It was the smallest one yet. Lithe and delicate. Not even half the size of the black wolf, though still larger than any version Loren figured you would find in the wild. If there were any question as to its identity, a coat of golden fur glinted in the daylight, as it rolled onto its feet and took off.

It was fast, darting between the trees and out of sight. Left behind were the scattered remains of Naomi’s outfit—a tattered blouse, a broken heel, and the fabric of a mini skirt ruffling in the wind.