Prince of Shadows by Susan Krinard

Suddenly she understood. She couldn’t afford to let these crippling self-doubts paralyze her for even a moment longer. It would all become clear if she could only touch Shadow, confirm his reality and her own reason.

She held to that thought as she began to crawl toward him. He made not a single sound; his ears lay flat to the sides. But when she came within a few feet of him his hackles rose and he scrambled back, paws scattering lumps of snow.

“Shadow,” Alex whispered. Something beyond her conscious control drove her to pursue, casting aside every sensible precaution. She crawled closer; the wolf bared his teeth and trembled as she reached for the lush fur of his mane.

The moment her fingers touched him a shock coursed through her body. It jarred her teeth and transmitted Shadow’s trembling along the nerves of her arm, tying her to him with invisible bonds of energy. Her thoughts grew fuzzy, clouded with images she could make no sense of and hadn’t the words to name.

With her fingers buried in Shadow’s pelt, Alex stared into his golden eyes. She had no astonishment left to spare when he began to blur again, the soft edges of his fur growing softer still, the black coiling and shifting like smoke. She clenched her jaw as the bizarre, indescribable sensations engulfed her hand and spread outward, blanking her mind to semiconsciousness.

The next thing she saw were the wild man’s eyes, and her own fingers clutched on his bare shoulder.

She knew then that it was real. She had felt it all the way to her bones.

Alex let her hand fall and rocked back, feeling as detached and pleasant as if she’d had several glasses of wine. Her mind didn’t want to fight facts, but it didn’t know what to do with the impossible.

The harsh sound of retching forced her gaze back to the man. He was doubled over, his arms wrapped around his middle and his black hair brushing the ground. Steam rose from the snow. When it was finished he lifted his head and turned away from her, covering the traces of sickness with slow deliberation.

Alex shook herself back to reality. What the hell was he? What kind of—creature could change from man to wolf and back again?

The answer was patently clear. Half the reference books on Alex’s shelves had sections on the wolf in mythology and legend. There was a word for what she had just seen, a definition for this supposedly imaginary condition.

Werewolf. A slavering creature that made meals of human beings and changed by the light of a full moon.

The fairy tales were real.

Alex jumped to her feet. A few long strides would carry her to the rifle. The man was fast, but he was still down in the snow.

Just as she began to move she looked back and knew it for a mistake the instant her glance met those golden Shadow-eyes. He struggled to his knees and held out his hand, palm up. The gesture was unmistakable.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.” He spoke distinctly now, with none of the fragmented quality of his earlier speech. It was as if, Alex thought numbly, his bizarre transformation had restored his faculties.

“You are Shadow,” she said. Her voice emerged as a croak.

He smiled, his lips closed over his teeth. “Shadow. Your name.”

The name she had given the wolf he’d been. Was. Common sense urged her toward the rifle, but common sense held no power. Fascination was rapidly replacing disbelief. Now that he was able to communicate…

“You are Shadow,” she repeated. “What are—” She took another step away, rephrasing the question. “Who are you?”

His smile faded. There was bleakness in his eyes. “My name—” He sighed, brows knitted. “My name is Kieran. Kieran… Holt.”

Two voices seemed to speak the words—one that of a man, rich and husky, and the other a boy’s: a boy she’d met all too briefly many years ago.

Memories flooded back; all the little details, forgotten or dismissed, about that magical summer with the original Shadow. The last day, when she’d run looking for her wolf to say good-bye, and had found a boy instead.