Heart pumping, lungs laboring and paws burning, Lodan Hunt hugged the final turn of the grueling forty-mile race. Sponsored by the West Coast elders, the trail of the annual cross-country race was over rugged terrain designed to challenge any werewolf. The first twenty miles were completed in human form, and then the participants shifted and finished the race on four legs.

Lodan had won the last two races. With this victory he’d hold a record, the only were to win for three consecutive years. Lodan wanted that record. His lead was slender, but solid. Several wolves were keeping pace, but Lodan was confident he had more than enough stamina to beat them in the final uphill stretch. Paws digging into the rough meadow grass, Lodan began his closing push. Nothing could stop him now.

Lights lined the final stretch and the enthusiastic pack members hovered along the makeshift rails. A blur of faces in human form, the crowd cheered, clapping and yelling out the name of their favorite. Arms waved before him and Lodan ducked his head. Fingertips slid along his spine, from neck to tail, leaving a shockwave in their wake. A whiff of she-wolf stung his nostrils. Heat spiked through him, piercing his brain and exploding in his chest.

The shock forced air from his lungs and threw him off-stride. His attention momentarily diverted, Lodan lost his concentration. His paw slipped, the lost momentum costing him dearly. A streak of gray fur came up on his right and shot past him. Lodan lunged forward trying to regain the lead, but to no avail. He’d lost.

After months of training, he’d lost in the last few yards. Lodan had no idea what had just happened, but the crescent birthmark on his right hip was on fire.

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