Semua Bab Rhapsody for a Wolf: Bab 1 - Bab 10

Our pack are all good fighters, even the pups, but the attackers have the ferocity of the desperate. I can see the collars they wear, and my suspicion is confirmed when a cry of “Hunters!” goes up from the East side. Hunters are human, but they know about werewolves and they hate us. The collared werewolves fighting for them will be captured rogues, made into their slaves through their twisted science. Hunters know our weaknesses, and use them against us- silver, mainly, fashioned into weapons. They don’t know my weaknesses. I’m out of favour with the Moon Goddess, that's what they whisper behind my back. I have my own weaknesses, but I don't share those of my Pack. My connection to the Goddess is too weak. I lack the link that the rest of the Pack share, I'm unable to hear the mental commands of the Alpha. The light of the Moon's full face doesn't force me to Change. Four years past the age at which she should have blessed me with a Mate, and I still have none.

It isn't until I am on a late-night Greyhound, headed cross-state to the airport, that the full extent of what I have done comes crashing in on me. I am Packless, an exile, without support or backup. No better than a rogue. If I stumble into the territory of a strange Pack without permission, they are within their rights to kill me or press me into slavery. Back home, I may have been a freak but I was protected by my position, as heir to the Pack Alpha of Shining River. Now that protection is gone. All I have is my piercings, switched to silver once I was clear of the Pack lands, because nobody will immediately jump to the conclusion that the guy with the silver ear- and eyebrow-rings must be a werewolf.The bus is not crowded. I have the seat to myself, and I'm glad of it. I can huddle into the corner, under the window, and have a quiet panic at

The flight is nine hours of hell. I never want to set foot on an airplane ever again. Werewolves are not meant to fly. The change in air pressure is screaming agony. being shut in a metal box, stinking of recycled air, blasted with the wails of over-excited and over-tired kids, jostled by overcrowded humans, constantly reining myself in over and over and over... it's only by the thinnest line of sanity that I manage to keep control of myself and Frost.The first thing... no, the second thing I do is in London is to scoop my guitar case and hug it close. The first thing is to break a few land speed records getting as far away as possible from that flying metal Purgatory. As soon as I've checked that my guitar is undamaged, I'm out of there. I snarl at a few people to get a good place in the queue for “Nothing to declare,” and ruthlessly crush Frost's urging to just claw my way to freedom.

“Give me your phone and your money,” the man in front of me demands. “Now!” He's big, sure, all three are. They look no older than twenty, all tall, all well muscled and all, from the smell, entirely human. I might look small and lightly built, but I am a werewolf and I am stronger than any human. Stronger, faster, tougher and much quicker to heal. That little knife is no better against me than a water pistol.I can't help myself. I burst out laughing.“Give me the f***ing phone and money!” the guy repeats, grabbing for me and stabbing with his knife. He may as well have been moving in slow motion. I grab his knife hand with my own and squeeze until I hear the bones crack. Frost surges forward, howling his eagerness, throwing his weight behind my fist as it slams into the guy's jaw and sends him flying. Both the other men

Frost's misery is a cloud hanging over me when we realise that the scent is an old one. Our Mate can't be a new student, if she’d been at the exhibition today the smell would be stronger. Now? Even if it was safe to shift to the wolf, it's probably impossible to track the scent outside the building. There's been too many people passing by. Dejectedly I traipse down to the accommodation charity next door. They have a sign-up list for students looking for room mates. I wince at the reminded of fresh disappointment, and add my name and contact details without much hope. “I guess there isn't anywhere I can be on my own?” The two ladies in the charity office glance at each other. “It depends how much money you have and how bad an area you want to risk living in,” one answers. “Uh...