My whole body was weak from fever. It burned through me, beating in my temples as my body temperature rose and rose. When she could, my mother hurried between my bedside and my brother's, whose hair was also plastered to his face in sweaty lumps. The sponge baths she gave me were the only thing that tied my mind to my body, cooling me long enough to feel like it was bearable to exist on the same plane as my burning flesh. My father had forbidden her from taking us to the hospital, and my mother's trust in him was absolute. I was sure I was dying.

Seth had come down with the fever first, and I'd been worried about him as his temperature crept slowly upward, showing no signs of stopping even when the thermometer gave us unbelievable numbers. My father seemed to have some idea what was going on, and assured us we shouldn't worry. He instructed us to keep Seth comfortable for the time being, but do nothing more. Then, when Sam started visiting the house daily, I left Seth's care to my mother and escaped as often as I could. Despite the fact that Sam and I had had a messy breakup, I knew he and my father's relationship had survived it, but I didn't like him at the house and I wasn't going to stick around for the awkward conversations he was sure to start with me.

Then the fever hit me, too. It came on quite suddenly, while I was out with some friends shopping for clothes. I was barely able to make it home before my body gave out, and the next thing I knew, I was in my bed with my father standing over me.

His frown was one of concern but there was something else there, too- fear maybe, and confusion. It was hard for me to focus on his face, because his hair was made of tiny beetles and his tongue left purple stains in the air when he spoke to me. The fever was boiling my brain, making me see things, but they felt so real. I had to take deep breaths, staring at a blank corner of wall near the door, to understand his words as English as he said, "Leah, you need to stop this. Seth needs to make this journey alone."

I couldn't speak. I wondered how he could think I was doing this on purpose? I knew what I saw in his eyes now, and it was fear. But was he afraid for my life, my health, or afraid that I was trying, somehow, to steal my little brother's spotlight? I will never know. But, hallucinations or not, I knew this: if I could have put out that fire that was roasting me from the inside out, I would have. In a second. His words made me angry, as most things seemed to now; the fever had affected my emotions as well as my senses. When I was conscious, everything irritated me.

Then one day, the fever broke. Just as suddenly as it had come on, it lifted off me like one might take a boiling pot of water from a stove. My mother was at work, so I knew it was just me, my father, and Seth in the house. I wanted more than anything to go outside. I got out of bed ravenous. I hadn't eaten in days, and even when I had been able to, all I could tolerate was ice cream, which had melted on my burning tongue before I even tasted it. Now I craved something much more substantial, like red meat, my body yearning for iron. But even standing made me dizzy, so I waited, feet firmly planted on my floor, one hand on my headboard to catch myself should my balance betray me, my whole body swaying as though in a heavy wind.

Finally, I took a tentative step, but it was too much- my vision reeled, my stomach heaved and I fell to my knees, gasping, using everything in my power not to throw up or pass out. I heard the creak of my door and my father stood there, not offering me a hand of help or even a word of comfort. After what seemed like forever, I managed to get to my feet again, leaning heavily on the bed for support. I looked at him, and he stared at me.

"Dad," I said, hardly able to believe I had to ask. "Can you help me?"

"No…" he whispered, his eyes wide as he looked at me.

"Dad!" I said again, exasperated. Couldn't he see my knees were shaking? Couldn't he see I'd lost more weight than was healthy in five days, and that I could barely stand, that my clothes were so stained with sweat you couldn't tell what colour they had once been?

But instead of offering his only daughter a hand of help, he said, "I'm going to get Sam. Stay here."

"What?" I couldn't believe this. I glared at him, and I felt my fists clench with more strength than I would have thought possible given my condition. "Don't you dare get Sam, I don't need him," I snapped.

"You have no idea what you need," he answered, still wearing that strange confused-scared-disbelieving expression on his face. It pissed me off, so much that I actually screamed in frustration, my breath coming in deep, angry sounds that felt like they were going to rip through my chest. I watched as my father, a brave hunter who I'd never known to be afraid of anything, turned on a dime and ran from our house.

I snapped. Never had I been so angry. It was like a bottle turned upside down, spilling out all my rage, and never would it empty. I grabbed my bedspread and ripped it from the bed, tearing my sheets. I swept my arms across my bookshelves, sending books and knickknacks cascading to the floor. I kicked the walls, leaving little pockmarks of fury in the drywall. My body shook with anger, but destroying the room barely comforted me at all.

Then, something happened. I don't even know quite how to describe it. The shaking in my muscles intensified until I thought they might burst through my skin; it was like they were all trying to escape from each other simultaneously. The heat this shivering created was threatening to pull me under again, into that scary place of fever and death from which I had only just barely escaped. I felt as if my body was splitting, only not anywhere in particular, but everywhere. Every muscle seemed to break apart from every other, and I could feel them contorting and stretching under my skin. It didn't hurt, but it was so terrifying that I fell to the floor screaming, trying to pry them from between my bones, as if I could extract my muscles and put them aside until they behaved.

Suddenly, I couldn't feel them anymore. I couldn't feel anything- not my body, not the cool, solid wood of my floor, not the air on my face. My screams had gone silent, and the only impression I had was of an overwhelming burning sensation inhabiting my bones, spreading outward like wildfire. I stayed there on the floor, not moving, as if I could stop my own death with the force of my will. It seemed to work; the fire abated, and though a small part of me was still angry, I felt mostly calm.

Gingerly, I tried and failed to stand several times. Finally I settled for all fours, since it seemed to be the only way I could move. The room seemed wrong, everything at a funny angle, but I ignored it. I wanted to go outside. I wanted to feel the sun on my skin and know that I was still alive. My head still felt hot and fuzzy, and everything seemed unreal, but I was determined. My bedroom felt suddenly claustrophobic to me, too small, and I wanted to get outside on the grass and feel free again. My inability to feel my own body made it difficult to move, and I stumbled, first into my bed and then into the wall, as I tried to crawl toward the door. Finally I reached it, but I found I couldn't line up my body properly to go through the doorway. First I slammed one shoulder into it, then the other. The anger was building again and I growled out my frustration, surprised at the sound my own throat could make.

A shadow passed over me and I looked up quickly, expecting my father to be back, finally, to help me. But it was Seth that stood there, and he was staring at me with the widest eyes I'd ever seen on my little brother's face. I was surprised to see that he looked well, healthy even, and I wondered when the fever had broken for him; I'd obviously been too out of it to notice. Or maybe we were both dead. I tried again to stand, but I couldn't seem to get my feet under me.

"Leah," Seth said, his voice a little shaky but also soothing, like he was just a tiny bit afraid of me. "Just hang on, okay? It's going to be alright."

I tried to smile at him, I tried to open my mouth and speak, but I couldn't. I couldn't tell him that I was okay, that I felt better but I just need his help so I could stand up. Frustrated, I sat down and just looked at him, hoping he would understand what I wanted, but he didn't even approach me.

… but who is it? I jumped as I heard a voice so close I expected the person to be there when I turned, but there was no one.

I don't know. A different voice this time. Again I whirled toward the source, but there was nothing. My heart quickened as I looked around desperately, not wanting to believe that I was hallucinating, that I'd gone crazy. Seth crouched just outside my doorway, watching me, but he said nothing. I could feel the panic rising in my chest and I backed up as if I could escape it, but I felt myself hit something so I turned. It was my vanity, a little desk and chair my mother had picked up at an antique store when I was twelve and obsessed with makeup. Now it was mostly just for show, but the mirror on top of it still came in handy.

My eyes rose to that mirror so I could see if I looked flushed, or pale, to see if I could assess my own health the way my mother had taught me, but instead I froze, staring into the mirror. I knew then that I was very sick. I was hallucinating for sure, not only hearing voices but seeing things as well.

I could see Seth in the mirror, and I could see my room looking normal, but I couldn't see myself. And looking out of the mirror at me was a huge gray wolf, its dark brown eyes fixed right on mine, its breath coming in short gasps that matched my own. Quickly I turned my head, just to make sure, but all I saw was my room, the doorway, Seth. No wolf. I turned back, and just out of the corner of my eye I saw the wolf do the same.

I opened my mouth to speak, but then I saw the wolf draw back its lips and bare its teeth, not in a threatening way but just like it was… opening its mouth. My eyes widened. So did the wolf's. I shuffled backward, and so did the wolf. For the first time, I looked down at my body and yelped. Gray fur, giant paws capped with razor-sharp claws that had made scratches on my hardwood floor… I was truly insane. I looked behind me and saw that I had a tail, and what was more I could feel it too, like it was really there. Finally I understood why I hadn't been able to stand up. I was already standing, but on four feet. My hands were gone. I knew now that the fever had driven my senses right out of me. I backed up so fast, as though I could find myself again if only I moved quickly enough. My back came up against the side of my bed, stopping me.

Careful, dude, came one of those voices.

He's going to trash the room, came another. They weren't really voices, there were no sounds, but I could feel each speaker as different. Images flooded my mind every time they spoke, nonsensical images that floated around in my head.

I still had enough of my mind to suppose that I was hallucinating myself as something from folklore, a story I'd heard many times as a child, about our famous forefather Taha Aki and his pact with the wolf. I hoped that this semblance of reason meant I wasn't totally beyond help.

"Leah," Seth said from behind me. "It's going to be okay… promise." Then he quickly stood and left me there. I tried to stay calm. It was so hard not to move, not to try to escape this. I tried to talk myself out of it, thinking over and over, This isn't me, I'm not a wolf, this is stupid, come on, snap out of it. But my body stayed as it was.

That's not going to work, came one of those voices.

There seemed to be two distinct speakers, and sure enough the second one chimed in with, Who are you, man?

But I didn't answer. I didn't want to tempt my insanity by encouraging them. Instead I just sat there, not moving, hardly daring even to breathe.

After a short time, another voice suddenly cut through my mind, and I had no doubt about who this one was. Okay, everyone else changes back- now, Sam's voice said, not his voice but his presence, so obviously him that I could actually hear the words as if he had spoken them aloud. Don't overwhelm her.

What? one of the voices answered, seeming absolutely stunned.

Did you just say 'her'? the other one said almost at the same time, the voices almost overlapping in my mind.

Change back, Sam repeated, his voice so firm that I felt a sudden compulsion to do what he said, even though I couldn't. Then suddenly, the other voices withdrew from me, and I was left alone. Well, almost.

This is not happening, I thought to myself, still unable to speak. I am not so crazy that I have to spend the rest of my life with Sam Uley in my brain.

You're not crazy, Leah, Sam answered me, gently.

I think it makes me more crazy that the imaginary voices in my head are telling me I'm not crazy, I answered dryly, then internally kicked myself for responding to him, even it was through my thoughts. Then, suddenly, I realized that he was gone.

I heard the front door open, expecting Seth to hurry to my room, having found someone who might help me, but it wasn't Seth at all. Sam stood there, in nothing but a pair of cut-off jeans, a style he'd become very fond of shortly before our breakup. He stood in the doorway for a moment, just staring at me like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"Your dad thought your symptoms were psychosomatic," he told me. I had a vague idea what that meant- basically, that I was faking. Sympathy pains for Seth, or a plea for attention. I glared at Sam and let out a low growl, and he stopped just outside my bedroom door, as Seth had done. "Leah, don't be scared," he said gently, the way you might talk to a frightened cat that is stuck in a tree and wanting desperately to come down, but at the same time fully intent on clawing its rescuers.

I didn't know what he didn't want me to be scared of, but I stopped growling at him, frustrated that I couldn't speak, even though I knew the first thing I would probably say to him would be 'Get out.' I didn't want Sam of all people to see me like this. Not my ex-boyfriend, a man who had once loved me, then dumped me without pretense or explanation, shattering my heart into a million pieces, many of which were still missing. Where was my father? I felt like I had been abandoned, and I wished my mother was home.

Then, without pretense, Sam unbuttoned his jeans and let them drop to the floor. It was nothing I hadn't seen before, but his actions puzzled me. A moment later I realized the reason as before my eyes he dropped low to the floor, then lunged upward just a little. But where Sam's toned, nude form had been, a black wolf sprung from his skin, even bigger than I was. It was so fluid and sudden that I could easily have blinked and missed it. I stared at him, and what struck me was the eyes- they were Sam's exactly, and when he looked at me it was as if he was still human.

You're not crazy, Leah, the thought came to me again, in Sam's gentle voice, as the black wolf gazed at me with those too-human eyes.

I felt like crying. I felt like screaming, like running outside on my own two feet, but I could do none of those things. Mostly I wanted to turn back the clock of my life until I was that happy girl again, that normal, safe teenager in love. Not this monster, with a monster ex-boyfriend. I felt like curling into a tiny ball, folding my limbs and changing into a boulder, something hard and impenetrable. Something that could protect itself from the world and all of this insanity that filled the air around me, choking me until I couldn't breathe.