Thorne Bay

by Jeanine Croft

  The sudden low grunt behind me so startled me that I gave a shriek and snapped my head around to see a massive grizzly already on its hind legs, clearly angered by my screaming. Clearly furious at finding me so close to its lair.

  I stumbled backward and fell right over Tristan’s prone form as the bear inched vengefully closer. However much I wanted to run away, I couldn’t leave Tristan here for the grizzly to maul. Desperately, I grabbed a stone and stood to my full height (which was nowhere near as intimidating as the bear’s). Without hesitation, I stood my ground protectively enough that the bear paused, confused. I focused my glare at it and waited, my body as still as the mist.

  Unexpectedly, I heard a strange rumble emanating from deep in my chest. It clearly surprised her. Hell, it surprised me as well! But not enough that I released her eyes. I kept mine fixed to hers and watched as she wavered, uncertain now how to proceed. Well, I could certainly help her decide. My missile embedded itself in the bark of the tree beside her like a bullet that only just missed her head. The wood splintered loudly. The bear gave a start and swiveled intelligent eyes to the damage I’d done to the tree. Then it glanced back at me, wary.

  In the meantime, I’d already gathered two more stones, making no secret of the weapons in my hands and of the mayhem I was capable of. The bear, having noticed the stones, took a step backward, and when I gave another growl of animus, it backed up even further away. Then disappeared altogether.

  I stood like that, tensed in my aggression, for long moments. My ears were trained for the slightest sound, but the grizzly never returned. What did finally snap me from my silent guardianship was the sudden spray of leaves behind me as two men came sprinting down from the road. Dean and Tim. Now that I was no longer alone, I was once again overwhelmed by tears and horror for Tristan. My dismay only escalated when I noticed Dean’s face turn white at seeing his brother’s torn body.

  “Tristan!” He bent over his brother and examined his wounds.

  Tim, meanwhile, pulled his phone out and began muttering coordinates into the receiver.

  “What happened?” Dean demanded of me, eyes accusing as he stripped his shirt off to daub at the blood still seeping from Tristan’s chest.

  “I don’t know!” I sobbed. “I woke up and found him like that.” I still wasn’t even sure what was happening to me, or what I recalled of last night, never mind what I’d done to Tristan. I had thought I’d been dreaming. Vague flashbacks of the night were all I had—the rabbit and then the giant who’d chased me through the woods. Most of the night was a phantasmagorical blur.

  The sun was clear of the horizon by the time I heard wheels screech to a halt on the road, a door slamming urgently moments later. Shivering bemusedly, I watched as Lydia appeared beside Tristan. He was swiftly field-dressed and then Tim and Lydia carefully carried him up to the car. I watched the whole scene as one removed and unwelcome. Like a convict. Like a mutt. I felt dirty, naked, guilty, and miserable. Before long, it was just Dean and I alone in the woods, the pressure of his sharp gaze almost unbearable. When the sound of Lydia’s car speeding along the road could no longer be heard, I finally glanced up at him. Unlike me, he was fully clothed (minus the shirt he’d used to soak up some of Tristan’s blood earlier).

  His gaze was almost calculating. “Are you hurt?”

  I must have looked like a naked Carrie White on prom night. “No,” I answered, my voice like gravel from all the weeping.

  He nodded, ostensibly having expected as much. “C’mon, let’s get you back to the house.”

  I averted my gaze, diffidently covering my breasts with one arm as I dropped my hand to cover the lower half of my nakedness. “Umm…”

  Dean gave an impatient snort, bent down to retrieve his soiled shirt from the ground and then threw it at me. The one stained with Tristan’s blood. “You’re only naked if you think you’re naked,” he said disgustedly. And then he marched off towards the road, knowing that I’d follow meekly behind him.

  After I’d scrambled into the sticky, oversized shirt I set off after him, purposefully avoiding the large blood puddle in the leaves where Tristan had only just been lying.

  How had I done that to Tristan? More importantly, why had he let me?

  35

  Deep Scars

  My palms itched. I dug my nails into them as I stood outside of Tristan’s room, uncertain of whether or not I should go in. Whether or not I’d even be welcome. Dean’s cold glare still disturbed me even now, though it had been hours since we’d returned from the forest.

  Despite having effaced Tristan’s cold blood from my lips and nails, I still felt tainted. Unclean and unworthy. I called my mom after my shower, thinking it would make me feel better, but it hadn’t. I had, however, promised Mom that I’d come home soon, and though I wasn’t sure I’d be permitted to leave yet, I knew I had to try. Somehow. Especially after that stilted meal I’d just shared with Dean’s pack—no one had said a word at the dinner table except Lydia and James, but even their efforts had been awkward. Though, if I was being honest, I hadn’t exactly tried to make conversation either.

  I licked my blood from my wrist, where I’d been scratching all the while I’d stood staring at Tristan’s door, and then finally lifted my hand to the bronze knob to twist it open. Dean had sensed my anxious presence the whole time I’d deliberated on the other side of the barrier. As soon as I stepped into the room, he stood from the chair at Tristan’s bedside.

  “What are you doing here? You need rest.” His eyes dropped briefly to Tristan. “And so does he.” What he’d actually meant to say was, “What the fuck are you doing here?” But thankfully his lips refrained from uttering what was clearly expressed in the harsh slash of his brows across fierce bourbon eyes.

  “I wanted to see how—”

  “He’s fine.”

  No thanks to you. There was no need to say aloud the words I felt like a stab from his eyes.

  “You should go now, Evan.”

  I felt myself bristle under my own heavy guilt. “No. Not till I see for myself that he’s okay.”

  The tick at Dean’s jaw warned me not to push my luck. But I easily squelched the momentary upsurge of fear, my instinct denying him authority over me. The thing about it was, I hated myself enough that anything he did to me, whatever physical pain he was capable of inflicting, I felt I deserved anyway.

  Sensing my determination, Dean took only a slight step back from the bed, eyes narrowing forbiddingly. I took immediate advantage of his tight-lipped consent, grudging though it was, and moved past him to lean over Tristan. His pallor was a little less bloodless and his breathing seemed even, but I still felt the horror of what I’d done rush over me like acid. I was a monster! Every deep wound still weeping into his bandages had been inflicted by my nails and my fangs. Every ugly yellowing bruise and laceration on his face was of my doing.

  Hot tears instantly welled and burned my eyes before coursing down my face into my lips. I pressed my mouth to his—a kiss heavy with shame and regret—and tasted the salt of my tears on his skin. His lips were warm, almost feverish. And, for a split second, I thought I felt them move beneath mine. I pulled away, but though they were now glistening with my tears, they remained deathly still, and his beautiful azure eyes prevailed behind closed lids.

  “Okay, enough. Time to go,” Dean said gruffly.

  “Why don’t you just go?” I rejoined, sobbing.

  “Evan—” the sound of my name spoken low, like a warning, agitated the hairs on my nape “—I said get out.”

  “No!” I fired back.

  Dean’s nostrils flared irritably. “You’re not human anymore, remember whose pack you belong to now and in whose house you’re living. My mercy stretches only so far.”

  “I never chose this! I never chose you to be my alpha! And you can’t make me—”

  “But I can!” His teeth gnashed audibly. “I can easily make you do whatever I want.”

  “Stop,” came the groggy comman
d from the bed, instantly wrenching Dean and I from our challenging glares.

  “Tristan!” I flew into his arms and nuzzled his neck, wailing like a child. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Shh, it’s not your fault.” He stroked the back of my head.

  “Of course it’s her fault,” Dean snapped under his breath. “Or did you do this to yourself?” He gestured to Tristan’s bandages.

  “Dean…” Tristan’s warning tone was as dark as his brother’s had been.

  “You’re avoiding the elephant in the room, brother. Your little girlfriend is rabid.”

  Tristan pushed himself up onto his elbows to glare at Dean. “She’s not. I watched her all night. She’s the furthest thing from rabid.”

  “Then how the hell did you end up nearly neutered, you idiot?”

  “I cornered her and restrained her when a truck nearly hit her.”

  “Great!” Dean snarled. “As if she couldn’t be more of a liability, now she’s already brought attention to herself!”

  By now I was trembling, the tears falling uncontrollably as I listened to myself described as no better than a mindless pest. Tristan, seeing this, seemed to get some of his color back, his face becoming red with anger. “I made sure she wasn’t seen,” he shot back, voice brusque. “And anything she did to me was done in self-defense.”

  Dean grunted and stalked to the door. He’d obviously had enough of us both. “We’ll talk later.” Before leaving, he fixed one last sharp glare at me. “Understand something, Evan” — he waited a beat so that I felt the full force of his glower — “if you stay here, you’re part of the pack. My pack. And you do not get to disobey direct orders again.” Here he transferred his eyes to his brother. “No exceptions.” Then he was gone, leaving Tristan and I alone. Finally.

  “He’s more like my father than he’d care to admit,” Tristan snorted, his tone weary.

  “I’m not rabid?” I asked hopefully, almost too scared to believe it. “Are you sure?”

  Tristan lifted a surprisingly strong hand to my face to brush the tear-soaked hair from my cheeks. “You’re not rabid.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “I swear, I’ll never keep anything from you again. I’ll never lie. You’re not rabid.”

  “Then how did I…why did I…how could you let me…!” I took his hand in mine and kissed his palm, drawing his keen eyes to the scratches at my wrists and palms.

  His brows drew together as he brushed his thumbs over my self-inflicted scratches. “You were terrified, and you didn’t recognize me. When I threw you from the road, I gave you no warning. Everything you did was in self-defense. You thought you were being attacked.”

  “But I should have known you and—”

  “The memory of your attack, by something that looked just like me—” he was talking about Nicole “—is still too fresh. You panicked, and you haven’t yet learned to correlate instinct and rationale. You’re still developing.”

  “Why did you let me hurt you?” I sounded angry, but I was horrified at myself.

  He gave a tired shrug and leaned back, pulling me with him. “Because I would rather gnaw off my own paws than hurt you. And because, honestly, I feel responsible for everything that’s happened to you. My injuries were deserved.”

  “Bullshit!” I lifted my head from his chest and glared at him. “Nicole did this, not you.”

  He ran the pad of his thumb under my jaw. “Because of me. I couldn’t stay away from you.” He searched my eyes. “Although I bet now you wish I had.”

  This was a question I’d already pondered, and I gave him an honest answer. “I don’t know, Tristan.”

  “Well, like you said before, it’s pointless now—Nicole gave you no choice. You’re one of us.”

  “I’m not, though, am I? I’m a mutt,” I finished vehemently. Disgusted, I averted my eyes.

  “No! You’re exactly like me.” His fingers tightened on my chin perceptibly, turning my face till I brought my eyes back to his. “Do you know what the difference is between a werewolf born and one bitten?”

  I actually didn’t, not really. I didn’t even know what I looked like when I was changed. I shook my head.

  “Nothing.” His eyes held mine steadily. “You look like a juvie now, but you won’t forever.”

  “Huh?” Aidan had failed to mention that.

  “All of us, when we first change, look no more sinister than a natural wolf. Mother nature’s way to protect us, I guess. We’re unbridled and don’t have the discipline of the mature wolves, so if we’re ever spotted by outsiders, all they see is a large black wolf with a cropped tail.”

  I listened intently, drinking from the firehose as though my life depended on it. Maybe it did.

  “That’s what you look like, Ev, just a wolf. Not hideous, and not like an aberration.” He brushed his fingers gently over my sternum. “You have an adorable little patch of white on your chest, did you notice?”

  “I can’t remember much of anything, Tristan.”

  He gave a sad smile. “It’s your wolf’s badge of purity.” He dropped his hand. “As we get older, we begin to look different. The oldest amongst us—like every elder in the Council of Alphas—looks nothing like a wolf. Most of them have silver-lined backs and walk easily on hind legs. They’re something between a gorilla, a bear, and a wolf if I was to describe one. My father is one of the largest ‘grey backs’ around.”

  I remembered Aidan calling the pure-blooded majestic-looking and that mongrels were anything but. “Aidan told me I’d never look majestic.”

  “In her defense, wolves bitten are few and far between, they don’t tend to survive. The ones that do pull through look like juveniles for a lot longer. But, Evan, there’s no difference now, biologically, between you and me.”

  “Then why were you so disgusted by me back in Red Devil? When you saw my scars. When you realized what I’d become.” That look of his in Dean’s Land Rover, the night of Lupum Caedes, I would never forget.

  He seemed affronted suddenly. “I was never disgusted by you! I never could be.” He sat up again and, despite that he was weak from his wounds, pulled me into a fierce hug. “If you ever saw disgust then it was all for myself. And for Nicole.” Her name was like a curse between us, it held so much rancor. “You’re the innocent in all of this. Only the words mutt and mongrel are disgusting to me. How is a mutt any less of a dog for not being a thoroughbred?”

  “Then why does Dean hate me?”

  “He doesn’t hate you. He despises all the old buried feelings this has all forced him to confront again.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but then snapped it shut just as quickly. His mother! Of course. “Because of what happened to…”

  “Linda.” Tristan nodded. “He has deep scars, Evan, so have a little patience with my brother.”

  “Not if he keeps ordering me around, Tristan.” I was no one’s dog to be commanded. I had left Florida to escape my grandfather’s autocracy and the feelings of inadequacy. I’d be damned if I’d let Dean or Nicole or anyone else make me feel unworthy again. I was deprecating enough to myself as it was.

  “Being in a pack is a completely different dynamic, I get it. You’ll figure it out, I promise. But listening and respecting your alpha is for the good of the whole pack’s survival.”

  “Dean isn’t my commander,” I finished mulishly.

  “No, technically Aidan is since Nicole bit you.” This clearly infuriated him as much as it did me.

  “I say differently.” No one owned me. No one had the right to dictate my future.

  “Evan, you can’t survive in this world without a pack,” he warned. “We’re not necessarily a democratic species, so—”

  “But you do! You survive just fine without a pack.”

  He seemed taken aback a moment, bemused. “I…”

  “Aren’t you the stereotypical lone wolf? Where’s your pack, Tristan? Is it your father’s or is it your brother’s?”

  There was a long silence in which he s
eemed not to know how to respond. Then, finally, he answered, “Dean’s pack is where I belong.”

  “No!” I left the bed and headed to the window. “You’re as displaced as I am and you know it.”

  He said nothing, so I turned around to study him. He, in turn, was scrutinizing me just as closely.

  “You’re an alpha,” I continued. “I sensed it even as a human—you aren’t a follower. And I refuse to belong with any alpha but you. I don’t trust anyone else.”

  This surprised him, his eyes flared briefly. “I have no pack of my own. My brother is my—”

  “Stop lying to yourself!” We glared at each other. After a silence, I went on, “Why the hell are you denying your birthright? Your father is—”

  “You—“ he gritted his teeth “—of all people should understand how I feel about my father.”

  I swallowed. He was right, I wanted nothing to do with mine, so I couldn’t expect any different from him.

  Tristan rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes, sighing heavily into the hush. “My father really loved Linda.” He looked up at me. “She was his life-mate, not my mother.” There was a deep pathos in his expression as he stared past me, gaze faraway as it drifted into the past. “But he let the pack elders convince him she wasn’t worthy. Just a human. So he married Elaine instead—my mother. She was the eldest daughter of the Blackfoot alpha. Through her, my father’s pack grew more powerful, their allies stretching the length of Canada. It was a political match. Their marriage was—is—an unhappy one.

  “When Dean came to live with us, my mother resented him. To placate my mother and the elders, Max insisted I be the Yukon heir. Dean never knew a moment of kindness or compassion from the instant he came to our pack. And then, desperate for any form of love, he ran away and bit his own mother.”

  “I know,” I said, shoulders dropping wearily. “I’ve heard the story.”

  “I’m nothing like Max,” Tristan said, shaking the past from his eyes. “He arranged the alliance with Nicole, not me. I needed time to think about it all, time to forge my own alliances if need be. So I left. But he won’t accept that I’ve severed myself from his pack. I can’t go back, Ev. His price is too high…”