A shattering roar suddenly fills the night and Brady Kincaid screams. He believes
now, Yes, he believes now, all right, but it's too late and his scream is lost
under that snarling roar that rises in a sudden, chilling glissade to a howl.
The wolf is running toward him, running on two legs, its shaggy pelt painted orange
with moonfire, its eyes glaring green lamps, and in one paw - a paw with human
fingers and claws where the nails should be-is Brady's Vulture kite.

April