Shirley galloped up the stairs, blinking back the thick, choking blanket of smoke that flooded down the stairwell. The fire alarm was screaming. People were running. Shirley charged through them, ears flat, body low. Her head was swimming, but she couldn't stop now. Hot orange blazed in her memory. David was nearly on top of her, tail up, fur bristling. Her pulse raced, jaws open, teeth gleaming. It was all she could do not to bite one of the people rushing by her to safety.

She shook herself free of the episode and leapt the last four steps to the third floor, ducking through the door just in time to avoid being trampled by another frantic stampede. Heat that'd been caustic outside burned so intensely it sucked the air from her lungs. Bright red and pink flames ate down the hallway. For a moment she couldn't move. The crackling pop of fire consuming wood roared in her world pressed down on her, hot and thick and heavy.

Shirley growled at herself and darted down the hallway, desperately searching for the right door. How was she supposed to know where to go? Which one? Sucking in a shallow breath, she sputtered out a bark, then another, and another, each one louder than the next. Her eyes watered and she dry heaved ash. If that didn't do it, she didn't know what would.

A shout. It was faint, drowned out by the thundering creak of beams giving way. Shirley turned back and ran to apartment 302, picking up speed while the flames swallowed what was left of the hallway. Without stopping, she rammed right into the door, knocking it clean off its hinges. The fire burst inside behind her, licking eagerly at unclaimed fuel. It whooshed across the ceiling, dropping molten hot plaster down on top of her.

This time Shirley knew exactly where she was going. The baby was crying.

She gathered herself to charge the second door. Her feet came off the ground. Something slammed hard into her side, knocking her off her feet and sending her into the wall. The snarl that followed was not from the fire. She was on her feet in an instant, eyes narrowed, hackles up. Standing in front of her, half shrouded in smoke, was another wolf.

He was big with dark, brown fur. A strip of black ran up his nose to the top of his head and down his back. His normally white muzzle and legs glowed red from the flames arching up the doorway behind him. His eyes were fierce, golden pools above a toothy grimace. There was no mistaking his identity. It was Derek.

The next thing she knew he was on top of her, teeth sinking into the back of her neck and ripping her off her feet. She jumped upwards, twisting with him and they rolled across the floor snarling tangle of teeth. She grabbed hold of his cheek and used his momentum to kick upward, hefting him over her head. Flesh stuck in her teeth and he howled an unholy shriek of pain. Blood poured down the side of his face in thick, sticky tracks.

She twisted onto her feet and launched at him. He recovered just as she hit him, rearing up on two legs. They stood together, clawing and tearing at each other's faces. Anybody would bet against her small, frail frame, but where Derek had size and strength, Shirley had experience. He hadn't had the training she had and, more importantly, he wasn't used to his new body yet. She ducked to the side, mouth open wide. Her eyes glittered a challenge and he fell for it.

Teeth clicking, he charged forward. At the last moment, she ducked right and he slammed into a closet door with shattering force. A second later she was through the door into the back bedroom. A sea of toys was scattered across the floor. There was a bed in the corner and a crib along the wall next to the window. Huddled next to it was a boy, maybe six, clutching his baby sister to his chest. He scrambled backwards when Shirley ran to check the window.

Oh thank God. At least somebody had some sense.

She heard Derek struggle to his feet in the living room, a snarl tearing from his throat, and hurried back over to the kids. She crawled forward on her belly, whining softly. The boy reached out, ran a hand through the bloody fur on her neck and gripped her leash. She stood up, pulling him and his sister with her. Derek massive frame covered the the doorway, eyes blazing while smoke billowed around him and Shirley darted for the window.

Glass exploded in all directions as the three of them burst through. Shirley went head first, taking the brunt of the hit. They slammed the railing hard and dropped onto the fire escape. She jumped up and starting running, pulling the boy so hard he nearly dropped his sister on the grating. Shirley dragged them down the steps as fast as he could handle, panting through waves of pain.

Derek stumbled out the broken window, bounced off the railing, and tore after them. He was growling so hard he was frothing at the mouth. Her feet hit the pavement and Shirley immediately started barking like crazy. Her voice was drowned out by the sirens of emergency response. Of course they would show up now.

The little boy screamed and Shirley whipped around just in time to block Derek's jaws wrapping around the kid's arm. His fangs ripped through the side of her jaw and a spark of fury ignited in her chest. Her pupils blew wide, vision laser focused. Not again. Never again. He drew back to strike her and she launched herself at his throat. He screeched, thrashing back and forth in a desperate attempt to dislodge her. Her jaws locked, his pulse throbbing against her teeth. A river of precious blood ran down the back of her throat. He reared up to his full height and toppled over backwards, the momentum flinging her off him.

He struggled to his feet, panting hard, blood gushing from his neck.

"Shirley!" John and Greg skidded around the corner, snapping her out of focus long enough for Derek to take off running.

Dammit! She started to follow.

"Shirley, no!"

Shirley skidded to a halt, fur bristling, breathing heavy. John didn't understand. Derek was never going to stop. She had to finish this.

"Shirley." His voice was softer this time, cautious.

Her pupils shrank. She looked back. The detective was crouched next to the children, a steadying hand on the boy's back, but his eyes were on her. The disbelief there...the disgust. Shirley winced when she found the same shock in John's gaze. It was only then that she realized she was covered in blood and spit and soot, a thick, crimson swathe staining her front. Several gashes on her face bled freely, but most of that red wasn't her own.

She let John pick up the leash and lead her away before the paramedics could swarm the two coughing children. They skirted back to the flat, barely avoiding the morning rush. Her cuts had almost healed by the time they got through the door, but she was thankful Mrs. Hudson didn't come out of her apartment on their way up the stairs. She didn't want the old woman to see her like this. Like some kind of monster.

John put her in the tub and slowly, carefully worked the muck out of her fur. He didn't say a word and she sat quietly, watching him with guilty eyes. By the time he was done she was back to being white and shiny and she smelled like John. She kept reminding herself that she'd saved those kids. They were alive and free because of her, but she couldn't shake the nagging certainty that things were about to get worse. A lot worse.