Of Fur and Ice

by Andrea Marie Brokaw

  Looking around, Warren raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

  No one's going to notice if we take off now. There's no one to see us. And if they do notice, no one's going to worry. It's not like Warren is going to get lost in his home territory.

  Still... Do I really want to leave with Warren? I can't even tell if he's being Nice Warren or not.

  On the other hand, I'm already alone with the guy and pretty far away from the others. So... “Yeah, alright.”

  My stomach rolls at the boldness, but the grin Warren gives me more than makes up for any discomfort.

  Although two hours and uncountable falls later, I'm seriously second-guessing how much discomfort that grin was worth. Particularly as Warren keeps bouncing between his nice mode, which I am growing rather fond of, and his freaky mode, of which I am not in the least bit appreciative. The wolf needs medication.

  “What are you so scared of?” he asks.

  Squinting at him, I accept his hand to get up. “What do you mean?”

  He pulls me to my feet, then waves at the slope. “You get scared, you panic, and you fall. Why?”

  Um... I stare at him. “Because I'm careening out of control?”

  An eyebrow goes up and the rest of his face scrunches in disbelief. “Careening down the bunny slope?”

  “Beginners' Area,” I correct, feeling a sulk come on.

  “Michaela, you're a were.” His tone is steady, but his eyes are reasonably kind. “If you break your neck, it will hurt for a few days. If you gripe enough, you can probably make people carry your books for you. You're not going to die on anything groomed.”

  Nice not to die. But extreme pain doesn't sound fun either. “I don't have the full benefits package yet.”

  Warren rolls his eyes. “You're on the bunny slope, Michaela!”

  “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  He was all puffed up to escalate our argument, but he slumps in confusion at the question. “What?”

  “Everyone else calls me Mike. My mom is the only person who has ever called me Michaela.”

  I leave out the fact people also tend to do it when they're angry. It would be too easy, and typical, of him just to say he's always angry with me.

  Shifting uncomfortably and keeping his eyes on the snow, Warren shrugs. “If I agree to call you Mike, will try a real slope?”

  “A green one?”

  A soft laugh shifts the mood again. “Your pick even.”

  I stick my hand out. “Deal.”

  He shakes the hand, then holds onto it so he can start my motion toward the lift, letting go once I get going, but then grabbing me again when I threaten to fall at the lift loading area.

  How can it be so hard to stop a snowboard? Only one foot is attached to it when you're not going downhill, so the other can go wherever it wants. It should be a snap to stop. It is for everyone who isn't me.

  “You're over-thinking your balance,” Warren explains, even though I don't ask him about it. He helps me get on the lift, pulling down the little bar even though he made fun of me wanting the one on the last lift. Most humans don't bother pulling down the safety bar, let alone super-healing weres. “You need to start listening to your instincts.”

  “My instincts tell me to go home,” I mutter gloomily, making him laugh for some reason.

  We go the rest of the way up without speaking, and Warren follows me quietly to the slope I picked out. He doesn't say anything until after I've spent at least a minute surveying the thing in dismay.

  “Go.” The command is amused, but firm.

  Looking down the slope, I hear myself whimper.

  “You ski this slope,” he points out with annoying calm.

  “I'm not on skis!” I protest. “This isn't the same.”

  Letting out a hefty sigh, Warren shakes his head. “You can walk if you'd rather.”

  My eyes narrow at him. “You're not qualified to teach this, are you?”

  “I never said I was.” He flashes me a smile. It's not as good as the grin that got me here, but it does make me shiver less. He gives me a gentle look. “If you go first, I can help you up when you fall. If you come behind me, you'll be on your own.”

  I puff up. “You mean if I fall.”

  “No.” He grins. “I mean when you fall.”

  My teeth grit together.

  Why I am letting him goad me like this? It's not as if it's a mark of shame to lose one's balance the first day of snowboarding. In fact, it was pretty darn ambitious to leave the bunny slope, whatever Warren's making out.

  “You still have the reflexes of a human,” the wolf commiserates. “It's not your fault you can't balance any better than a drunken monkey. Don't feel bad about it. I'll help you get up when you inevitably sprawl to the ground.”

  With a growl and a hop, I start down. Warren's laughter follows tight on my heels.

  It is not the world's best run by any stretch of the imagination, but I do manage to get all the way to the bottom before I sprawl onto the snow. And I only do that because I'm not very good at stopping yet, and the area has gotten kind of crowded.

  Warren absolutely beams at me.

  “Damn you, wolf!” I yell up at him. “You did that on purpose!”

  He's grinning as he helps me up. “It worked, didn't it?”

  I move to smack his shoulder with a playful sort of swat, but lose my balance. If it wasn't for him lashing out to grab my arm, the same one that was trying to hit him, I would fall.

  His hand wraps around my wrist as I lean towards his body.

  His scent flows over me.

  His eyes, wide and filled with something unnameable, search mine.

  He drops my arm, slides down the hill a bit and informs me he needs to go to work.

  “Alright,” I mumble, feeling lost.

  The board is somehow off of his feet, and he's walking towards the lodge.

  Miffed, I bend over to release my boots, knocking myself off balance again and falling face first onto the snow.

  “Stay still!”

  Out of nowhere, Seth is here, working to free my legs from their board of bondage. “Serves you right for messing with the powers of darkness.”

  “What?” I blink stupidly. “Warren?”

  “No.” The leopard laughs. “Snowboarding.”

  Free of the dark power, I roll over and accept the hand Seth offers to help me to my feet. “Why is it I'm always having to save you?”

  Softly, I harrumph with as much dignity as I can muster. “Being grateful for help is different from actually needing rescue.”

  Seth smiles. “True. You clearly have no need of me whatsoever.”

  “Clearly,” I agree. But I grin immediately afterwards so he'll know I don't mean it.

  Bending over, he grabs the board. “Rental?”

  “Yeah.” I make a grab for it. “But you don't have to carry it.”

  “Already doing it.” Easily dodging my attempt at reclaiming the board, he starts towards the rental shop, leaving me to trudge along behind him.

  “So, is Warren planning on taking you back to school, or did he really just abandon you here?” There's something I can't pin down in his voice. Something tense lurking below the easy-going surface. One of those prospects seems to upset him, but I can't tell which one.

  “I don't know,” I answer honestly. “He said earlier he'd take me home before he went to work, but then he just stomped off for no reason.”

  “He had a reason,” Seth assures me. “Warren always has a reason. It's just usually not a reason a sane person would understand.”

  “You know...” I draw out as we walk into the rental building. “I can't really tell if you two like each other or not.”

  Seth gives the board to the attendant and comes to sit beside me as I take off the boots. “Well, cats and dogs frequently get along. But deep down, they're cats and dogs.”

  Oh. “I hadn't thought of it like that.” I struggle to get the first boots off, so Seth moves in fr
ont of me to pull it off. He moves onto the other boot without giving me a chance to fight it.

  “That's because you still like to pretend we're human.” He looks steadily up at me. “We aren't human, Mike.”

  “We're not our animals either.”

  Sadly, his head shakes. “I'm not as sure of that as you are.”

  I slip on my sneakers while Seth takes the boots over to the counter. Quietly thanking him, I walk out the door wondering if I have been left up here or not.

  “There he is.” Seth jerks his chin to a form lounging moodily on the corner of the lodge closest to the parking lot. “You know, if you'd like to stay longer...”

  I give a serene smile. “I've figured out what I morph into, Seth.”

  He jerks to complete attention, eyes bright.

  “A popsicle.”

  It takes about a second for him to realize that was a joke.

  Smiling sheepishly, he lets out a sigh. “Go curl up by the fire, you house kitten.”

  “Meow!”

  Chapter Twelve

  It's another speechless ride back to school. I thank Warren for teaching me to play on a snowboard, but the only response is a moderately civil grunt of acknowledgment and an increase in the volume of the stereo, which is playing some sort of bizarre blend of country and metal.

  Defying prediction, Warren pulls the truck into the community garage. “I thought you were going to work?” I blurt thoughtlessly.

  The truck shuts off with a slight sputter. “Need to get some stuff. For the weekend.”

  I climb out of the truck, wondering what happened to Nice Warren. Did he get trapped in his ski locker with his board? “You spend most weekends with your family?”

  “The ones I work Saturdays on.”

  So diving me home last weekend would have been out of the way even without the mysterious errand for his mother.

  A gust of wind rips through me as we walk towards the entrance to the building. Even in a covered parking structure, the wind can be wicked here – Arctic.

  Warren studies me. “You okay, Michaela?”

  Sniffling loudly, I nod. “Of course. Just cold.” Making a big production of it, I give in to a dramatic shiver. “Anyone who would volunteer to live here must be crazy. Explains a lot about you, I suppose.”

  My companion slows to a halt.

  I didn't mean for the last sentence to come across in an accusatory fashion. I meant it as a joke, but it did sound hostile.

  “Michaela?”

  I stop, wrapping my arms around myself, and turn around to face him, even though the thing I want most in the world right now is to get into the building a few short feet away. “Yeah?”

  “I'm sorry.”

  Confused by the declaration, I move my eyes up from the ground to Warren's face. He's watching me carefully, but his expression appears honest. “The last two weeks have been beyond weird for me, and I haven't been treating you well. And I'm sorry.”

  Holding my hands in front of my face, I blow air onto them, warming them to buy myself a few seconds of thought. “Actually, you've only been a jerk about half of the time. The other half of the time, I kind of like you.”

  If I were being more honest, I would have to say I really like nice Warren. Maybe even really, really like him.

  Nodding, Warren starts toward the door, moving as he passes me to make sure we don't touch. “I'll put more effort into being a jerk then. Liking me probably isn't good for you.”

  Dramatic much? I catch up with him before the door shuts, and ask, “So why have the last two weeks been weird?”

  “I don't want to talk about it.”

  At least he says that without sounding like he hates me. The words just seem tired.

  Sam is in the Great Room, talking into a slender phone on the wall. “Wait, she just walked in. Hold on for a second.” She presses a button on the wall and waves the handset in my direction. “Mike! It's some guy named Troy?” She doesn't even attempt to look as though she isn't curious as to who Troy is.

  I feel a little guilty for the fact I never told her about him.

  Sensing my hesitation, Warren reaches out to take the phone. “I can tell him to go away for you.”

  It's tempting, but I shake my head. “I went out with him for six months.”

  Warren gives me a calm look. “You don't owe him anything.”

  “No,” I agree. “But I owe myself the satisfaction of telling him to go away.” I try to smile. “Besides, if I don't, then I'm just as much of a coward as he is.”

  Smiling back with a smile that isn't happy, but is supportive, Warren hands me the phone.

  Neither he nor Sam go anywhere, although they do retreat a few steps so as not to crowd me while they listen to my end of the conversation. Sam whispers something to Warren as I take a deep breath and press the button to bring the call off of hold, but instead of spilling the goods about Troy, he shakes his head at her and stays silent.

  “Hello?”

  I have to say the word twice before he responds. “God, it's good to hear your voice, Mike.”

  The same cannot be said of his. He sounds strained. Worn. It wrings my heart. Even though a huge part of me wanted him miserable, hearing evidence of it doesn't make me happy. It just makes me feel bad for him, which is something I don't want to do.

  “Mike?”

  The yearning in his voice slices through me and my eyes squeeze shut, fighting back tears. Warren was right before; Troy isn't worth crying over... or for.

  “Why did you call me?” I want to know.

  He sputters. “Why did I call you? Because I miss you so much it's driving me crazy.”

  “Well, I don't seem to miss you.”

  Oddly enough, that seems to be true. I had thought I missed him, but what really upset me was the fact he hadn't tried to contact me. Now that he's called, I find I'm not bothered by the miles between us.

  “I love you, Mike.” The declaration is scarcely a whisper.

  “No, you don't,” I whisper back, saddened. I lean forward, feeling the cool wood panel against my skin. My stomach rolls and my breath is shaky. “If you did, then you wouldn't have been messing around with Kim.”

  “Kim.” He spits the name like it's a curse. “I don't know how she did it. I got so confused, and I made a huge mistake. I'm so, so sorry, Mike. She never meant anything to me. I swear.”

  Does that make it better? Or worse? And do I care?

  He sobs, sounding like he honestly is crying. “You have to forgive me, Mike. I'm going to go crazy if you don't.”

  I sigh. “Alright. I forgive you.”

  “Really?” The word is cautious, like he expects to be slammed now. The forgiveness was too easy to trust.

  “Yes, really,” I confirm. It makes me feel better to say it, although my insides are still a nauseous tangle of emotion.

  “Really?” There's more belief then. “Oh, God. Thank you, Mike. God. Things will be so much better this time. I'll make it up to you. As soon as you get home, I'll-”

  “I'm not coming home,” I cut off his mad dash of words.

  There's a long pause. “What?” Genuine confusion is evident in the question.

  “I'm staying here.” I take a deep breath. “And I said I forgive you, not that we're getting back together.”

  “What?” Anger is starting to blend into the bewilderment now.

  “I'm not mad at you anymore,” I tell him. “But I don't want you to call me again, Troy.”

  “So you're moving to Alaska to punish me?” he demands, incredulous.

  “I'm not here to punish you.” Shaking my head miserably, I sigh. “Me being here has nothing to do with you.”

  He snorts loudly. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don't care if you believe it or not,” I state. And, once again, it's the truth.

  “Why are you being such a bitch?”

  “I'm not!” Straightening, I keep my face turned to the wall.

  “What am I
supposed to do?” he demands. “I said I was sorry. You said you forgive me. What else am I supposed to be doing here, Mike? You want me to be miserable? I'm miserable. I have been since I got that damned form letter from you! You didn't even personalize it! You just left me without anything!”