Pale moonlight streamed through the windows of yet another hotel on another city on the band’s latest tour. Outside, the moon gleamed full and bright, barely cresting the craggy outline of the Sangre de Christo Mountain Range. Everybody in the city of Denver—and the members of Irish hard rock band Rogue—were asleep, save for one.

Killian’s green eyes snapped open; for a second they glowed phosphorescent in the darkness before returning to their normal shade. He was so, so hot . . . all thanks to the full moon and the bite he’d been given years ago. His eyes quickly scanned the room, flicking over the sleeping forms of Ryan, Zayden, Neil, and Shane, before fire shot through him. He bit his lip hard to keep from groaning, drew blood, and instantly rolled out of bed. Killian landed on all fours, hard, and the pain helped urge on what he’d been trying to fight.

His bones burned white-hot as they cracked and reformed. Muscles turned to mush, then returned in harder, more powerful designs. Coarse hair—fur—wormed its way through the pores in his skin; nails darkened and lengthened to form claws even as his hands became paws. Inside his mouth, his teeth grew longer, sharper, blood emerging from gums as his jaws became part of a powerful muzzle. Transformation complete, he glanced again around the room with yellow-green eyes. Suddenly nothing in the room mattered to him anymore, not even his bandmates, his adopted pack. All he owned was the night world and everything in it. Maybe that was the wolf talking, but right then, it was true.

Unfortunately, they were in the hotel penthouse and all the windows were shut. Since he was in lupine form at the moment, Killian had no way of opening the window. A soft, frustrated growl escaped him as he paced the length of the wall, his movements short and tense. If anyone had been watching, he looked like he might explode at any moment.

One of his bandmates, maybe Shane or Neil, rolled over in sleep, grumbling, and Killian froze. When one of them suddenly sat straight up, the golden wolf dove for cover and curled up in a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible. It would have been funny if the situation hadn’t been so serious. After a few tense moments, Shane went back to sleep.

Killian sighed and draped his tail over his nose. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight. Then again, he never did when it was the night of the full moon. None of his kind did.

*

Zayden glanced up from raiding the fridge the next morning to see a sleepy-looking Killian pad into the kitchen. The bassist greeted, “Hey there, mate. Didn’t sleep well, huh?”

“No. Full moon,” was all the band’s singer said in response. Zayden just nodded and returned to hunting for breakfast. Out of everyone else in Rogue, he was the only one who knew about Killian’s lycanthropy, even if he’d found out about it completely by accident. One night he’d been unable to sleep, had gone in search of water, and somehow found himself opening the door to Killian’s room and finding him in mid-transformation—a sight he’d been sure would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. This was back when Patrick Murphy had been one of their guitarists while they were making Disturbia.

“Where’re Ryan and Team Rocket?” Killian asked, jerking Zayden out of his recollections. The lupine had come closer and was now leaning against the counter, his green gaze raking over the contents of the small refrigerator.

“I think Ryan’s still asleep, and I have no idea where Shane or Neil are at the moment.” Finding nothing of interest, he closed the fridge. “How rough was it?”

There was silence for a long moment. Finally Killian replied, “Well, the window was shut so I couldn’t get out, but considering we’re so high up anyway . . .” He shrugged, and a smile twitched at his mouth as he added, “I had to dive for cover when Shane shot straight up. Somehow I ended up behind the couch.”

At the mental image of a large blond werewolf ducking behind a leather sofa, Zayden had to fight hard not to laugh. He couldn’t help chuckling a little and Killian, with his sensitive lupine hearing, heard it and scowled. “At least you think it’s funny.”

“So do you, mate. That’s cos it is funny.” Zayden shot his bandmate a grin. The grin faded as a more serious thought occurred to him. “So, how is it, really?”

Killian sighed, and his eyes flared yellow for a moment. “Zayden . . .,” he said, a warning note in his voice. “You’ve known about this for five years. And I’m not giving you the bite, so forget that idea.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” the bass guitarist said smoothly. Then, in a quieter voice: “Patrick found out, too. Remember?”

The muscles tightened in Killian’s jaw; Zayden noticed that the lead singer’s nails had darkened, lengthened, and were now digging into the counter-top. That gave the bassist his answer.

Back then was the first time he’d seen the some of the extent of Killian’s wolf powers, without him shifting into his werewolf form. Patrick, his courage bolstered by alcohol, had threatened to tell the truth about what Killian really was to the rest of Rogue, the media, everyone. Killian’s eyes went phosphorescent, canines turned into fangs, and he’d grabbed the rhythm guitarist by his shirt collar and slammed him up against the nearest wall, his claws tearing through the fabric in Patrick’s shirt, a low growl rumbling from his throat. Zayden hadn’t been able to hear what words were exchanged, but when the werewolf stepped back, Patrick’s face was blank and eyes were wide with terror. He’d left the next day, and since there were no werewolf stories in the tabloids, both Killian and Zayden assumed the secret was safe.

When he’d asked Killian about it later, about why Patrick’s reaction was the way it was, Killian had simply replied, “I’m the alpha. It’s my responsibility to look out for the pack.”

“Pack?” Zayden had asked.

“Us. The band.”

“Oh.” That was the first he’d heard of any werewolf pack mentality, but it also made sense as to why they wouldn’t let Ryan leave the band when he’d lost his family in a car wreck a few years ago. Zayden wouldn’t say the drummer was the band’s pet, but he was their friend—and packmate, in Killian’s mind—and none of them turned their backs on friends.

Gradually the tension in Killian’s face and body drained away and he relaxed. Zayden, meanwhile, had finally found a box of cereal and was starting to open it. The crinkling of the plastic bag inside the cardboard box alerted Killian to the fact there was food afoot and he swung his head in Zayden’s direction, stomach growling. Even without super-sharp senses, the bassist could hear it. He ignored Killian’s piercing yellow-green glare as he dug out a handful and popped it in his mouth.

“Zayden . . .” Killian’s voice was a low growl. “Hand over the box.”

He pretended to think it over, then smirked. “No.”

This time it was a wordless snarl, and Zayden had to dart out of range. “Wow, you’re not a morning person, are you?” he teased.

“I’m always cranky the morning after a full moon; you know that.” Killian snatched for the box again, only to be treated to the sight of Zayden’s retreating figure, his mane of curly brown hair flying every which way. He growled softly with irritation before giving chase. It took a couple minutes, but after a flying leap over one of the couches, he had Zayden pinned underneath him and they were wrestling for control of the cereal.

Shane suddenly came walking in, his blond hair wet, freshly clothed, and pulled up short when he saw Zayden writhing on the floor underneath Killian. He cleared his throat and said, “Hey, guys take it somewhere else, huh?”

Both men froze and glanced up, Killian’s eyes glowing yellow-green again and fangs bared before he realized it. Suddenly realizing the awkwardness of the situation and what it must look like to Shane, he abruptly scrambled off Zayden and helped him up. To one half of Team Rocket he said, “It’s not what it looks like.” Then he glared at Zayden. “Are you going to give me the cereal now?”

A smile twitched at Shane’s mouth before he gave a short laugh. Killian had to hand it to the guy: he had a great sense of humor.

Zayden grumbled good-naturedly and handed over the box, but not before Killian saw the broad smirk. He gave a warning growl, not caring about letting some of the wolf come through, and started heading for the kitchenette to look for a bowl.

“Well, that was . . . interesting,” he heard Shane comment to Zayden. “All that over a bloody cereal box?”

Killian sensed rather than saw Zayden shrug. He didn’t care; his mouth had flooded with saliva at the word “bloody”. Since the moon remained full for two more days, it was easier for his wolf to take control, even though the moon was a constant influence on lupines all the time—and he could bring on the change whenever he wanted. At last he clamped down on his werewolf instincts in time to hear Zayden’s reply of, “Yeah, well, he’s always irritable the morning after a full moon. And I’m pretty sure I started it.”

“You did,” Killian called from the kitchenette. He’d finally found a paper bowl and spoon and was now going for the milk jug. “And stop smiling.” When he came back out and set breakfast down on the table, he noticed how abruptly their faces had become neutral. Only slightly amused, he asked Shane, “Where are the others?”

“Getting dressed, I think,” he replied. “The noise the two of you were making sure woke them up. What time is it, anyway?”

Killian glanced at his wristwatch. “Six-thirty.”

“We’re not performing until what, six? Seven?”

“Seven,” said Neil as he entered the room. Ryan was right behind him. “In the evening.”

Killian opened his mouth like he was about to swear loudly and snapped it shut when the others stared at him. Zayden would know what was troubling him, of course, but Ryan, Neil, and Shane were in the dark about his lycanthropy. Ah, well. He’d made it through evening concerts on full moon nights before. He could handle tonight if he just tightened control on his lupine instincts.

*

The sun had just set and the full moon was making itself visible in the night sky. Killian glanced at it nervously before sweeping his gaze over the crowd of fans, most of them teenage girls. After they’d released Disturbia and, subsequently, their cover of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” as a single, it seemed like more of their audience had become that of the young female variety. They’d been playing for maybe an hour already, after Inkubus opened for them (and yes, they kicked Jordan’s arse), and Rogue’s resident werewolf—as well as Zayden and Team Rocket—were hot, sticky, and sweaty, mostly from running around the stage. In Killian’s case, some of it might be from paranormal causes, but right now he was refusing to think about that.

During the hours-long rehearsal and setting-up phase, they had gone over the set list, and behind him, Killian heard Shane, Ryan, Neil and Zayden launch into “Animal”. This time, the lyrics had a ring of truth: The animal inside Killian was itching for release. But he couldn’t give in to the wolf, not while he was onstage. Aside from the fact the media would have a field day, he had no idea how Neil, Ryan and Shane would react. Zayden was totally cool with it, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

As he sang with the others on backing vocals, Killian could feel the 'wolf shadow pricking at the back of his mind. He knew he was losing control when he looked in Zayden’s direction and the bass player hissed softly, “Your eyes”. He felt his canines growing sharp in his mouth, but Killian was suddenly finding it hard to push back the wolf. And no matter where he went onstage, the moonlight seemed to follow him.

Somehow he made it through the last two songs in their set, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and “Dangerous”, and the usual parting words. Then he was off that stage, aware all the while of the moon’s glow. It seemed to mock him as he jogged backstage, hearing the distant footfalls of his bandmates—packmates—as they followed from a few yards away. The silver moonlight tracked him even backstage, trapping him in its glow, and Killian knew he had to either give in or let the burning inside consume him. His breathing had become harsh, labored, and again he felt the shadow of his wolf in his mind, pushing, trying to take over.

A hand came down on his shoulder as a voice asked, “Killian, you okay, mate?”

Startled, he growled and whipped around, fangs bared, eyes flashing yellow-green. Zayden jumped backward to avoid having his hand turned into a hamburger patty. The bassist answered his own question, “Guess not.” Concern swiftly etched itself onto his face. “You’re close to changing, aren’t you?”

Unable to speak, Killian nodded. As if from far away he could hear Shane, Neil, and Ryan’s footsteps as they walked closer. At the thought of fresh meat, saliva flooded his mouth; in the back of his throat, he tasted the metallic tang of blood. He bared fangs in a sick parody of a smile and lunged, trying to dart around Zayden, only to be held back as his friend’s strong arms grabbed and held him in place, drawing him close. Normally Killian would have pulled away—but the animal inside was too strong. All he could feel at the moment was the heat of his bassist’s body; smell Zayden’s unique scent . . . and then it was delicious pain coursing through him as his wolf leapt out from the shadows to dominate.