“What if you paid your mother a visit?” I suggested.
“My mother is dead,” he replied, all the joy drained from his voice and expression.
“Your biological mother,” I clarified cautiously. I had the sudden feeling I was walking on eggshells. “Hazel Feldman.”
He blinked at me as if the name didn’t even register.
Something hit the door behind me, and both Cat and I jumped.
“Excellent,” he muttered, brushing past me. “The newspaper’s here. Now I have something worthwhile to do.”
My eyes squeezed shut a moment as I regained my composure. Alexi still had a mother—unlike Pietr, Max, Cat, Annabelle Lee, and I—and he didn’t bother with her. Regardless of the mistake she’d made in giving him up, it seemed somehow wrong to me that he’d just ignore her now that he knew. Couldn’t he forgive her? To me, it seemed that, after everything, there was little that was unforgiveable.
Feet dragging, my hand trailed along the top of the smooth wooden banister as I headed upstairs. My feet in slow motion, I reached the top of the staircase.
Pietr’s bedroom door wasn’t even open.
It was as if he had forgotten I was coming. As if I wasn’t as welcome as I had hoped.
I wandered to his bedroom door, giving more attention than ever before to the knickknacks and pictures that helped fill the space between the Rusakovas’ rooms that lined the top of the stairs.
My socks crackled, crawling with sparks, static popping between my feet and the slender rug. Electricity. That’s what I wanted to feel between Pietr and me again—that’s what we seemed to be missing.
But how did I get it back?
I reached out to touch his doorknob and saw the electricity arch and leap free a moment before it shocked me.
“Yow,” I whispered, looking at my fingertip.
But more importantly than how I got electricity back in our relationship was how I could do it and not get zapped.
Slowly I turned the knob and pushed the door open, again finding Pietr stooped over his studies, every bit the perfect student.
On a snow day.
My mind rebelled at the idea. A snow day. There was something verging on the sacred about such days and the way one spent them. Snow days were meant to be enjoyed—they were gifts Mother Nature gave students to bolster us against the oppressive crush of too many worksheets and projects and days without sunlight. A snow day should never melt away in a fit of studying.
I cleared my throat.
He turned to look at me, his expression of intense concentration sliding into a gentle smile. “You’re here already?”
Even at such simple words, my heart faltered.
He glanced at a clock, and a frown line folded the distance between his eyebrows. “Of course,” he said with a sigh. “You’re right on time.”
I decided I was also right on time to change the subject. “So. What are you doing?” I asked, trying to keep the note of reprimand from my voice.
I failed.
He arched an eyebrow, and his smile broadened. “Studying.”
“It’s a snow day.”
“Precisely. It’s like a bonus day to get organized and get extra studying in,” he explained proudly. “I may even Skype with Smith later and review some notes from a few classes.…”
Words bubbled out of my mouth awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Pietr. I won’t tolerate this. I’ve dealt with you dating my sometimes best friend, learning you’re a werewolf, your nearly selling your soul to the Mafia, but this … Oddly, wasting a snow day with studying is where I choose to draw the line.”
“What?” He tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow at me. “This is where you draw your line?”
I grabbed him by the wrist and tugged. “Ugh,” I protested when he didn’t budge. “What did you have for breakfast—lead?”
“So many things are made in China today … it’s possible.…”
“Shut up, Pietr. And stand up.”
He obeyed hesitantly, standing and towering over me, a distinctly amused look lighting his eyes. “And now what?”
“Now get your boots and your coat and we’ll take real advantage of this amazing day.” I cleared my throat and specified. “This amazing snow day.”
“Fine,” he conceded.
“Where’s Max?”
“In his room, I guess.”
“Dear god—not studying?” But the thought of Max studying on a snow day was absurd. The thought of Max studying at all … “Sleeping in?”
“Of course.”
I snorted. We walked up to his room and I banged on the door, announcing: “Up and at ’em—we’re going to have a snowball fight to beat all snowball fights.”
Max’s door opened a crack and he peered out, disheveled and bleary-eyed, his hair a mess of soft rioting curls. “Jessie.” He opened the door wider to stand boldly in only—
“Heyyy,” I said, ignoring how Max looked in just boxers as he scrubbed a hand across his broad bare chest, ruffling a bit of dark hair. The only other thing he had on was the shorter-length chain he’d worn as a choker—a chain made out of the same material Pietr’s had been. And with only one purpose to its construction.
“Still wearing the necklace?”
He blinked and rolled the links under his index finger, his lips sliding in thought. “Da. I’ve gotten used to it,” he added a little quickly, watching me. He yawned and leaned forward in the doorway, his hands on the top of the doorjamb, his powerful arms above his head. “You mentioned a snowball fight?” His lips slipped into a grin.
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll be there,” he grumbled, smacking a hand solidly against the door’s frame. “Kicking ass is a great way to start the day.”
“Kicking ass?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’m coming for you,” he said to Pietr with a nod and a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Cat climbed the stairs out of curiosity. “Jessie—pravda—really? A snowball fight?”
“Yeah—come on, Cat.… It’ll be fun,” I guaranteed. “Max intends to kick everyone’s ass,” I added as incentive.
“He does, does he?” Her demeanor changed a few degrees, a touch of the sibling rivalry I often saw sparking in Annabelle Lee’s eyes lighting in Cat’s. “Perhaps I should help teach him a lesson in humility?”
“Max and humility…” I rolled the offer around in my head. “Huh. Do those two words even work together grammatically in a sentence?”
But she slipped past us and into her room to change into warmer clothes and join in the upcoming fray.
Pietr’s hand rested on my shoulder, a temperate reminder of the heat his body used to harbor. “Are you certain this is the most productive use of our time?”
“There is nothing more productive on a snow day than making time to have fun.” I turned to him, pressing my body against the length of his and waiting for a reaction.
None came.
Sighing, I said, “Look at it this way. We take the day off, relax and have some fun, and tomorrow we go back to school refreshed and more able to pay attention and focus on our schoolwork.”
He weighed me with his eyes, considering my words. He could surely see through me—in that moment I didn’t give a rat’s ass about being more focused on schoolwork, I just wanted Pietr more focused on me. But he chose not to second-guess my intentions and simply nodded, following me down the stairs to pull on his boots and coat as he waited for me to make one last stop.
I pounded on the basement door. It didn’t open. Instead a loud growl rose from far below—the only invitation I’d get into the space serving as Amy’s bedroom now that her father was in rehab and she had no desire to return to the trailer she’d grown up in.
The same trailer where her boyfriend attacked her.
It was a thin invitation, but I did what I always tried to do now and made the most of whatever I was given.
“Morning, Sunshine,” I greeted, pounding down the long line of wooden steps.<
br />
Her long red hair a mess of tangles, she looked as if she would have been just as well rested if she hadn’t bothered sleeping at all. Dark spots like thumbprints rested right below her bloodshot green eyes and shadowed her even more than normally pale complexion.
Unable to help myself, I sprang forward and hugged her. “Hey,” I said. “We’re going to have a snowball battle. An epic snowball battle. Max has this idea that he’s going to kick some major ass.”
“So, Sarah’s here?”
“What?” I pulled back and looked at her. Maybe she wasn’t fully awake.
“You said Max was going to kick some major ass, so I presumed that the major ass had to be Sarah.” She stuck out her tongue, and I knew she was more than conscious. She was even briefly verging on dangerous. And seeing that attitude of hers thrilled me—even if the joke came at Sarah’s expense.
I laughed. “No, Sarah’s not here.”
“Maybe it’ll be a good morning after all.”
“Of course it’s going to be a good morning. I’m here.” I did a little spin, as if my presence were all that was needed to rally a celebration. “Now get dressed. You can’t go out for a snowball battle wearing those pajamas.”
“These pajamas?” She pressed down their front with her hands. “I have other pajamas.”
“Ugh.” I rephrased: “You can’t go out for a snowball battle wearing pajamas.”
“I can’t, can I?” she asked, a note of challenge rising in her voice.
“Okay, okay—you can, but you really shouldn’t. How’s that?”
“Better,” she said, a touch of the old fire burning in the depths of her eyes. “I like to think I can do whatever I want,” she reminded me.
But as quickly as it had sparked, the fire in her eyes smothered out and I wondered if she’d realized that although she liked to think she could do what she wanted, some things were still too difficult.
“If anyone can, Amy, you can. You’re a tiger.”
“Glad you still think so,” she muttered, turning her back to me and straightening out her bed. She fluffed the pillow by whacking it hard against the bedpost and admitted, “Most days I just feel like a pussy.”
“It’ll get better,” I assured her, although I wasn’t certain it would.
“How do you know? You haven’t been through what I’m going through.” Crossing to her dresser, she tugged open a drawer so it squeaked in protest. Clothing was shoved aside and shaken out as she rifled through the drawers.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with. Or how. But by the same token, you understood what I went through losing my mom the way I did and yet your mom is still alive.”
“Might as well be dead to me,” Amy said firmly.
My fists clenched at my sides. “But she’s not. She’s not dead. But you understood; you felt my loss and my pain even though it was totally different from your own.” I glared down at the floor, toes in my mismatched socks twitching in frustration. “Give me a chance,” I requested. “I’m trying to understand what you’re going through. And to support you. The way a good friend should.”
She nodded, a stiff yank of her head, keeping her back to me as she meekly pulled off her pajama top and replaced it with a loose-fitting sweatshirt that would have never before found a place in her wardrobe. Amy never claimed she had a perfect body, but once she’d been proud even of her small imperfections.
And certainly proud of her generous curves.
Lots of girls who ran cross-country and track, like Amy did, complained the first thing to shrink was their boobs and the last was “asses and ankles.” Amy maintained her shape and flaunted it.
At least she had.
But since Marvin’s attack, things had changed. Before, she’d worn tight tees, halter tops, and belly shirts, making her a frequent violator of Junction High’s dress code; now her wardrobe was mostly turtlenecks and baggy sweats. Before, she’d walked with her shoulders back and her boobs out, enjoying the attention. Now it seemed the less attention she drew to her body—to her existence—the more comfortable she felt.
She dug around for socks and sat on the edge of the bed to tug one on. She didn’t look at me. “How bad do I look?” she finally whispered. “I didn’t sleep.…”
“You’re fine.”
Finishing with her second sock, she stomped her foot. “I thought you were done lying to me.”
“I…” I shook my head. “You look rough.”
Her head lolled forward on her neck. “I know.” She heaved a sigh. “He’ll notice.”
There was only one “he” she could mean. Only one guy she still cared about looking good for. Max.
“Look. We’ll brush out your hair, put it up in a ponytail.…” I grabbed her brush off the card table that acted as her nightstand now, but she raised a hand between us.
“It’s more than my hair. A lot more than my hair. It’s everything about me.”
“He won’t say a thing,” I promised. Max wouldn’t. As much as he blustered and bulled his way through life, he was careful around Amy.
Now.
“That’s almost worse,” she confessed. “Him noticing and not commenting.…” She thrust a hand out. “Gimme that.”
I handed over the brush and watched her fight and curse her way through the tangles and snarls. She caught my eyes at one point as she panted between tugging the brush through her red mane and paused in a particularly long string of curses. “I could make a sailor blush,” she proclaimed. Proudly.
I snorted and refused to ask what Cat would think of such a thing.
When Amy was done she seemed oddly satisfied. Like she’d just won a battle with herself. I hoped this one would be the first of many.
“How dark are the circles under my eyes?”
My mouth opened, and she just shook her head. “That bad?” She flopped forward, reaching under her bed, and dragged out her purse to fumble for concealer.
“Don’t,” I said as she untwisted its cap. “It’s okay for him to see. It’s better if he knows.”
She blinked and swallowed once, then twice, and shakily put the cap back on, tucking it all away again. “I guess all that’s over anyhow.”
“What? What’s over?” I joined her on the bed, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and gently giving her a squeeze, doing my best to ignore the way her body still stiffened at anyone’s—even my—touch.
“Him seeing me … that way.” She shook her head, red hair cascading around to cover her face.
“What way?”
“As pretty—as sexy.” She croaked out the last word, her spine going loose as she leaned against me.
I propped her up.
“No,” I returned. “Max is a dork sometimes, but he’s not an idiot. He’s not done seeing the sexy side of you.… I think you’re the one who’s struggling with it, and that’s okay.”
She sniffled and rubbed at her suddenly running nose. “Oh, god,” she said, sucking in a breath, “I’m getting even more disgusting.…”
“Stop it,” I demanded, giving her a little shake. “You’re having more of a problem with this than Max is.”
She pulled back and I struggled to unwedge my foot from my mouth. “As you should. I mean, it only makes sense.…” I groaned. “Don’t give up. Not yet. Max cares enough about you to show you who he really is—was … Hell. You know what I mean. That level of honesty: the hey-by-the-way-I’m-a-werewolf level of honesty? The when-they-say-he’s-a-sexy-beast-they-mean-it-in-more-than-one-way level of honesty? That’s huge.” I stroked her hair with a trembling hand. “Don’t give up on Max. And don’t you dare give up on you.” I let go of her and stood. “Now get up.”
“What?” She looked up at me, her hair falling across her face and obscuring all but a few bits of her damp eyes.
“Get up,” I commanded. “We have a snowball battle to fight. To win. And I say we take no frikkin’ prisoners.”
She pulled the hair out of her
eyes and back from her face, tying it up in a crisp ponytail with practiced hands. “Fine. I’ll pull my ass out of the dumps for a while. Just. For. You,” she emphasized.
“Geez. That’s all I was asking,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “Let’s go. Cat wants to teach Max humility.”
“Is that even possible?” Amy mused. “Have you explained to Cat the concept of setting achievable goals?”
I laughed and together we climbed the stairs, shrugged into our coats, pulled on our boots and gloves, and prepared for a battle.
Of epic proportions.
CHAPTER SIX
Marlaena
I shifted forms to start the campfire. Though I reveled in the wolf, the human bits of me didn’t always stomach what the wolf greedily gulped down. Not that there was much food to have, I thought, looking at the squirrel we’d dug out of a rotting tree and the assortment of nuts that had been stashed by it.
Beth changed, too, seeing the way I retained parts of my wolfskin to appear human except for an amazingly well-fitted fur suit. She mimicked me, adjusting the sleeve length, neckline, and midriff for a more modest look. She might have been the youngest of our crew, having only turned seventeen a month before we found her outside Chicago, but she was a fast learner. As long as she remembered her place in the pack, she’d stay.
But if anyone ever forgot their place …
My gaze settled on Gabe. “We can’t stay here. We need a better den.” I focused on my index finger and watched my fingernail pinch together and sharpen into a claw. Knowing we were all desperate to eat every bit of it, I gutted the squirrel and skewered it on a pointed stick.
Debra nosed a flat rock to the fire’s edge, and I dumped the guts onto it to sizzle as it warmed by the fire.
Gabriel rose and sniffed the air.
“Have a bite, then go,” I ordered. “We want better than this. We need better than this.”
He nodded, and we all scooted closer to the fire and the scent of roasting meat.
Jessie
Pietr had begun constructing a snow fort by the time Amy and I stepped off the back porch. He hadn’t gotten far—probably his overthinking of the structural integrity of its architecture (instead of just slamming snow together) took its toll.
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