Waking up, I felt disoriented and confused; but I lied in my bed nonetheless, staring up at the birchwood-paneled ceiling. Besides the biting feeling that something was wrong, it appeared to be a very normal morning. Calm, even. But, what had happened last night? My nightmare had been intense. First, I'd dug up my grandpa's grave. Dakota had come over, and then he told me that my scratches were from a werewolf... and that I was a werewolf! Or maybe turning into one? Nightmares were fuzzy that way, and it was hard remembering the details after they happened.

I pressed my fingertips to my forehead and laughed a little. That was one of the craziest dreams I've ever had! I decided. Luna was sprawled on the bed next to me, and I raked my nails through the lush black fur. She proceeded to stretch and yawn, making a small sound.

I thought about what needed to be done today... the home repair was finally finished with, the car was a lost cause, and I'd unlocked Grandpa's art studio. Today could be simply ordinary. Two days from now, Dakota and I were proudly hosting a late July barbecue outside my house, showing off our stellar renovations. He'd invited some of his friends and I'd invited the Noche's from the grocery store and of course, Fox and Amber. I could take a walk by the lake, or see if Nia wanted to go on a jog together, and maybe see Dakota... and tell him that I dreamed of him... even though it wasn't a particularly good dream. Maybe I'd leave that part out, I considered.

The floorboards creaked and I heard a low groan coming from just beside my bed. A snore? Luna seemed perfectly calm, but I wasn't. The less-than-comfortable spring mattress screeched noisily as I sprung up and peeked over the edge of the bed, and saw Dakota lying on the floor in a fetal position with one of my nana's small quilted pillows under his head, clad in only gym shorts and ankle socks. I reached down and placed a hand on his bare shoulder

"Dakota? Um... What are you doing here?"

His eyelids fluttered and he murmured

"You don't remember?"

I shook my head, staying quiet. Dakota sat up now, checking the time. It was 7:34 a.m. on a Friday morning. He answered

"Don't you remember? I came over after... the grave was dug up."

I blinked a few times

"Wait-- but that was just my nightmare, right?"

My breathing became more rapid as I examined the dirt under my fingernails. Dakota was shaking his head and murmuring familiar words I suddenly couldn't comprehend. My mind was racing and my legs felt restless, like I needed to run somewhere far far away-- and immediately. If he had come over, and I had dug up the grave, then the next part of my 'dream' had been real also. The part about me being a... I couldn't even say. In my panic, I slid off of the bed onto my knees, and Dakota brought me to himself, holding me close against his chest. His chin brushed the top of my head

"It's a lot to take in, Summer. It's okay... We can go over it all again... after breakfast. You need to have something to eat."

My vision blurred with upset tears, and I whispered

"You're not gonna make me eat raw meat or something, right?"

He chuckled lightly

"How about eggs and toast?"

I met eyes with him. Those calm, soft eyes that had become so familiar to me over the last two months. I contended

"I cannot eat at a time like this! Tell me more, now Dakota. Like-- you don't expect me to believe that I'm a wer-- you know-- they don't even exist! It's like, scientifically impossible or something! Magic doesn't exist. I don't believe in the Tooth Fairy either, are you gonna tell me that's real too? And you say you're one-- yeah right, Dakota. Because I'm not buying that for a second!"

He explained, trying to stay calm amidst my anguish

"Your scratches... are werewolf scratches. The summer of the eighteenth year, everyone that age in our pack goes through Ritual, and gets scratched by their elder. It's how Ritual has been done for centuries."

I combed my hands through my hair, massaging sore temples with my pinkies,

"Okay... well-- I can't say I believe you, but even if you were right-- I'm not eighteen years old. Twenty-one, remember? So, wouldn't my 'werewolf' scratches have already turned me into a wolf?"

He brushed his fingers along my forearm once more and answered

"It's something about this lake-- Lake Seymour specifically. There are probably other lakes out there that have packs, but our home has always been here. Your growing up in California, so far from home, maybe it prolonged the inevitable. Maybe your scratches beckoned you back?"

I thought of the possibility that my bold decision to move here and fix up the house may not have really been my own, but instead a part of my changed biological make-up. I had been so proud of my decision to move to Vermont and do something for myself; but had I, really? Or was it part of this whole curse?

I sat outside on the wrap around porch, facing the lake. My mind was at war with itself. I kept thinking of parts of my life that could only be explained by werewolves. The wolf who had scratched me-- the one with the eyes like fire. It was incredibly large, and my parents had taken me away from Lake Seymour, Vermont forever-after. To protect me? -- And then, the scratches. They had been so irritated, nearly becoming fresh once again once I got here. The same scratches that marked up this whole damned house and art studio. Had my grandfather been a wolf? Had my nana? And... my parents too, had grown up here. Were they wolves? My mind drifted to Nia's cryptic words about wolves: 'maybe they're right in front of you'. Shivers were sent down my spine, and despite the already warm morning air, I felt cold to my core. Terrified. The picture! I recalled, further coiling my arms around my knees and squinting into the distance of the lake. The painting of the black wolf, that was simply a painting of my grandfather during the day... and the self portrait I had made of myself... that had turned during the night... into a red wolf with those icy blue eyes.

Dakota scooped scrambled eggs onto our plates next to toast, and joined me, sitting in the chair opposite at the small outdoor table, which I suspected was handmade. I thanked him for making breakfast.

He asked,

"What would it take for you to believe me-- that you're a werewolf?"

I answered, slightly annoyed, or nervous that we were still on the subject; and that he had used the word 'werewolf' so casually.

"Honestly... I don't want to believe it. Is... is there any way to reverse the curse?"

He set his fork down, and asked in disbelief,

"The what?"

I repeated myself,

"The curse. You know, being a werewolf. Obviously no one wants to become some hairy demon-dog thing every full moon. God, Dakota, that's no way to live--"

He cut me off, now standing up from the table. The wooden chair scraped against the floorboards

"Being one of us isn't a curse. It's a gift. I-- I can't believe you just said that. Maybe if you give it a real chance, you'll see that--"

I cut him off

"See what? What it's like to eat deer in the forest, or how it feels to howl at the moon?"

He rebuffed,

"You're not even giving it a chance. You have the opportunity to be something bigger than yourself, Summer! This is important. Fox, Amber, Ivy, the Noche's... You're one of us! And we'll teach you all you need to know."

I stood now, seeing red as hot blood burned like lava through my veins

"I don't want to be like you! I... I want to... to leave this God-forsaken place!"

The calm, chocolate eyes I had come to know grew hard, and cold. Dakota's toned arms and chest seemed to ripple and expand. His mouth was a rigid line. He turned, his back facing me now, and he strode out from under the porch.

In a swift leap, a moment lost from the blink of my eyes, his form had shifted, and I watched a large, brown wolf bolt off, disappearing into the trees. Dakota.