aroma wafted into my nostrils to take its place.
    Justin—blood brother. Just who I don't want to see. Or, rather—smell.
    I growled despite myself, eyes scanning the room before they fell upon the offending missive in my uncle's hands. Wasn't it just like my big brother to send a letter rather than facing me head on? I hadn't set eyes upon Justin for approximately a third of my life, but seven years didn't seem like nearly enough distance to place between us. What was the big hurry? Couldn't my big brother wait to see me at our next family reunion—you know, the one scheduled to occur when hell froze over?
    Taking a deep breath, I ignored my building irritability and curiosity and instead focused on the needs of my pack. In a perfect world, I would follow Chase's lead and turn two-legged so I could soothe the worried emotions swirling around me...and also so I could read the letter clenched in my uncle's hard grip. Because, even though my lupine nose could pick out Justin's signature aroma from several feet away, the words on the envelope seemed to scatter as I looked toward them, and I couldn't so much as read my own name.
    On the other hand, I knew that I wouldn't be able to provide the strength my pack needed if I regained humanity right then. Not with my unfortunate tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve while two-legged. I'd like to think that I'd matured enough to keep my temper in check around my worried pack mates, but I was bound to at least wince at my brother's taunt.
    Because taunt it must be. Justin would never send a letter just to shoot the breeze, nor would he