Sitting around the campfire after downing one too many chili dogs is adding to my post-lunch energy dip. It's probably just as well, though, because now I'm less inclined to make a bigger deal out of finding out why Clayton didn't want me to come.

How stupid was I to believe that he's only with Gemma Calhoun for the sake of the pack? That woman is drop dead gorgeous, sophisticated and rich. She could have anyone in the world, but if what I've witnessed so far is any indication, she really wants to be with him.

It's been kind of sickening to watch, actually.

With her flowy hair, smoky eyes and designer wardrobe that's fit for the outdoors merely because of its plaid print, Gemma looks like she just stepped out of a beauty salon. She's also been stuck to Clayton's side ever since emerging from their tent, holding his hand, stroking his arm or kissing his cheek without shame.

And the most surprising part is that Clayton appears to be enjoying every minute of it. He didn't even seem fazed by me being here, smiling nonchalantly when I said an obligatory hello. At least Gemma had the authenticity to silently grit her teeth.

But although I didn't get the satisfaction of seeing him squirm, I am finally getting a chance to know the pack so not everything is lost.

There are more university faculty from different schools, as well as administrators and staff from various departments here than I've seen at either ceremony I've attended. And it's like I'm the shiny new thing they all want a part of.

They come in waves of four or five, sitting down around the flaming logs and asking me the same questions. Where am I from? Who are my parents? How do I like it here so far?

Some of them add little details about themselves like when Jamal of the counseling center proudly mentions that he's also originally from Maryland or how Sandeep from the physics department says that he also has an adopted sibling.

When one group leaves, another follows. And while at first I'm able to match names to faces, after a while everyone starts to blur into each other.

"I'm going to go . . . uhm, powder my nose," I say, unable to come up with a better euphemism that would work for the woods. But as I stand and look towards the trees, I realize that I haven't been enlightened about the facilities. "Is there like an outhouse or something?"

"Number one or number two?" asks Walt, the same guy who after my pack induction also inquired about the after-party.

I scrunch my nose. "Does it matter?"

He grins. "Not in location, but definitely in terms of technique. You see for number two, you'll need to first dig a hole--"

"One! It's just one," I say quickly, not wanting him to continue.

"Then just find a leafy bush and crouch," he says with a laugh. "But watch out for poison ivy. Remember, leaves of three; let it be!"

"Gotcha. Leaves of three, not for me," I mumble as I turn to leave.

"Hey! That's also a good one," Walt says, apparently having the hearing of a bat.

The dry, fallen leaves crunch under my boots as I walk away from camp and deeper into the forest. I recognize the unique shapes of maple and oak, but that's as far as my local deciduous tree knowledge goes. There's still a little bit of daylight left above the tall pines, but the sky is increasingly turning orange. Soon, there will be pinks and then reds mixed in with the setting sun's warm glow before darkness fully sets in.

I find plenty of low, thick shrubs, but I would like some privacy and I don't think I've gone far enough. I can still easily hear the muffled conversations and occasional laughter from around the campfires. As long as I keep going in a more-or-less straight path, I shouldn't have to worry about getting lost. And even if I did, there's a pack of wolves with a super sense of smell who could track me down.

Movement in the corner of my eye makes me stop. Slowly turning my head, I focus my vision and see a white tail deer standing in the trees. The young, two-point buck is just as surprised to see me as I him. His nostrils are flaring as he sniffs the air between deep breaths, but his body is still. Only the muscle in his rear haunches twitches ever so slightly, showing his unease.

I almost didn't even see him and if I would have kept walking, who knows how he would have responded. Would he have turned and ran in the opposite direction? Or would he have perhaps charged straight at me, feeling cornered by an unknown foe?

Even at this age, he probably outweighs me three to one. And while those antlers are relatively small, they could cause as much damage as a dagger if they pierced the right—or wrong—spot in my belly.

But then again, I am a wolf. Maybe the buck should be afraid of me.

Feeling a rush of confidence , I take a step forward. My boots swish in the leaf carpet, making the animal stomp and then snort in warning. I'm not afraid and I call its bluff, taking another step.

Without another thought, the deer swings his head to the right and runs away.

Something inside me makes me want to follow it, so I do. I run, knowing that there's no way I can catch up with the buck, yet somehow I'm able to keep pace. I must look mad, dodging trees as I pursue the wild animal, but the chase is exhilarating. My nostrils burn from the cold air, but at the same time, sweat runs down between my shoulder blades. When I finally come to a stop, it's not because of exhaustion, but rather an exposed root that evades my attention.

"Son of a biscuit!" I yell after I land face first into a pile of leaves. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I watch as the buck jumps over a fallen log and darts into the safety of the thick forest.

Standing up, I brush the dirt and twigs off my fleece, only now realizing how much darker it is than just a few minutes ago. The chattering of squirrels and the birdsong from earlier has also been replaced by the occasional hoot of an owl and the familiar chirping of crickets.

My body heat is quickly dropping, bringing me back further to reality. As my teeth begin to chatter from the cold, I look around for a place to do my business. At this point, I'd take a big enough rock or a pile of fallen logs over a good bush, but when I scan the area, I find something a lot more interesting.

I don't know how I missed it, but there's a house in the middle of the forest. Enveloped in a light fog that has suddenly descended, its windows are dark, but it feels like it's calling to me.

There's a stillness in the air as I get closer and a prickle of curiosity runs up the back of my neck, but I'm probably overreacting. This could just be a former ranger station or an abandoned hunting cabin, but the closer I get, the more unlikely those options seem.

Two stories with decorative gables and many windows, this looks more like a long-gone family's residence than anything else. Built mostly of wood, the once-painted siding is weathered and the formerly strong roof is damaged. Climbing vines have taken over one end, creeping up past windows until reaching the eaves like a zombie's fingers reaching up from the grave. The covered porch at the front has also seen better days, sagging from rot or even just age.

I scale the few steps until I get to the front door, careful not to place my foot where the floorboards could give away. I expect this to be as far as I get, but when I try the door knob, it turns. Pushing on the door, it creaks open. Inside is dark, but after a few seconds, my eyes adjust enough to get around.

It doesn't even enter my mind to not go inside and unsurprisingly, everything is covered in a thick layer of dust. There's also a strange familiarity to this place that I can't explain, but somehow I can tell what room or nook is around each corner before I get to it. My quick inspection takes me through a small parlor with a fireplace, then an eat-in kitchen and pantry, followed by a room containing a large cast iron tub although most other furniture is either missing or broken beyond recognition.

The bedrooms must be upstairs, but the inside staircase is even more rickety than the outside one, and I'm not brave enough to risk it. Instead, I return to the parlor to better examine the carved mantlepiece. It's only then I notice something that I'd completely missed earlier.

Hanging above a hearth that probably hasn't seen any flames in decades is a large painting. The frame alone is much too ornate and gilded for a modest home like this one, but the subject of the painting is even less fitting. I recognize something about the pose of the two figures dressed in fancy clothing and lavish jewelry, and it takes me a closer inspection of the man's military medals and the woman's ruffled gown to realize what.

I've seen this painting before! And not just in an art history textbook or in a museum, but rather in a place much, much more meaningful to me.

The same painting—or rather, its exact replica—is hanging on the wall of Packard's Cock and Mamie pub. It's the one Spencer said depicted his great-grandparents and since Spencer is Clayton's younger brother, that means that this regal couple are Clayton's ancestors, as well.

But what are they doing in an abandoned shack in an upstate wilderness preserve?

"Barlow! Barlow, can you hear me?"

Galina's calls from outside are faint, but enough to get my attention.

Leaving the house, I shut the door behind me and hurry down the steps just in time to see a rustle between trees in the distance.

"I'm right here," I yell in the general direction before waving, realizing too late that it's likely too dark for anyone to see. "Just follow my voice."

"Okay. I'm on my way," she replies as the beam of a flashlight appears.

"I'm coming, too. We'll meet half-way," I say, now hearing Galina's approaching steps.

She laughs and a moment later, I can make out her face in the darkness.

"There you are!" she exclaims when we're just feet away.

I can't help, but give her an apologetic hug.

"I'm so sorry. Time just got away from me. I didn't mean to make anyone worry," I say as I step back.

She looks at me and then points her flashlight in the direction I came from.

"You're quite a ways from the campsite," she says. "What were you doing all the way back here?"

I'm glad that even though I can feel it, it's probably too dark for her to see the warmth creep into my cheeks from embarrassment.

"Erm, so there was this deer and then I ended up here. And when I saw that house, I had to go in—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." She waves her hands to stop me. "What house?"

I thumb behind me. "The one right back here. Do you want me to show you?"

Galina looks confused, but she nods. "Sure. Yeah."

I retrace my steps, definite that within ten yards or so we'd be able to see the decrepit building. But as we come to the spot, there's still nothing around, but trees.

"I swear it was here," I say, looking around while unable to comprehend how I could get my directions so mixed up to lose a whole house.

Galina sweeps her light around, the beam bouncing off the bare tree trunks before lowering it to the ground.

"Look," she says as the light lands on a pile of rocks. "That could be part of a foundation."

"No, no," I say, shaking my head. "It was a complete house. It was in pretty bad shape, but it had a door and walls and a roof. And I even went inside."

Galina sighs. "I don't know. There could have been some kind of building here once, but it's definitely not here now."

It would be futile for me to argue with that statement. But I also know what I saw. So how does a house just up and disappear? Or am I just losing my mind?