Cherry It was the day before the Moon Ceremony, and I felt sick to my core. Apprehension was wreaking havoc on my body. Inwardly, I chided myself. Why had I left it until the last minute to leave? But the logical reasons for doing so came to my rescue. These reasons had become something of a mantra for me over the last few days. As I packed the last of my stuff into the small carry-on suitcase, I reminded myself of them. Today’s flight from Seattle had been the cheapest I could find by far. On top of that, the scholarship I’d been lucky enough to be awarded for my tuition abroad would only start in the fall. Until then, I’d have to find a job for my living expenses. I had a small amount of savings that would give me a few weeks in a cheap backpacker’s hostel in Berlin until I secured a job, but it was hardly much. So, it had been safer to wait until the last minute. The worst-case scenario was that I had to live in a hostel for the summer months and work at whatever job I found befor

Dylan I clenched my fists together as I watched Cherry’s red car disappear around the bend. I cracked my jaw as I grasped that she’d really gone. I felt something rupture inside of me, and my wolf rose within me, howling in desolation. I felt the beast itching beneath my skin as if nipping and scratching to get out. Yet, I knew if I let my primal instinct take over, the beast would bolt after Cherry again. The urge warred within me, and it took all my strength to wrestle the lupine shadow into submission. I wouldn’t let it surface and chase after her. Not after she’d rejected me so resolutely. Instead, I returned at an ambling human pace, climbing over a gate into a field belonging to Starsmoon. But the vast and far-reaching fields I ordinarily found so full of space and freedom felt empty today. They no longer had Cherry in them. She was gone. The knowledge beat through me again like a quake through the earth. As I walked, the memory of her silver eyes, steely with resolve, made me

Cherry Seven Years Later Afternoon light flooded my art studio as I traipsed up the stairs into the airy space. Maisy, my assistant designer, trailed behind me, slower as she gingerly ascended with a gown draped across her arms as though it were made of glass. “Put it on the mannequin, and you can get on with the alterations this afternoon,” I said. “Sure thing,” Maisy chirped. My heels clicked over the hardwood floors, and I folded myself gratefully into my desk chair. I didn’t think I’d sat down all day. My gaze tracked to the dress Maisy was draping over the mannequin. The striking burgundy gown was a bespoke number made for the actress AJ West. She’d requested me to make something for the BAFTA award ceremony she was attending as a nominee. It wasn’t for another month, and I was pleased with the fitting we’d just had with AJ and that the final alterations had been agreed on. I slipped one foot out of my heels, massaging its arch with my other foot. The downside to designing

Cherry I hurried off to the cash register to serve the next customer. It was Saturday, so I was doing overtime in my store. It had taken me the last year to find and train Nina and Kendra, my two sales assistants, to my satisfaction. But Kendra was expecting her first baby now and had asked for the weekends off. I was in the process of interviewing for a new sales assistant for the weekends and to cover Kendra’s maternity leave, but until I found someone suitable, I had to cover it. By five o’clock, I’d left Nina to lock up and returned home. With fantasies of stripping out of the tight black dress and heels I wore, ideas about dinner zipped through me. Deciding I was too tired to cook, I pictured the excitement on Fern’s face when I told her we’d order in. As I traipsed up the stairs to my second-floor apartment, a grassy, woody scent filled my nostrils. The aroma tugged at something deep inside me, conjuring up long- buried memories: lush farmlands with hedgerows. I stopped dead on

Cherry As Bert and I broke apart, my friend’s easy-going grin triggered a matching one on my face. “What?” I asked. “Sooo, Fern’s a fire-cracker, ain’t she?” I chuckled but reminded myself I still needed to tread carefully. I gestured to the sofa, inviting Bert to sit down and using the moment to get a grip on my anxiety. I thanked my lucky stars that I’d taken the precaution to conceal Fern’s shifter scent. I’d gone to a witch in Berlin’s Mitte district, who’d given me medicine to block my daughter’s scent to others with unnatural abilities. But I knew I mustn’t reveal any nervousness before my friend about my daughter, or he’d get suspicious. “She certainly keeps me on my toes,” I started. Bert’s keen blue eyes took me in, and he didn’t ask, but the silence filled with the unasked question about where Fern’s father was. Knowing it was important for me to broach the subject first before my friend could ask whether she was Dylan’s, I leaped into the topic. “I met Fern’s dad, a hu