Wild Hearts

by Bridget Essex

My mouth falls open.

  Silver chuckles softly. When she meets my gaze, her eyes are so sad. “Anna broke the root, quick as you please, pried the trap open. Set me free. I was in my wolf form, but I changed immediately, because I was so scared. In my wolf form, it looked like the leg had been severed through...but when I changed to human, it began to heal.”

  She breathes out, staring at the floor. “Your mom just crouched down next to me, her hand bleeding, and she told me I was going to be okay. She saved my life, but...it was more than that.”

  Silver's eyes pierce my heart as she turns her gaze to me now. “She gave me what I'd always wanted. I guess...I guess that's why I thought about it just now. When you mentioned 'home.' Because that's what your mother was. Kind. Warm. Full of love, and all of it unconditional from the very first moment I met her. Home isn't a place. Home is...it's love.”

  I sit up a little, my throat tight. I reach out, placing my hands along the curves of her jaw.

  We sit like that, just like that.

  Just for a minute.

  There's pain, radiating from her heart, as she closes her eyes then, as she bends her head low, pressing her face into my hands.

  “When your mother left, she tried to take me with her. But Marie wouldn't let me go,” Silver whispers. “It was my first time with people like me, wolves. With a pack. I believed I had to listen to Marie, as my Alpha. The...feeling that she was more powerful than me, and I had to obey her...it was so strong. So I did. I stayed. Your mother left. We were separated. I'd only known Anna a few months. But she was like a mother to me, too. And then she was...she was gone.”

  “Oh, Silver.” Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

  “We could have stayed together. And, if I'd gone with her... I dunno. You know how you said you blame yourself, about your mother dying? Well, I blame myself, too.”

  Silver lifts her head. Anguish exists in every line and curve of her.

  “If I'd left the pack, if I'd stuck with Anna, maybe it would have been different. Maybe she wouldn't have died. Maybe I...I could have saved her. Like she saved me.”

  I don't know what to say. Silent tears begin to stream down Silver's face, and I draw her closer to me.

  Silver rests her head on my shoulder, and now I'm the one holding her, the one comforting her.

  I radiate as much of my warmth as I can into her. I encircle her with my arms, and I hold her close, so close.

  We sit in silence for a very long time.

  My shoulder is wet with tears. My heart aches inside of me. I can feel Silver's heart aching, too.

  I've never been the person who knew what to say in a situation like this. There are people who always say the right thing all of the time. Who know exactly what to say to ease pain, or to give a little bit of comfort.

  But I've always been the outsider.

  And I've never had the right words.

  I close my eyes tightly, feel my own hot tears leaking down my cheeks now. Silver's pain is profound, just like her scar.

  I've never wanted to comfort anyone more.

  So maybe once, just this once...

  I can try.

  “I'm sorry,” I whisper to her. I drift my fingertips over her tangled curls, cup the back of her head with my hand, draw her to me, as close as two people can possibly be.

  I close my eyes, breathe against her.

  “I'm so sorry,” I repeat, “but...I knew my mother, all right? She would never have wanted you to be sad like this, or blame yourself. She'd want you to be happy.”

  Silver sighs against me, and then she straightens a little, so she can look into my face. The lines where her tears fell down her cheeks shine in the soft light of the room.

  Such pain stands there, radiates from her.

  “Grief...” I murmur, searching for the right words: “grief's this multi-layered thing...right?”

  And then, inspiration strikes. A bolt of it crackles in my heart like lighting.

  I sit up a little straighter, hold Silver a little tighter, and I say, with a great deal of conviction:

  “Grief is like cake.”

  I think that, out of all combinations of words that I could have spoken...Silver wasn't expecting any of these. She actually chuckles, though it's a watery sound.

  When she looks at me in surprise, the great tightness of grief has let her go a little. I can see it in her face.

  I keep going.

  “Grief is like cake...because in the beginning, you've got nothing. Just your sadness. Your profound sadness, and it's awful. I know that feeling,” I whisper to her.

  And then I smile. It's just a little, but it's there.

  And I keep going:

  “So you go out, and you get flour and sugar, the stuff you need to make a cake. But, by themselves, they're not a cake. They're just ingredients. You've got a lot of work to do to get there, to get to a cake. And, if the cake you're trying to make is hard and complicated...the end product is probably not going to look perfect. But that's okay. You survived to make the cake. And because you survived, it's going to be a beautiful cake. No matter how long it takes to get there.”

  Silver watches me for a long moment. A soft smile begins to cross her face, and then that smile becomes something so beautiful that it reminds me of light...

  And then I realize that it is light.

  Because there's a soft glow emanating from her skin.

  She leans forward.

  She brushes her warm, soft lips to my mouth.

  “I promised you that there's magic to you,” says Silver. “Your mother was magic. And you are magic, too, Ella.”

  And she says:

  “Your mother would have said something like that.”

  Warmth blossoms in my cheeks. I feel heady as I look at her.

  I wrap my arms tightly about her, draw her to me.

  I kiss her.

  Even with my eyes closed, I can still see her light.

  Chapter 23: Promises

  I don't fall asleep at first.

  Once she knows I'm okay, Silver's out like a light. She said something about still being exhausted from using up so much energy, on top of being plain old tired. Once we decided we were done for the night, she fell asleep almost immediately, cradled in my arms.

  Her cot is as narrow as a cheap casket: there's no room for both of us. So Silver found some extra blankets in the battered set of drawers and made something like a nest on the ground for us. I can feel the hardwood easily through the thin fleece, but I don't care.

  She offered me the cot and I refused it.

  I just want to be with her.

  I watch her sleeping. Her chest rises and falls slowly. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks. She's relaxed, in sleep, and as I watch her, wrapped in my arms...

  It makes me feel things.

  It makes me feel a lot of things, actually.

  I study her face. Here, in the circle of our embrace, there is softness and warmth. Her mouth is slightly parted, her breath easy and slow.

  I've never felt so safe.

  That's a surprising realization. Ma made me feel safe, of course. But...it was, very obviously, different.

  Silver and I shared stories of my mother for a good, long while before we turned in. There were protein bars in the bottom drawer, and we shared them, laughing over happy memories...getting teary over sad ones.

  I told Silver about the day Ma died. How the police officer showed up at my door. He'd said they don't normally do stuff like that anymore, but he'd felt so sad for me, he wanted to tell me in person that she was gone. It'd been a freak accident, he said. Her car didn't make a tight curve, ran into a tree.

  Now, of course, I know better. It was no “accident.” Even then, it didn't sit right with me.

  But it would have been better if it was. Just a horrible coincidence.

  Sharing those intimate details of my life, of her life, of my sadness and bone-deep grief...I'd never done anything like that before. I'd tried going to a gr
ief group, but I couldn't find the words to express myself. The exercises they used were useless if you couldn't open yourself up in front of strangers.

  And I could not.

  But it's easy to talk to Silver. I want to talk to Silver.

  It's easy to find the right words when we're together.

  So I'd told her things I hadn't told anyone. I told her that I'd gone on those long walks every night because I was broken and didn't know what else to do.

  And, in turn, she told me that, in the very beginning, she'd volunteered to shadow me, bring me back to the pack, because of the enormous guilt she'd felt over my mother's death...

  We shared secrets. We whispered stories.

  We spoke.

  And we listened.

  Now, as I watch her breathe, as I feel the thrum of her heartbeat beneath my fingers, I know.

  I'm falling in love with Silver.

  I can feel my own heartbeat quicken, even as I think those words.

  I usually second guess anything big or weighty like that. I usually try to logic my way out of it.

  But I can't deny what I'm feeling.

  It'd be impossible.

  So, yes. It's enormous, the idea of falling in love with someone. I've...never done that before. I honestly wondered if it was possible for me.

  I've loved people, sure. I guess I thought I was falling in love with them at the time, but the feelings were never...

  Bright.

  Bubbly.

  Incandescent.

  That's what it feels like in my heart right now.

  Like Silver's brought the light inside of me somehow.

  I watch her sleep, and a resolve begins to grow in me. It grows in tandem with the love, rooted deep in my heart.

  Yes, Silver's helped me. She's been with me every step of the way in this journey so far.

  But I want to help her, too.

  I don't know what that means, exactly. I've got no concrete ideas...just concrete resolve.

  Silver said that she had to make it up to my mother for saving her life...that's not what this is about. Obviously, I'm grateful to Silver for everything she's done.

  But it's a hell of a lot bigger than simply wanting to return the favor.

  I finally understand all of the people who do big, sweeping gestures because they want to show someone how much they care. I hate to admit it, but I never understood that sort of outward display of affection. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but I couldn't imagine myself doing something that might lead to embarrassment...

  And now?

  Now, I'd put myself out there however I could. I would do anything. Just to see her smile transform her face...just to see her light up.

  I snuggle closer to Silver in the dark. And as my fingers drift over her upper arm, she makes a little contented growl in her sleep, pillowing her head over my heart.

  Her skin begins to glow. Just a little. Just the tiniest bit...

  But I can see it.

  I close my eyes, settle myself against her, curve for curve, easing into place as if this is where I've always belonged.

  Because it is.

  ---

  A great whoosh of air leaves my lungs.

  I cry out in the dark, curling inward, clutching my belly.

  Pain.

  Agony.

  It rips through me like a knife has slipped into my flesh.

  And then, just as quickly...

  Nothing.

  The pain is gone.

  I lay, panting, gasping for air. I can't get enough of it into my lungs, like they've tightened up, like my throat is closing. My head spins, and I scrabble up onto hands and knees.

  I take some deep, even breaths. There... Okay. There's enough air. The panic begins to subside a little.

  It must have just been a nightmare.

  Christ.

  What an impossibly awful thing to dream.

  I shake my head a little, try to concentrate on where my hands and knees press into the blankets and into the floor. I feel the hard solidity beneath my palms. I try to concentrate on this. Just this.

  But I can't keep my eyes closed, because if I do, the dream's still there...

  Oh, God.

  Silver...

  They'd hurt Silver...

  It was just a nightmare, of course. Just a simple bad dream, designed by my subconscious to be as hurtful as possible. I've never understood why our brains do this. It's supposed to be a way to process trauma, but I'd much rather process it in other ways...

  I begin to pat the blankets.

  I'm looking for Silver.

  She'll just have moved a little bit to the right, of course. We were tangled so tightly together when I finally drifted off that she probably got too hot.

  We're both pretty warm blooded, and she needed to cool down.

  She's just off to the side.

  She's just right over here.

  Obviously.

  She must be right here...

  I can feel the anxiety beginning to make my head buzz.

  My hands are shaking. I can barely control my fingers enough to move through the fleece.

  I dig through the blankets, pushing them aside methodically, one after the other.

  She's here.

  She's got to be here.

  She's got to be.

  But she is not.

  I sit back on my heels, and I stare ahead into space, my mind whirling, just for a heartbeat. I'm upset, but...it's okay.

  It's just because of all the recent trauma.

  It's just because of the dream that put me right back there, right back to the moment the vampire climbed the stairs, hunting me, intent on ripping out my heart...

  But then is not now.

  Right now, Silver is probably in the bathroom.

  Or out finding food.

  Or...who knows.

  There's a million reasons that she's not here right now, but one of them is not because she's in danger.

  It's not.

  I rub my hands on my bare thighs and realize my palms are sweaty.

  I'm still shaking.

  Okay.

  So...the logical thing is just to put this upset to rest.

  And that's easily done.

  Just get up.

  And go find Silver.

  I can do that.

  So I rise. I make my way, shivering, to the side of the cot where Silver set my clothes. She'd recovered them from the edge of the stream for me, had spread them out to dry on the metal framework of the cot. They're dry now.

  I slide into my skirt, blouse, sweater as quickly as I can, toeing on my shoes in such a rush that—in the darkness of the room—I get the first one on the wrong foot. I curse under my breath, aggressively shove my feet into my shoes now.

  I'm on a razor's edge.

  I'm trying to stay calm, to breathe, but these things seem utterly impossible right now.

  It was just a dream.

  It was just a dream.

  But...

  I had a dream the night Ma died, too.

  My heart's in my throat. I can't breathe, can't swallow. I stumble into the dark bathroom with the open door.

  She's not here.

  Her room is too small—one simple glance when I flick the overhead bulb on reveals that she is, also, not here.

  Okay.

  So I'm going to have to go outside to look. That's okay. I'm sure I'll find her right away.

  I'm sure...

  I reach down to pick up a coat that's lying on the floor...

  And then I start.

  It's Silver's coat. The old, worn suede and sherpa along the edge...

  Why would she leave without her coat?

  I shrug into it.

  My hands are shaking so hard that I find it hard to tug the door open.

  The bolts have been thrown, but the knob lock is in place.

  That means she must be outside.

  I open the door to winter's fury. Storm after storm has battered my
body these past few days, and when I step into the surreal maelstrom of driven snow and freezing wind, I can feel my entire body groan in refusal. But I ignore it. I cling to the side of the rickety metal railing. I can't see much of anything, can't hear as I descend.

  My shoes hit snow that's not piling on a metal step.

  I'm on the ground.

  I stand there for a moment, trying to get my bearings. But, of course, that's impossible. I was just brought here today, don't remember much of my trip in, certainly don't remember anything from my walk up from the stream. I don't remember how this compound is set up.

  I stand perfectly still, my heart hammering in my chest.

  My head tells me:

  Go back up to Silver's room. What the hell are you doing? She'll be right back. She's obviously all right. You're making such a huge deal out of nothing. She'll think you're strange that you were even worried about her.

  But my heart says:

  No.

  She wouldn't thing I'm strange.

  And:

  Something is wrong.

  I didn't want to admit it, up in the dim lights of Silver's room, among the blankets where we'd held each other.

  But out here, in the stark, unforgiving winter...

  I know.

  I know something's wrong.

  And I know that I'm running out of time.

  I close my eyes to the unrelenting snow. I close my eyes to the cold and the wind and the howl of the winter, railing against the world.

  I close my eyes.

  And I listen.

  Silver told me to trust my instincts.

  I don't know what it means to be a wolf. Not yet.

  But I am one. This has always been part of me, whether it was hidden or not.

  Just because something is locked away doesn't mean it can't survive.

  The hair on the back of my neck rises. I reach up, rub my fingers over my skin, and then...

  The howl begins.

  I turn, my nose pointing in the direction of the wind.

  The howl traveled that wind.

  I heard it.

  I heard it.

  I don't know what they're saying...

  But sometimes you don't need words to know what someone means.

  My heart rises higher in my throat.

  I turn and I run into the wind.

  I can't see anything but swirling white. My hands are balled into fists, my feet struggle through the soft layer of snow, the hard crust and then the soft layer beneath that. Every step is a battle. I think I'm standing on the hard layer, and then when I try to surge forward, I fall through it. I'm having to leap up with each running step to keep moving and not stay stuck in the drift. The snow is monstrously high in patches...almost as high as my waist.