I was flying.
It's what I did these days when I want to think - and apparently, I was one of the few who could.
Lucky me.
I was moving along the beaches, idly following the curving shore. It was hours before morning, hours before I would be exhausted enough to sleep...but not so exhausted that I had to sleep. The medallion had removed the effects of sunlight, but not my natural - or unnatural - sleep patterns. My body still craved sleep during the day, happily doing so until sunrise if I would let it. Two kids and a full-time job, unfortunately, wouldn't.
I flew five hundred feet above the crashing surf. The beaches were empty. Correction...mostly empty. There was a lone man jogging with a little squirt of a dog. A little red dog. Yes, my eyes are that good at night and in this form. The man looked vaguely familiar. Tall and muscular. As I flew overhead, the little dog stopped and barked. At me. The little shit. The man, stopped, too, and looked up, but I was already gone. I smiled to myself, now recognizing the cocky son-of-a-bitch.
The ocean rippled and sparkled, reflecting whatever ambient light was around. Fang would never be the same. Our relationship would never be the same. Hanner had plans for him, I was sure. But she could shove her plans up her pale ass.