1. Waylan

Chapter 1

Waylan

The sun glistened off the scales of the rainbow trout as I pounced, then dragged my still-flopping breakfast to a nearby sunny rock. I bit through its neck cleanly to put it out of its misery then gave my fur a good shake before I laid down in the sun to enjoy my meal. The early-morning light shimmered off the lake and warmed my fur as I tore every morsel off the fish's bones, needing the calories for the day ahead.

I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of birds singing, the nearby tinkling brook, and a distant crop duster. Utter peace. After I opened my eyes, the vibrant yellow of my crop, lit up by the sun, took my breath away.

The pawflower was nearly in full bloom. Any other shifters would be going out of their mind if they were surrounded by two hundred acres of blooming flowers, but none were within ten miles.

And with my immunity, I'd grown to love the sweet smell of the powdery flower that had no effect on me.

Esteban made the right choice by sending me out here. The farm was a huge success, bringing in enough income to provide security for the pack, to help our local communities, and to tuck away a decent nest egg for myself. I'd never been happier. My daily mix of solitude, hard work, and nature provided me with all I needed to be happy.

Well, content anyway.

During my time on the farm, I'd also grown stronger and bigger. Even though I hired seasonal workers when I needed them, I did most of the work myself. And with the valley's long growing seasons, I had little time to sit around and feel useless, like I did when I was with the pack.

After I stretched out my back and legs, I shook off the last of the lake water and buried the fish bones, then started my morning rounds. Making rounds was easiest in my fur because I could circle the miles around my farm in no time at all. Once the pawflower was fully in bloom, it needed constant surveillance to keep thieves away.

The crop was well hidden, set back off the road, and I'd strategically planted trees and creative landscaping so it looked like a hobby orchard to anyone passing by. If someone were to take the time to travel the long road up to the crop or traverse one of the huge fields to get to it, I'd know they were coming long before they got there. That's why I was so confused when I caught the scent of a stranger on the land.

I was nearly done marking the borders of the crops—my signal to any shifters to stay the hell away—when an unfamiliar scent came up from the direction of the tall willow tree. Cautiously, I crept over to take a look. Sometimes a laborer would leave a jacket or lunchbox, but there was nothing like that. I sniffed around the tree and knew for sure that somebody had been here.

My senses went on high alert. I stood frozen and listened, but still nothing. Near the ground around the tree, the grass looked a little tamped down, like someone had slept there. My hackles raised and a low growl began to build in my throat. I didn't like strangers on my land. With my nose to the ground, I caught a scent and followed it through the grass.

It was mostly human, but not anyone I knew. And there was a spice to it, like cinnamon or nutmeg.

I followed the scent to the fence by the road. Whoever had been here had climbed the fence and left. I marked the fence for good measure, then trotted home. I had some work to do and needed to be in my skin for it.

That afternoon, I focused on repairing last year's crates, mending a pair of jeans, and making jerky. Absorbed in my chores, I forgot about the intruder. After dinner, I was back in my fur to make the evening rounds around the crop borders.

I wasn't worried about regular people finding my crop, because they'd have to go out of their way and didn't have a reason to go up the long road to my farm. But when pawflower was in bloom, it attracted shifters from miles away, drawn by the heady scent.

Which meant more vigilant patrols until after the harvest.

The sun had set, but a soft blue glow still lit up the land. That time of day had always felt a little sad to me. I had memories of watching the setting sun and waiting up for my dad to get home, which he often didn't do. My siblings would be playing and wrestling outside while our mom nagged at them to get ready for bed. I wasn't usually included in their play because I was different. Weird. Quiet.

When Dad did come home, he'd end up playing with my brothers and doting on my sisters. I might get a little tousle on my head, but for the most part, my parents didn't seem to know how to interact with me. It was easier to ignore me, which most people did for my whole life.

As I trotted around the crop, the shadows grew darker by the minute. Any one of them could have harbored an intruder, but my nose was on the job. The long arms of a willow draped down, and as I slowed down under its branches, I smelled him.

The intruder from earlier. Cinnamon.

Backing into the dark shadows of the crop, I carefully scanned the fading light for clues. Around the tree, I caught the flickering light of a small fire. What the hell?

And then I saw him. A young omega sat hunched by the fire, stoking the flames. A sleeping pad was spread out beneath him, and a thin blanket. Next to him was a small pack. The orange light on his face made him look like he was barely older than a teenager, but there was something familiar about his face.

I stayed hidden for a long while, just watching him. I didn't sense any danger, but my hackles were reflexively up. A soft glow lit up next to him, and he picked up a cell phone. He looked at it with raised eyebrows and then plugged it into a charger before slipping them both under his pillow. I should have chased him off, but something held me back. Something about him, the way he was sitting or the lines of his profile, made the ache in my chest feel better.

Loneliness was a word I didn't like to use. It implied that I didn't like to be alone, which was the opposite of true. I'd sought solitude my whole life, but not because I didn't like people. I just found them hard to be around, and ironically, ended up feeling lonelier with people than when I was by myself. Feeling alone while surrounded by people was the worst feeling of all.

But loneliness radiated off the boy. Even still, he wasn't diving into his phone like most people did when they felt uncomfortable.

Instead, he dug a book out of his pack and scooted closer to the fire. A strand of sandy-brown hair fell across his forehead, and he reached up to push it back. There were too many lines of sadness on his face for someone so young. This boy had been through some stuff. A strange, magnetic pull urged me toward him, but I fought it off. Sure, he was attractive, but I wasn't about to go burden him with my presence. I was out here to avoid making people uncomfortable with The Quiet that I seemed to radiate wherever I went.

I turned to go, but then, very uncharacteristically, I stepped on a branch and it snapped beneath me. Frozen in place, my eyes flicked to the boy, and his eyes were fixed on the exact spot I stood. Could he see me?

I inched farther back into the shadows and then the omega smiled. "Hey there." His hand slid into a bag beside him, and he pulled something out, offering it to the shadows where I stood.

I sniffed, and my stomach rumbled. Smoked salmon.

Before I could take a minute to wonder why this kid was trying to feed a wild coyote, I crept forward, out of the shadows.