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And then we were sort of on each other, not kissing or anything but with our noses in each other’s necks, both of us pulling in lungfuls of each other’s scent.

It freaked my mom out.

First, she yelled at us to stop it, and I heard her, and I also knew that whatever it was I was doing with this boy that I didn’t know at all, it was weird, and that I should stop, but I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to.

Then, my mother grabbed onto me and pulled me off of Damian, who reached for me, seizing my wrist, and they had a little tug of war over me for a few minutes before I turned, shoved my mother off, and went back to him.

Then, my mother screamed my father’s name. “Andy!” she yelled. “Andy, get up here now.”

My dad knew what it was. My dad was a wolf, and he’d seen this kind of thing before. “It’s a scent match, Margo,” he told my mom. “It means she’s an omega.” He made me shift.

Right there, in the living room, he pulled my wolf right up my spine and she exploded through my body and ripped my clothes and I stood there, panting, on the floor, in wolf form.

My mother screamed. She never liked it when I was in wolf form. I think it freaked her out on some primal level, thinking she’d given birth to an animal or something. I know she didn’t mean to think that, but I didn’t think she could help it.

I didn’t really like it either, but it had sort of broken the spell between Damian and me.

Damian stood there, in our living room, rubbing a hand over his mouth, apologies tumbling out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was. I didn’t mean to do that. I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. I’m sorry.”

My dad put a hand on his shoulder and said it was all right, and that we needed to talk to cyning of the pack out here, probably, and that Damian should go home and my dad would make the calls.

We ended up out there in Opal’s dad’s study in a few hours.

We ate dinner first.

That was also the first time I met Opal, who was very curious about everything, hanging on the periphery when we came into her house.

Most cabins on the river were small, but this one was huge. It was up on stilts, but the stilts weren’t wood but thick metal, making the house look like a fortress built into the cliffside. Above, it had a wraparound porch that went around the entire structure, which was all covered in floor-to-ceiling windows. Due to it being on stilts, its footprint wasn’t confined to sitting on the ground, so it was bigger than it had any right to be, sprawling out in all directions, taking up space against the skyline. It was a formidable house.

Inside, it was decorated in a subdued and tasteful style. The house had an elegant dignity that bespoke wealth.

When my dad and I got there, we greeted the cyning, Opal’s dad, who shook hands with both of us, and told us that Damian was already waiting for us in the study. The cyning ignored Opal, but she didn’t ignore me. I remember she smiled at me, a reassuring smile, a friendly smile.

“Go check on your mother, Opal,” her dad told her.

Opal turned to look at her dad, knitting her brow together.

Her father nodded meaningfully in the direction of the door.

Opal did not move a muscle, simply folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, looking imperious.

“Opal,” said her dad.

She obviously wanted to stay, but she didn’t. She glared at her dad, but she did what he said. She left the room, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder.

Then we went into the study, a room with wood paneling and a big, imposing desk, and a mounted deer head on one wall. There were also big windows with a view of the river, but there were views in every room in this house.

Damian was already in there, sitting on a chair, all hunched up. Vincent was there, too, but he was standing behind Damian, arms folded over his chest, features furrowed.

It happened right away again.

Damian and I were in each other’s arms. He was running his nose up and down my neck and then further down, into my armpit, actually, which should have been gross, but it wasn’t.

I was pretty freaked out about all of this.

However, whenever I was close to Damian, the fear faded away, blotted out by the scent of him. I felt safe when I was engulfed in his scent. I felt like he was home, that he was a home I had never known, but that I belonged with him in a way that I’d never belonged before. I sniffed him all over too. I touched him. I touched his shoulders and his chin and his chest.

Then my father and the cyning got in between us, firmly separating us.