Time to Go

⸻

The Deer and the Road

— Full Moon Night —

The deer’s hooves hammered the frost-hardened ground ahead of her.

Grace in wolf form breath steamed in ragged bursts, every muscle wired to the chase.

The scent was thick — warm blood, panic, and the wild musk of fur — pulling her forward through the pines like a tether.

Branches whipped her flanks. She surged over a fallen log, closing the gap. The deer’s white tail flashed like a flag of surrender.

Then—light.

A pale strip of asphalt cut through the woods ahead. The deer bolted into it at full tilt.

The world exploded.

Metal screamed. Tires shrieked. The deer’s body crumpled against the fender of a silver SUV, rolling across the hood before tumbling into the ditch.

Grace skidded to a halt just inside the tree line, heart pounding. Her breath came in hot clouds, ears flat, claws digging into the frozen soil.

The driver’s door opened.

A woman stepped out — tall, wrapped in a white wool coat, her hair swept into a severe knot. Pearls gleamed at her throat even in the moonlight.

She saw the deer first. Then her gaze slid past it — and locked on Grace.

For one heartbeat, neither moved.

Then the woman’s lips parted. Not in a scream, but a sharp, calculating intake of breath.

Grace backed into the shadows, swallowed by the pines.

Behind her, she heard the woman’s voice — low but urgent, already pulling out a phone.

“This is Lillian Harrow. Tell the sheriff… I have just saw a werewolf in the north woods.”

⸻

The Roadside

— Grace POV —

The cold chewed through her fur as she stood at the tree line, half woman and half wolf watching the SUV’s taillights fade into the distance. Somewhere behind her, the deer lay broken in the ditch, steam still curling from its wounds.

A crunch of gravel made her turn.

Roy’s old Ford eased up beside her, headlights cutting swaths through the pines. The passenger window rolled down, and his face appeared in the glow of the dash — that lopsided grin dulled by something heavier in his eyes.

“Get in,” he said.

She hesitated. “You followed me?”

“Not exactly. I just… know the signs.” He gave the woods a wary glance. “That woman back there’s going to make calls. The wrong kind of people will start sniffing around.”

Grace folded her arms, feeling the pulse still thrumming in her bones. “I can handle it.”

He shook his head. “Not if it keeps going like this. I’ve seen it before — every time it ends ugly. You can fight it alone, or…” He let the sentence hang, fingers drumming the steering wheel.

“Or what?”

“Or you come to Moonvale. We’ve got a place. Not perfect. Not safe, exactly. But safer than the road you’re on.”

She almost laughed. “You make it sound like a rehab program.”

Roy’s mouth twitched. “Maybe it is. For our kind, anyway.”

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the ticking of the truck’s cooling engine. Finally, she transformed back to a woman and she opened the door and slid into the seat.

The Ford rolled forward, the dark swallowing the crash site behind them.

⸻

The Starlight Diner

— Grace POV —

The bell over the door gave a tired jangle as Roy pushed it open. Heat and the smell of frying onions and licorice on everyone’s breath, rolled over Grace, a stark contrast to the cold air still clinging to her hair and skin.

The place was half-full, but the conversations were muted — not the usual low chatter of a diner, more like a room that had already paused to size up the newcomer. A few eyes lifted, then lowered just as quickly. Forks kept moving, coffee cups stayed in hand, but Grace could feel the weight of them.

Roy didn’t stop at a table. He moved past the pie case, heading for a man near the end of the counter.

Leather jacket. Broad shoulders. Gray threading through dark hair. His coffee sat untouched, hands wrapped around the mug like he was warming more than his fingers. His eyes found Grace instantly, holding her there like a pinned specimen.

“This is Grace,” Roy said.

The man didn’t look at Roy. He studied her, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. “You taking the juice?”

Her pulse jumped. She thought of the flask in her jacket pocket — the faint licorice bite she could still taste if she swallowed hard.

She kept her tone flat. “What juice?”

One corner of his mouth twitched — not friendly, but like he’d confirmed something. “The kind that lets you walk in here without turning this place into a bloodbath.”

Roy shot him a warning look. “Dawson.”

But Dawson didn’t back off. He took a sip of his coffee, eyes still fixed on her. “Not trying to start anything. I just like to know who’s got their head on straight and who’s one bad night from becoming a headline.”

Grace said nothing. She could still feel the other patrons — glances from booths, reflections in the pie case glass. A waitress leaned on the counter, pretending to refill sugar packets, but she was listening.

Finally Dawson set his cup down. “Roy says you’re looking for a place. Moonvale’s not a charity. You pull your weight, you follow the rules, you stay. You break either… you’re gone.”

Her jaw tightened. “And what counts as ‘pulling my weight’?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Dawson said. “You’re on probation. Consider tonight your first day.”

Roy finally spoke again, voice quieter. “Eat something. Meet a few folks. Keep your temper. It’s easier to keep you here if they don’t think you’re a problem.”

Grace’s fingers brushed the flask in her pocket. She had the sudden feeling that every eye in the room was waiting to see if she’d drink from it — or if she’d make it through the night without.

The waitress appeared at her elbow with a menu she hadn’t asked for. “Coffee?” she asked, too sweetly.

Grace took the seat beside Roy, the seat that kept her back to the wall. “Sure,” she said.

No one spoke for a moment. The clink of plates, the hum of the old ceiling fan, the faint sound of wind outside — and underneath it all, the sense that she’d just stepped into a test she didn’t fully understand