by Nancy Holder
“Don’t mess with the driver,” Trick said. “I think you’ll like what I picked out, though, Doc.”
“Not very likely. Your taste in music hasn’t been good since you were five.”
Trick had brought a portable speaker, which he set up on the dash. He plugged in his phone and a moment later “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” was blaring. It was so unlike his usual choice of music that Katelyn couldn’t help laughing out loud. Her grandfather actually cracked a smile.
Trick moved his leg, maybe by accident, maybe so he could rub it against hers, and something in his face shifted. She thought about unpredictability and his assumption that she was going over to the Fenners to chase Justin. Best to let him think so. Life was too complex. But it hurt in a strange new way and she found herself changing her mind once again and adding two words to her vow to have a normal life: with Trick.
Maybe Mr. Fenner wasn’t the only crazy one.
The drive took a little over four hours, but they finally reached their hotel, got their suitcases, and trooped inside a welcoming Victorian lobby decorated with brass pots of ivy. A couple of minutes later, they were upstairs in their one-bedroom suite with two twin beds in the bedroom and a sleeper sofa in the living room.
Her grandfather tapped the key card against the knuckles on his other hand. “I figured that I’d give you girls the room, but—” he stopped abruptly.
“Don’t worry, Dr. M. I’m all about the couch,” Trick said quickly.
“Sounds great,” her grandfather replied.
Katelyn was a bit weirded out at the thought of sleeping in the same room as her grandfather — it wasn’t like he felt totally like family yet — but he took his suitcase into the bedroom, and she followed.
“I call window,” she said, dropping her bag on the bed nearest lacy white sheers giving way to a view of the street. It was dark, and she could already see stars glittering over the tops of brick buildings and a white marble cupola.
“Fine with me. I always like to sleep closer to the door.” He lowered his voice. “I hope this is okay.”
“Oh, yes. It’s fantastic, Grandpa,” she replied, sounding maybe a little too chirpy in her eagerness to reassure him. “Thank you.”
He gave her a measured look, pleased at the “Grandpa.” “Did I invite the right guy?”
She reddened. So he thought she was hanging out with Justin, too.
“How much do you know about Trick?” she asked instead.
He raised a brow. “Such as?” When she didn’t say anything, he crossed to his suitcase and opened it. She saw that he had packed a suit, and she was touched by all the trouble he’d gone to to make this a weekend to remember.
“I’ve known Trick since the day he was born,” he said. Then he added softly, “And I met Justin the day he risked his life to save a little girl.”
Katelyn remembered that day very well; a little child — just a toddler — had run in front of her grandfather’s truck. Justin had leaped off his motorcycle and grabbed the girl, rolling to the side of the road with her and saving her life. It had been amazing. Fast. Quick. Brave. Werewolf speed, her mind told her. But now Mordecai’s comment gave her pause that her grandfather hadn’t dismissed Justin out of hand. Was it because he thought she might like him better than Trick?
“Let’s go have a nice dinner and turn in,” he suggested. “We’ve got a full day tomorrow and that was a long drive. I’d like to beat Trick about the head for sliding in a few heavy metal nightmares once I was lulled into complacency.”
She laughed and gave him a quick, impulsive hug. He flushed and patted her back in return. The grandfather/granddaughter relationship was growing stronger day by day, but neither felt totally comfortable about it yet. After all, Katelyn hadn’t seen Mordecai for over five years before moving to Wolf Springs to live with him. Soon it was time for dinner; she kept up the pretense that she was still a vegetarian, and then they went back to the suite and climbed in their beds.
But Katelyn was too wired to sleep. She felt odd sleeping in her grandfather’s presence, and wished she’d asked for the pullout couch instead. She remembered trips up to Tahoe with her parents when she was a kid, how they’d always slept together in the same room. But with her parents it had been normal; she’d been used to it and them. Then a text message came in, and she jumped, hoping it was from Cordelia. But it was Justin, and she remembered with a jolt how he had told her to keep in contact. Oh, God, she really wasn’t all that good at being a werewolf, was she? Following the rules.
Everything OK? he had sent.
She texted back a yes-sir — her version of an apology — and decided to try Cordelia again. Then, even though the phone was on vibrate, she heard her grandfather clear his throat. She wished even more fervently that she’d asked for the couch, but sighed and lay on her side looking toward the window, staring at the stars. When she closed her eyes, she kept seeing Cordelia’s face as she got into the Gaudins’ car, and then the glowing forest. And she wished there was something she could do not just to save herself but also to save her friend.
~
Katelyn woke in the morning and it took her a moment to remember where she was. She checked her cell phone to see if any new texts or calls had come in. Nothing.
The shower was running. She rolled over to find her grandfather’s bed empty, just as the water turned off. A minute later, the bathroom door opened and she rolled back toward the window to give him privacy. After she’d allowed him some time, she rolled back over again.
He was wearing a pair of trousers with a towel across his shoulders, and just as she was about to wish him a good morning, he turned to get a fresh shirt hanging in the closet and his towel slipped. Suddenly Katelyn could see his back. She stared, startled.
Deep, hideous scars ran from his shoulder blade nearly to his hip on his right side.
Scars that looked like claw marks.
9
“Grandpa, what happened to you?” Katelyn blurted before she could stop herself.
He jumped and turned to her, eyes wide, nostrils flared. He shrugged his shirt on quickly and began to button it. “Good morning. Didn’t know you were awake,” he said gruffly. “You sleep okay?”
She bit her lip as she nodded her head, her skin tingling with anxiety. He was avoiding her question. Maybe she should let it go, but his scars looked exactly like the gouges the werewolf had left on her. Scratch marks that had miraculously healed within a couple of days. One of the first signs that something had changed about me.
“Happened a long time ago,” he said curtly, tucking the shirttails into his pants.
“What happened?” she persisted.
He was silent for so long that she wasn’t sure that he was going to answer her. Just as she was about to give up and head for the shower herself, he answered.
“I got attacked while I was hunting,” he said. “Long time ago.”
Her heart pounded in her chest as she stood up. “Did it bite you?” she asked, voice tense.
He gave her the strangest look and she swallowed, panicky. Did he know why she was asking?
He shook his head. “Nope. I was cocky, and I got too close. It just scratched the hell out of me.”
“Did you, did you kill it?” she asked, hating the fact that her voice was quavering. She didn’t want to betray anything she knew about the things that attacked people in the forest.
“Never saw it again.” He walked out to the living room. “Hey, Vladimir, you vampire. You up?” he called.
She made it into the bathroom and got into the shower. It took her forever to figure out the faucet controls; she was high-strung, jumpy. Something had left those scratches on her grandfather’s back.
Wait. He never said what kind of animal it was. He just said he never saw it again.
A thousand questions raced through her mind as she tried to focus on the feel of the water pounding on her face, the heat. His back explained so much. Why he knew the woods were dangerous.
It wasn’t just about what happened to Becky Jensen before I arrived. It’s about what happened to him.
When she finally left the bathroom, she dressed swiftly and then walked into the living room, where Trick sat on the edge of the couch, muzzy and all bed-head — for someone with short hair. He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants and his chest was bare. She felt herself blushing.
“Did you use all the hot water?” Trick asked, rolling his shoulders and cricking his neck. She blushed again as she looked harder.
“Find out for yourself,” she said tartly.
When he walked past her she couldn’t help but sneak a peek at his retreating back.
No scars on him.
She grimaced, mortified, when she saw her grandfather taking it all in, no expression on his face.
A day of sightseeing flew by, and before she knew it the three of them were standing in line for Cirque. She was in her new black dress, her grandfather had on his suit, and Trick was wearing a white formal shirt, black jeans, and a really nice black jacket. He had on polished black cowboy boots, and she was sorry he’d left his hat back in the hotel.
“I couldn’t get the third ticket in the same row, but it’s close,” Mordecai said, squinting at the seat numbers. “You and Trick can sit together.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” he said. He wrinkled his nose. “Figure he’ll probably appreciate it more than I will.”
The moment they sat down, Trick began to reach for her hand, then put his hands in his lap. She was bereft, and the kaleidoscope of feelings inside her twisted again.
“Your grandfather told me what this means to you,” he said, voice serious. “I’m glad I can be here.”
The green of his eyes pulled her in. “Me, too,” she said, not trusting herself to say anything else.
Then the lights dimmed and the music began; music she knew, music she had moved to. Beautifully costumed performers defied gravity — and reality — and she was swept up in the magic of it. Everything in her yearned to be up there, to move like that. The conversation with Mr. Fenner and Justin chafed at her, and only made her want it all more as her heart swelled and ached with every moment. She felt as if she was watching her life, the life she had dreamed of, rushing by, and she wanted to reach out and catch it, make it go more slowly, beg it to wait for her to figure out how she could still be a part of it.
“Incredible,” Trick whispered, and she looked — really looked — at him. She saw how moved he was, and looked at the planes and angles of light and dark playing on his face.
He understands; he sees the other world that this is. Surely she could tell him about her new world. She could.
Her breath wouldn’t come.
He wanted to help. He would help. He was already involved.
She closed her eyes. Could she risk Trick’s life over this? Was she risking Cordelia’s life if she didn’t?
If she didn’t tell him, and he discovered the truth anyway, what would happen?
The room began to spin and she could barely see. Her heart was beating too fast and sweat beaded on her forehead. She felt incredibly sick and she could barely force herself to sit in her chair. Something was happening to her. All the objects in the room — the people, the seats, the stage, the rigging — burst into white light, then reds and oranges. It looked like fire. And then a girl appeared, high in the sky, seated in the center of thick, fibrous ropes. Katelyn began to tremble, then shake. Her ears began to buzz.
Then the girl on the swing performed the final movement, the leap.
And she began to plummet toward the ground below.
“No!” Katelyn screamed.
It all happened so fast: the girl, falling; Katelyn, screaming; and Trick’s arms around her, tightly, as the crowd burst into laughter and applause. They had assumed her scream was part of the act.
Trick pressed her face against his neck as he put his lips up to her ear. He said, “I’ll get you out of here.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up as he stood.
Then he was cradling her against himself as he hurried her up the aisle, out into the lobby. She was biting her lip to keep from sobbing aloud, but she couldn’t stop the tears. He kept walking, and she felt a blast of cold air. They were outside, and a sullen moon and gray-fisted clouds hovered overhead. The chill stung her face and she was dimly aware that Trick was taking off his coat and wrapping it around her. Then he was wiping her face with a piece of cloth — a handkerchief — and pressing her body against his. Her face fit into the space between his clavicles and his chin, and she shuddered against him as he held her in his arms.
“It’s my fault that she died,” she told Trick in a rush, and she was surprised she said it. And yet, she couldn’t stop herself. “My mom. I was on painkillers when the earthquake happened, and I was so doped up that she couldn’t get out in time when the . . . fire started.” She felt tears on her cheeks.
“And now I’m here,” she said, anguished, “and there’s so much. Oh, Trick—”
“I’m here, darlin’.” Trick brushed his lips against the crown of her hair. His heart was thundering and she felt icy, unwell. But then she had the sharpest sensation of being watched. Almost as if someone were poking at the back of her neck with one long, cold finger. She stiffened and darted her gaze left and right.
Oh, my God, she thought, freaking out as her knees buckled. Trick was already holding her so tightly that he probably didn’t even notice. She had to get it together. If Lee Fenner had sent a spy to watch her . . .
“I’m okay now,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Katie,” her grandfather said. She didn’t know when he’d come up to them. Maybe he’d been the one watching. She hoped so.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just . . . it was . . . I — I was dreaming of the Mexican cloud swing when the earthquake happened. It just hit me all over again. But I’m . . .” she took a deep breath. “. . . monumentally embarrassed.” She raised her voice and forced out what she hoped was a convincing laugh.
Just then, people poured out of the doors and walked toward them, talking, laughing. The performance had ended.
“Good timing,” she said, trying to make a joke. She smiled at Trick.
But he didn’t smile back.
Katelyn didn’t know who made the decision, but when they returned to their hotel suite, she had the rollout couch and the two guys shared the bedroom. She was relieved; it had been awkward to sleep in the same room with her grandfather and she didn’t want to repeat the experience. The rollout had been made up with fresh sheets, and as she crawled beneath the covers, she realized she could still smell Trick all around her. One of the advantages of having heightened senses, she thought with a fleeting smile. She pulled up the sheets and curled inside them like an embrace.
She knew it made sense that she’d had a meltdown. She was under terrible strain and if anything besides an earthquake could set off her emotions, the Cirque show was it. But if the Fenners had sent someone to spy on her, she hoped they counted it as “normal” that a teenage girl whose mother had died less than three months ago might lose it. In fact, she would seem less normal if she hadn’t. But would Lee Fenner see it that way?
Should she text Justin again? Be an obedient young werewolf? Avoiding trouble certainly made sense. She didn’t want either her grandfather or Trick to suffer just because she didn’t like to bow down to rules she couldn’t understand. Biting her lip in annoyance, she sent a brief message to let him know they were back at the hotel for the night, then she texted Cordelia again. There was no response.
The hotel offered an elaborate brunch in the morning, and everyone ate like pigs. Then they piled into the car. Trick and her grandfather were cautious around her, chatting about inconsequential things. In a weird way, Katelyn was glad Mordecai had seen just how torn up she really was inside. She didn’t think he had understood what he had asked of her, forcing her to move to Wolf Springs. N
ow he had seen her pain firsthand.
When they arrived back at the cabin, she wondered if she might also be PMSing werewolf style as she felt so unbelievably restless. Wasn’t menstruation linked to the phases of the moon? So would werewolf girls notice it more? After Trick left and her grandfather went to bed, she had to go outside and stand in the fresh air. The Inner Wolf guys were at it, beating their drums, their howls echoing off the mountains. Instead of irritating her, the noise steadied her. Was that what she had done at the Cirque show — let out her inner wolf?
A text came in from Justin: Are you back? and feeling daring, she called him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and she heard the tension in his voice. She felt her throat tighten; she was afraid he knew what had happened.
“Yeah,” she said. “It was great.”
“Any problems?”
Was Trick being there a problem?
“No. It’s all good.”
“Okay. G’night, darlin’,” he said, and disconnected.
She stared at her phone. He had called her “darlin’.” Well, Trick called her “darlin’” too. It was just a Southern thing. And yet she fixated on it — how his voice had sounded all sweet, as if he had really meant it.
Doesn’t matter, she reminded herself. He was taken, and werewolves fought to the death if a rival tried to move in on their mate. She wasn’t that kind of girl, anyway — one who would try and steal a guy from a girl once he was taken.
He’s not mated. But from what Cordelia had told her, he might as well be. And she didn’t really want him either, did she? Trick was who she wanted, wasn’t he? Justin’s near irresistibility was just about her wolf hormones; once that all settled down, she’d be okay. Wouldn’t be attracted to him anymore. Are you kidding? a voice inside her head persisted. A guy that hot?
The phone rang, distracting her from her dangerous train of thought. Speak of the devil: Justin again. She took the call.
“I missed you,” he said, and hung up again.