Something didn’t smell right.

He sniffed the air as unobtrusively as possible, drawing in a small puff through flared nostrils. Diesel fuel, wet wool, tuna, and… gym socks. All totally normal, if unpleasant, aromas to encounter on the crowded school bus. But there was something else. Something he couldn’t identify. And it seemed to follow him almost everywhere he went.

“Dude,” Dan protested, reluctantly pressing himself against the window of the school bus seat. “There are plenty of empty seats!”

Mart Belden propped his backpack on his lap and withdrew the small cooler that served as his lunch bag. “Breakfast burrito?” he offered, unwrapping the tinfoil and taking a bite of the fragrant meal.

“You brought a breakfast burrito. For the ten-minute bus ride to school.”

Mart nodded and took a healthy bite. Scrambled eggs oozed out of the edges of the wrap and threatened to spill on both him and Dan.

“Watch it,” Dan warned. “And of course, I want one.”

Grinning, Mart withdrew a second burrito and handed it to him. “If the bus driver asks, you brought it,” he said. “I’m not supposed to bring food on the bus anymore.”

“That’s because you spilled a bag of popcorn,” Dan reminded him.

“Well, yeah. But I cleaned it up!”

Dan snorted. He was still periodically finding kernels in the corners of the seat cushions. He cast a furtive glance toward the front of the bus before biting into the burrito, but decided it was worth the risk. He’d eaten oatmeal, bacon, and toast for breakfast at the cabin, but his stomach was already rumbling, and lunch was a long time away. Besides, he’d have to be dead before he’d turn down Mrs. Belden’s cooking.

His eyes widened as a blast of hot sauce hit his taste buds.

“It’s good, right?” Mart asked, sweat beading his forehead.

Dan shrugged and took another healthy bite. He preferred flavour to heat, but it didn’t really matter. Food was food, after all. And there was considerable entertainment value in watching Mart attempt to increase his heat tolerance.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Dan asked, wrinkling his nose as Mart’s face turned an unpleasant shade of red.

“I have to…” He paused to pat at his forehead with a napkin. “keep up with…” His throat convulsed as he opened a thermos and chugged milk. “Trixie.”

Dan frowned. Trixie liked spice, but he’d never known her to go overboard.

“She puts it on everything now,” Mart griped. “Moms’ chicken casserole. Mashed potatoes. Cooked carrots!” He shook his head. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Why Mart would want to compete in the first place was beyond him. Siblings were just weird, and Dan wasn’t sure he would ever truly understand Mart and Trixie’s dynamic.

“I don’t know,” Dan teased, taking another bite of his burrito, “but I’d say you’re losing.”

“Not for long,” Mart vowed, carefully chewing and swallowing another bite.

Dan grinned at his determination. Giggles from across the aisle caught his attention, and he glanced over to see Honey and Trixie sharing a bench, their heads pressed together as they shared a secret. Or concocted a plot. Or solved a mystery that the rest of them wouldn’t hear about until they were in some sort of mortal danger. Di peeked over the backrest from the seat in front of them, sharing in their laughter. Probably it wasn’t a mystery, Dan told himself. Trixie usually took mysteries too seriously to giggle about them.

His smiled along with the three girls as they conspired. It was good to see them relaxed and happy. Bus rides had been far too quiet when Trixie had been sick for so long last fall.

But something didn’t smell right.

Something didn’t smell right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The pot-bellied stove they used to heat the clubhouse, maybe? He drew in a quick breath through his nostrils, but the stove smelled the same as it always did. He glanced around the table, but none of the other four Bob-Whites seemed to have noticed anything.

It was times like this that he missed Jim and Brian. Both of them had enough knowledge and experience that Dan trusted them to pick up on problems early, and to at least have an idea of what to do about them. Mart was too caught up in his own world of words to notice much of the actual world around him, and the girls, well, he had absolutely no idea what went through their heads. They could be incredibly observant, or completely oblivious. It was a toss-up, and he never knew which way the coin would fall.

And it probably wasn’t carbon monoxide. Because… well, he didn’t know why it wasn’t carbon monoxide. Except that ever since he’d discovered he turned furry once a month, he’d been working to develop his heightened sense of smell. Maypenny had coached him, teaching him to identify every scent he came across in the preserve. He’d applied the same painstaking method to the school, the clubhouse, the Manor House, and Crabapple Farm, mentally cataloging every trace of aroma. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew it wasn’t carbon monoxide.

“Dan?”

He winced at Di’s timid tone. He hadn’t been paying attention, and she’d probably asked him the same thing more than once. Di had gained a lot of confidence since joining the Bob-Whites, but she was still the most sensitive of the group.

“Sorry,” he said, and faked a yawn. “I was up early to stock the feeding stations and I guess I zoned out for a minute.”

Di smiled shyly. “I was just telling everyone about the Band Boosters, and how they’re trying to raise money for new uniforms.” She wrinkled her nose. “They’ve been handing down the same uniforms for over twenty years! Can you imagine?”

It did, Dan thought, explain the outdated style. More than one of the guys in his grade had dropped out of band because of the brown bell-bottom trousers they had to wear for performances. And he hadn’t known that skirts could be bell-bottoms, but the band uniforms had proved otherwise.

“So, we were thinking that we could approach administration with Spirit Days. Except that you have to pay to participate.” Before Dan could protest that they already got to do that for free during Spirit Week, she continued, tossing her hair and moving closer to him as she showed him a sketch pad of drawings. Her violet-scented perfume filled his nose, and he had to fight back the urge to sneeze.

“See? Every day students would get to wear something they’re not normally allowed to. Like baseball cap day.” She showed him a simple sketch of a group of boys in caps. “Leggings day,’ she continued, flipping to a new page and a new illustration. “Jeans with rips day.”

Dan nodded, intrigued. “Ideas that are just outside of the dress code. Do you think Principal Stratton will go for it?”

“I think Principal Stratton is tired of the Band Boosters showing up at school board meetings and asking why the football team gets money for new uniforms every year,” Di replied. “He’ll probably be happy to support any idea to raise money for the band.”

“So,” Mart said, tugging Di back to her seat beside him. “What do we think? Is this a good project for the Bob-Whites? And do you think we could have a hoodie day?”

The Bob-Whites voted in favour and the meeting turned to other topics. The smell of Di’s violet-scented perfume gradually dissipated, and he automatically catalogued the remaining scents. Nothing was out of place, and yet…

Something didn’t smell right.

When the meeting broke up, Dan hurried out the door after Trixie. “Mind if I walk you home?” he asked, slipping on his leather jacket. It was mostly for show now that he had the higher metabolism and body temperature of a werewolf, but it was January. And it looked like Trixie had opted for a heavy sweater instead of a winter coat. She’d be shivering before she made it halfway back to Crabapple Farm.

Not to mention he’d barely spent any time with his sort-of girlfriend in what felt like forever. She’d been sick in the fall with something the doctors hadn’t been able to figure out, and it had drained her energy for months. She seemed to be better now, but they hadn’t spent any time alone together since. It was only a small consolation that she hadn’t spent time with Jim, either. If she wanted space from their unconventional arrangement, he’d give it to her, but he missed her. He missed everything about her. Her enthusiasm, her good-natured acceptance, her sharp mind, her faint aroma of apples and sunshine…

He paused. When was the last time he’d been close enough to really catch her scent? Had it really been since before she’d been sick?

“See you tomorrow,” Trixie called to the group, and started down the path at a run, leaving him behind.

Something didn’t smell right, and it didn’t have anything to do with the horses.

“When does the doctor say you’ll be able to ride again?” Honey asked, and Dan paused before entering the stable. “I miss our rides together, and so does Susie!”

Trixie’s reply was muffled by the sound of one horse whinnying, and another stamping its feet. The horses must be frisky, Dan realized, and eager for their morning exercise. He patted Spartan, who had already had his day’s exercise in an early-morning patrol. The well-trained horse shifted uneasily, and Dan wondered if Lady’s and Susie’s high spirits were contagious.

“I miss you, too,” Dan heard Trixie croon, and he assumed she was addressing Susie, and not Honey. For a fleeting moment, he wished she was addressing him. It felt like forever since they’d spent any time alone together, and he was growing tired of the constant ache of missing her.

“I can’t ride you just yet,” Trixie continued, “but I can keep you company and clean your tack,” she promised.

“You don’t have to do that,” Honey chided. “Why don’t you go home and rest? I know you still have insomnia and haven’t been sleeping much.”

Still? Dan had been concerned by her pale complexion, but she’d seemed to have more energy lately, and he’d assumed that she was sleeping better.

“I’m fine,” Trixie said, her voice firm. “And I can’t think of a better way to spend an hour than to be here in the stable with Susie.”

“Okay,” Honey agreed reluctantly. “Lady and I will be back soon.”

Dan waited, out of sight, as Honey and Lady left the stable and set out at a gentle pace toward the main path leading through the preserve. The scent of stable, lemon polish, and peppermint followed her, and Dan breathed in the clean, welcoming reminders of home.

“Are you coming in?” Trixie called. “Or are you and Spartan planning on standing outside in the cold for a while longer?”

Dan snorted, and Spartan followed suit, their breath forming clouds of vapor in the chilly air. There were times, he thought, when Trixie really was too observant for her own good. He didn’t know what had given him away, but it was worth it to hear the welcome in her voice.

Although, it did make him wonder what else she had noticed. He’d always known that he wouldn’t be able to keep anything from her long-term, but he couldn’t bring himself to hope that she would pick up on the inevitable clues he left behind. After all, his life was almost perfect just the way it was.

“You’re up early,” he said, hitching Spartan’s reins over a post and giving the horse an approving pat. Spartan shuffled uneasily, his tail flicking at non-existent flies. Dan rubbed his hands together, even though he was barely chilled. Keeping up appearances was, after all, essential. Even with Trixie.

Especially with Trixie.

“The horses can’t tell time,” Trixie retorted in a rough imitation of Regan’s voice.

Dan snickered before he could stop himself, and then glanced around the stable guiltily. He and his uncle got along fine, but they definitely did not share the same sense of humour. Some days, he wondered if Regan even had a sense of humour. The last thing Dan wanted was for Regan to think he was making fun of him. Even if it was awfully entertaining to occasionally mimic him.

“He headed over to the Tomlinsons’ to take a look at their new horse,” Trixie said, proving once again that she could read his mind at times.

Dan nodded. He’d known that, but his brain seemed to fire on half-cylinders when he was around Trixie. There was something about her bright blue eyes that drew him in and made him focus entirely on her, making everything else blurry and unimportant.

He blinked, trying to shake off the creeping malaise. He must not have gotten enough sleep, he decided. “Here, let me help you,” he said, picking up a brush and moving closer to Trixie and Susie. Keeping busy was the best way to keep alert, he reminded himself. And there was always plenty of work to keep a person busy in the stable.

But Trixie, he realized, wasn’t actually grooming Susie. In fact, Susie was in the far corner of her stall, as if trying to keep her distance from them.

“What’s going on?” he wondered aloud, frowning at the normally docile mare.

“It’s me,” Trixie whispered, her words laced with sorrow.

“What do you mean?” Dan demanded, but forgot his train of thought as he swiveled to face her. She was closer to him than she’d been only seconds before, and her expression was so sad that he felt a stab of answering despair. Whatever was bothering her, Dan could feel it as if it were his own struggle.

“They’re afraid of me,” she continued, looking past him to Susie. She turned away. “Sometimes I’m afraid of me,” she said, her voice so quiet that Dan almost didn’t hear her, despite his heightened senses.

His eyes widened. He had never, ever, heard Trixie speak as if she were… He struggled to pinpoint the emotion. Broken. And resigned to being broken.

“Why would Susie be afraid of you?” he asked cautiously. Trixie wasn’t acting like herself, but he could sense that if he said one wrong word she’d clam up and pretend she’d never spoken at all.

“Sometimes I almost forget,” she said, still watching Susie instead of him. “And then I come here. The horses always know. They remind me.”

Susie tossed her head, still skittish. He hadn’t seen the docile mare do that since…

Since she had smelled the werewolf on him.

His eyes widened. It wasn’t possible. He would know. Maypenny would know!

Also, he hadn’t bitten her! Not even close! He’d been careful, so very careful, to protect her, to make sure that he didn’t accidentally force her into a life she knew nothing about and couldn’t possibly comprehend. He forced himself to breathe, drawing in one deep breath after another.

Eventually his brain overpowered his panic, telling him there was no tang of werewolf in the air other than his own.

He wasn’t prepared for the dizzying relief and disappointment that simultaneously swept through him.

But if she wasn’t a werewolf…

What was she?

His eyes snapped to hers.

Her fangs snapped down.

“I’m so hungry,” she whispered, and her breath made his skin tingle. “It won’t hurt,” she promised, and it was true that the fang grazing his jugular was doing the opposite of hurting. His body thrummed with adrenalin and desire and fear. She was close. So very close. Close enough that the air ought to be thick with apples and sunshine, yet he smelled nothing at all.

“It won’t change you. You won’t even remember,” she vowed, and Dan thought vaguely that she sounded sad.

And then her teeth broke his skin, and he knew he would absolutely remember.

He awoke furry and foggy, deep in the preserve. He struggled to four legs and shook the snow from his thick coat, sending moisture flying.

“You’re worse than Reddy,” Trixie muttered, standing and wiping the snow from her jeans. Dan wheeled to face her, his senses on high alert. “And just to be clear, I would have figured it out eventually. Even without…” She flapped her hands, gesturing vaguely toward her mouth.

Which, the last he remembered, had sported two very sharp fangs. Her bite must have triggered his change to a werewolf, he thought, though he had no idea why. A built-in self-defence mechanism, maybe?

It would have had to have been built-in, he realized, because even now, he had no interest in protecting himself from her. Vampire or not, this was Trixie.

And it seemed that he and Maypenny weren’t the only apex predators in the preserve.