E LEFT JUST after midnight the following night.

Quiet as a whisper, Chance and I crept downstairs. Kit had gone to bed early and was usually a heavy sleeper. Nonetheless, my heart raced with every creak of the floorboards.

In the living room, Coop padded over and whined softly.

“Stay, boy.” I led him back to his doggie bed, praying he’d cooperate. Then Chance and I slipped through the front door and raced to the dock.

Ben was already aboard Sewee, double-checking the gear we’d assembled that afternoon. Shelton and Hi arrived moments later. We eased from the pier and motored north toward Bull Island.

A full moon hung low on the western horizon. Bright. Timely. It glowed like a giant white eye, alleviating the need for battery-powered light.

We rode in silence, each wrapped in our own thoughts. The only words spoken were occasional navigational commands.

Ben crossed the harbor mouth, rounded Sullivan’s Island, and headed back into The Cove. We’d decided to take the Intracoastal Waterway—a combo natural and man-made canal running between the barrier islands and the mainland. Traveling the open sea after sunset was too risky.

Before long we reached the Claybourne cabin we’d fled the previous night. The property was dark and quiet. Continuing north, Sewee passed island after island on our right. Sullivan’s. Isle of Palms. Dewees.

Then the waterway narrowed. Signs of human influence fell away as we crossed into thick, undisturbed swampland. The only sounds were the hoots and peeps of nocturnal birds and an occasional muffled splash.

We huddled close together aboard our little craft, keenly aware that humans were interlopers in such wild, primal Lowcountry.

After what seemed a lifetime, Ben pointed to a black shape on our right.

“That’s the southern edge of Bull Island,” he said. “Most of the high ground is on the northern side.”

“Should we anchor here?” I asked.

“We need to go farther up the waterway,” Ben said. “The next stretch is pretty raw, but leads into Sewee Bay. From there we can cut through the swamp and come ashore on one of the beaches.”

“Let’s hustle.” Hi gestured at the gloom around us. “This place feels like Jurassic Park on crack. I don’t wanna get chomped by a velociraptor.”

We entered a narrow channel overhung with trees that blocked the moonlight and wrapped our vessel in shadow. As our progress slowed, my anxiety increased.

Finally, the canal opened into a wide tidal lake. Scattered docks appeared. Ben skirted the shoreline, then turned into a network of narrow creeks. Shelton sat next to him, relaying GPS directions stored on his iPhone.

After a zigzag course we pulled into Bull Harbor. I could hear the Atlantic surf not far off.

“There she blows.” Ben pointed to the landmass looming ahead. “Oneiscau. Bull Island.” To Hi, “You have that map handy?”

“Yep.” Hi tapped his smartphone.

“Which way?” Ben asked. “The island has only one dock.”

“We should anchor near the watchtower,” Shelton blurted. “Keep the boat close.”

“Why?” Hi asked.

Shelton’s teeth glinted in the moonlight. “Call it a hunch.”

“Care to share more?” I said. “We’re on a tight timetable.”

“Not just yet. But I’ve got an idea. Humor me.”

“Humoring you means getting in the water,” Hi grumbled. “It better be worth it.”

Shelton slapped Hi’s shoulder. “Seeing you in a wet tee is reward enough.”

“Which way to the fort?” Ben asked.

“Hard to starboard.” Hi’s features glowed blue in the light of his phone’s display. “The watchtower is near Bull’s northeastern point.”

Ben skimmed past dense forest growing tight to the water’s edge. Live oaks and palmetto palms jockeyed with cedars, loblolly pines, and sprawling magnolias. The tangled understory blocked all view of the island’s interior. Like Loggerhead, I thought.

As Sewee crept forward the woodland gave way to marsh. The water grew shallow. Reeds and spartina grass poked from its surface. Frogs croaked. Insects hummed and whined all around us.

“Bull Island has an enormous alligator population,” Ben whispered. “So … uh … keep your head on a swivel.”

“Swamps suck donkey balls,” Shelton muttered. “Seriously.”

“There.” Hi pointed inland, where, roughly a quarter mile distant, a steep hill rose in the moonlight. A jagged silhouette crowned the hilltop.

“It’s too boggy to go ashore here,” Ben said.

“Continue north a bit.” Hi was peering at his iPhone. “There’s a beach.”

Shelton nodded with feeling. “I’m not swimming here. This place looks like a gator’s kitchen.”

Five minutes motoring brought us to a white beach running the island’s northern rim. Twenty yards inland, a row of head-high dunes marched to a grassy plain. The moonlit hill was a vague cutout in the darkness beyond.

Ben coaxed Sewee as close to shore as possible.

“There’s a trail from the beach.” Hi pocketed his phone. “The tower’s about a half mile away.”

Chance was watching the beach. “What lives out here?”

“Animals,” Ben said.

“Care to be more specific?”

“The Refuge website listed deer, raccoons, gators, and some smaller guys like fox squirrels and lizards.” Shelton was untying his tennis shoes. “But Bull is really about the birds. Over two hundred species.”

“Ducks, mallards, pintails.” Ben cut the engine and tossed the anchor overboard. “Sandpipers, yellowlegs, warblers, sparrows, woodpeckers. Not that you’d know the difference.”

“Keep talking,” Chance warned. “But don’t act surprised when I clock you.”

“Enough!” I said. “Let’s get to the beach.”

We divided the gear. Then, Nikes strung around my neck, excavation tools strapped to my back, I lowered into the surf and waded ashore. The boys followed close behind.

Once on dry land, I set down my tool kit and pulled on my socks. The others gathered in a semicircle to re-shoe. The huge moon lit the landscape with an eerie blue radiance. We kept our flashlights off.

“Where exactly is the tower?” Ben.

“In those hills.” Hi pointed south over the dunes. “Past the beach is a long grassy field. From there, a trail leads into the woods. The tower should be along it somewhere.”

“I’ll scout ahead.” Ben shouldered my tool bag. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, follow me south.” With that, he disappeared over the nearest dune.

“Is he always like that?” Chance asked.

No one bothered to answer.

I had one sneaker laced when I heard a soft rustling off to my left.

I peered down the beach.

Nothing but moonlit sand.

My second shoe was half-tied when sand swished somewhere among the dunes. My eyes darted, searching for the source of the noise.

“Ben?” Shelton called hesitantly.

Two points of yellow flashed in the night. Disappeared.

“What was that?” Hi whispered.

“Shh!” My eyes strained to pierce the gloom ahead.

Two shadows streaked from a stand of sea oats. Four amber dots flashed, closer this time. Shot sideways. Vanished.

My mind filled in the blanks.

Eyes. Circling.

I began to hiss a warning, but a growl stilled my tongue.

More snarls joined the first, creating an eerie, keening chorus.

Chance dropped to a crouch. “Whatever’s out there doesn’t sound happy.”

“I forgot to mention something.” Moonlight reflected off Shelton’s glasses. “Next year, the Wildlife Refuge plans to reintroduce red wolves to Bull Island.”

“Sounds like they stepped up their timetable,” Hi whispered.

Three silhouettes loped across the dunes. Sleek. Four-legged.

“There!” Hi pointed to our right. “Wolves! Big ones.”

Chance gestured left. “Over here, too.”

As I stared in terror, a shape took form directly before me. My mind logged details. Large, triangular head. Massive forepaws. Powerful, muscular trunk.

Wolf. Male. Enormous.

I could make out some of his coloring in the pale moonlight. Cinnamon-brown belly and pelt. Charcoal back and tail. White muzzle.

My brain estimated stats. Length: five feet. Weight: eighty pounds.

Almond-shaped eyes studied me.

“Easy big fella.” I took a small step backward, arms straight down at my sides. “We’re all friends here.”

A second wolf appeared, then a third, each resembling the leader, but smaller.

I stood facing the wolves, Hi and Shelton flanking me, Chance a step behind. Where was Ben?

“Another on our right,” Hi whispered.

“And left,” Shelton said. “Pacing.”

Five in all. A decent-sized pack.

“We can swim to the boat,” Chance hissed. “They hate water, right?”

“What about Ben?” Hi’s voice cracked.

“Everyone relax,” I said. “Red wolves don’t attack people.”

“You sure?” Hi croaked. “This one’s staring like I’m Lean Cuisine.”

The wolves did seem agitated. Though White Muzzle sat calmly on his haunches, the others circled, growling and sniffing, tossing glances at the night sky.

Suddenly it dawned on me.

“The full moon,” I whispered. “It’s freaking them out.”

“Great,” Shelton whimpered. “We’re dog food.”

White Muzzle abruptly stood. Hackles up. Ears flattened. Tail horizontal.!!!Uh oh.

The rest of the pack froze.

“Not good,” Hi said. “Where do I kick an attacking wolf?”

Shelton tugged my arm. “Talk to them, dog whisperer. Calm them down.”

“What are you babbling about?” Chance’s face glistened with sweat.

But I understood what Shelton meant.

Keeping Chance at my back, I stilled my thoughts and closed off sensory input.

SNAP.

My canine DNA fired into action. As the flare ripped through me, the world cranked into focus.

But something was different.

Though always a struggle, this time the transformation was wilder and more chaotic. Raw-edged.

My body pulsed with more power than ever before. My brain flooded with too much data. I nearly lost control.

White Muzzle tensed, barked twice, and lunged in my direction.

“I’m there.” Shelton’s voice sounded strangled. “But amped too high.”

“Plenty of flare over here,” Hi spluttered. “Overload. What’s going on?”

Watching the skittish wolves, the answer suddenly dawned.

“The full moon,” I whispered. “It must be affecting our flares. Riling the wolf DNA inside us.”

“What are you babbling about?” From behind, Chance couldn’t see our eyes. “We should retreat to the boat!”

White Muzzle’s lips drew back. Predatory teeth gleamed in the moonlight. He growled, fur bristling.!!!Tread carefully.

White Muzzle viewed us as a rival pack invading his turf. He was alpha. I was alpha. This wasn’t Whisper, an animal accustomed to human interaction. This was a wild creature, feeling threatened, instinctually defending his family.

Inching forward, I willed the wolf to understand.!!!We mean you no harm.

My mind probed, found the invisible barrier blocking my thoughts from the rest of the world. I pushed.

Hi and Shelton hovered close. I strained. Reached. Failed. No matter my effort, the wall separating our psyches wouldn’t yield. I couldn’t connect my brain to theirs.

Frustrated, I fired my message outward, toward White Muzzle.

A primal consciousness brushed against mine. Contact.

An electric shiver coursed through me as our thoughts melded.!!!We mean you no harm.

White Muzzle started, stepped backward, raised his snout and howled. The rest of the pack joined his keening wail.!!!We mean you no harm.

SNUP.

I fell to my knees. Beside me, Shelton trembled. Hiram wheezed and spat.

“What’s happening!?” Chance sounded near panic. “Are you guys okay!?”

I wobbled to my feet, eyes never leaving our four-legged hosts.

White Muzzle eyed me a moment longer, then turned and trotted over the dunes. The other wolves followed single file.

“They left.” Chance barked a nervous laugh. “Just like that. They left.”

“Yeah,” I panted. “Just like that.”

Head spinning, I turned and puked on the sand.