Lost (Shifter Island Book 1) by Carol Davis

that overlooked the settlement. They were still more than a quarter of a mile away from the closest structure, but the hill offered a view of nearly everything.
    Abby stood looking at it in silence, her expression serious and contemplative. Then she asked quietly, “How many people live there?”
    “At last count, fifty-nine.”
    “Really?”
    “It varies. But never by much.”
    “It looks like one of those reenactment villages. Plymouth Colony, or something like that. Very simple.”
    “It is simple. But productive.”
    “You’ve always lived this way?”
    Aaron nodded. “Always.”
    “And you normally live down there. Not at the cabin.”
    “I do.”
    “With no electricity,” she mused. “And no plumbing.”
    “There are wells. And we collect rainwater in troughs and barrels. We have candles and oil lamps for light, and we cook over open flame, as you’ve seen. We have no need for the ‘conveniences’ you have on the mainland—although many of us do prefer using a toilet house to voiding ourselves in the woods,” he added with a small smile. “Our lives here are very simple and uncomplicated.”
    “You don’t need to pay any bills. Or taxes.”
    “No.”
    “I guess that’s pretty attractive.”
    She didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he’d hoped she might. Both her tone and her expression were very serious, as if she was thinking through every little bit of this. That was a good thing, he told himself—if she’d given up thinking of this as a lark and was sorting through what life here truly involved.
    “You just live here in peace,” she said. “And you don’t bother anybody else.”
    “No one here has any desire to bother anyone.”
    “You just want to be left alone.”
    “Yes,” Aaron said.
    She was silent for a long time, gazing down at the settlement, picking at the strap of her bag with a fingernail. There seemed to be an entire cascade of thoughts going through her head; a human might not have noticed, but the wolf side of him was able to pick up the tiniest of changes in stance, scent, where her eyes were focused. Heartbeat, breathing. A large part of what he was showing her appealed to her, he knew. But not all of it. That would take time.
    “This is a beautiful place, Abby,” he said. “A good place.”
    She nodded, but it seemed to be more in simple acknowledgement that he had spoken than to agree with him.
    “I have a home,” she said.
    “I understand.”
    “But it’s–” Her breath hitched. “It’s just a place to live. A roof over my head. You know?”
    “I understand the difference.”
    “Aaron…” she said. When he raised an eyebrow, she went on, “It seems hard to believe that there’s a place like this. Something that’s so simple. Do you get along here? Like each other? Help each other?”
    “For the most part. We have our disagreements.”
    “Like you and your brother.”
    Rather than answer that, he looked down the hill and scanned the settlement carefully. He was looking for signs of life down below, someone going to fetch water or tend to the animals. It wasn’t quite time for the midday meal, so his packmates weren’t likely to be at home eating, or at the gathering place where they could share a meal outside in the sunshine. They’d be going about their daily chores: washing clothes, teaching the children, tending to the gardens.
    One by one, he was able to pick them out. Almost a dozen were visible from where he was standing.
    Then he spotted something he’d been leery of seeing. Down below, at the edge of the woods surrounding the settlement, a big gray wolf was prowling through the trees. The animal was moving slowly, with somewhat of a limp.
    His father, Jeremiah.
    He wondered if Luca had already returned to the settlement, if he’d told their father what was happening.
    Beside him, Abby let out a squeak, and he grasped her hand in his own. She huddled close to him for a moment, breathing shallowly, alert and wary. Clearly, she’d