by Karen Kincy
“I can’t believe you two,” Randall says, shaking his head. “We’d better get out of here.”
Jessie leans against the hood of the convertible and grins. “And visit a decent restaurant!”
“That was unbelievable,” Cyn says in a quiet voice.
I give her a look. “You didn’t have to let them do that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She glares at me as she climbs into the convertible.
“They robbed an old man!”
Randall shushes me and drags me into the blue pickup. “Shut the hell up before you get us all arrested, bloodborn.”
“I’d love to see you get arrested.”
He growls under his breath and slams the door behind me.
As we drive away, I see Ford in the doorway, frowning, his hand raised in goodbye.
“Makes me sick,” I say. “How can you do shit like that?”
Randall keeps his eyes on the nighttime road. “Where else are we going to get money?”
“You’re all criminals.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
He rolls down the window, and the wind of our passing hisses through the wheat.
“Maybe if you tried earning some money for once, instead of making things worse—”
“Oh, so you have a job?”
“No, but—”
“That’s what I thought.” Randall shakes his head. “Good luck putting that on your resume. ‘Werewolf seeking position as nanny.’”
I laugh, then swallow. Don’t want to sound like I actually think he’s funny.
“Your girlfriend didn’t seem all that bothered,” he says.
“She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”
Randall smiles, kind of smugly. He turns on the radio and fiddles with the dial. A new hit by Bloodless fills the truck. “Too late to understand/Too late to go back now/I’ve crossed the turning point/By turning you.”
“You like?” he says.
I realize I’m nodding my head, and stop myself. “Yeah,” I grunt.
“It’s about being bloodborn, you know,” he says. “Vampires, of course.”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “Everybody knows all vampires are bloodborn. No baby vampires.” I think for a minute. “Not like werepuppies.”
Randall just snorts.
“You guys hate each other, right? Leeches versus curs?”
“That’s a stereotype. We get in fights occasionally, but the bloodborn have to stick together.”
“Do not use this as an opportunity to try and convince me we should be best buds.”
Randall laughs, and startlingly enough, it sounds genuine. “You know, I really only care about you not getting killed on my watch or going on a murderous rampage. Other than that, I don’t care if we’re barely on speaking terms.”
“Fantastic,” I mutter.
“But if you try hard enough,” Randall says, “you might be good enough for the pack.”
“Like I’d want that.”
“Well, you don’t really have many other options.” His forehead furrows. “I mean, I’ve tried living as a lone wolf. It sucks.”
I hide a shiver. “So this is it? My life from now on?”
“This is only the beginning,” Randall says, and he turns up the music.
eleven
Whatever Isabella and Jessie do with their stolen money, I don’t know. Me and Randall stop at the next drive-through along the highway—Bigfoot’s Big Burgers, with a giant smiling Sasquatch on the sign, looking about as dumb as a trained bear. Wow, this sure is a backwoods town; back around Seattle, those political correctness people would be all over that sign in less than a heartbeat. “Blatant racism,” they’d say, which is a little stupid. As far as I know, Sasquatches don’t even come in different colors.
Randall lets me order two Bigfoot burgers and a Cactus Cat shake without even a nasty comment. Fatigue creases his eyes.
“Tired?” I say, as we start driving again.
Randall steers one-handed, a half-eaten Bigfoot burger in his grip. “I was wrong. You aren’t a moron. You’re a genius.”
“You must be tired. Even your sarcasm sucks.”
He gives me a sideways glare, but doesn’t say anything more.
“This is a damn good shake,” I say, smug now that he’s not talking. “Cactus Cat shake.” I stare at the cartoon on the side of the cup, a yowling bobcat with spikes for fur. “I’ve never seen a real Cactus Cat, come to think of it.”
“Cause they’ve been extinct for about a hundred years. Just like unicorns.”
“Oh.”
You know, I don’t even know how many Others got hunted to zero.
Once we cross the state line into Idaho, we make camp in a meadow ringed by ponderosa pines. Thank God I don’t have to sleep in the same tent as Randall. Instead, I get a blanket and a spot under the stars. Most in the pack have shapeshifted for sleeping, cozy in their wolf pelts.
The thinning moon, almost a perfect oval, peeks over the mountains in the west. Her power feels stronger, now that I’m closer to the sky. I clench fistfuls of the blanket, my muscles taut, and warily watch the moon. Her glow crests over the peaks, then pours into the meadow, filling it slowly with moonlight.
I glance at the wolves. One of them flicks an ear. Another stretches and yawns, tongue curling, then goes back to sleep.
A shiver skitters down my spine. The night grows brighter and brighter, like someone’s turning up the dimmer for a light. Icy tingles cross my exposed skin. I roll over and tug the blanket tight over my head, like I’m a little kid hiding from a monster—if I can’t see it, it can’t see me.
Only I’m the monster.
A pang shoots through my gut. I curl and hug myself. My nails—claws?—dig into my arms. God dammit. No Lycanthrox here to help me; now I’m really fucked. You know that stuff doesn’t work, right? If Randall can be believed.
Got to get out of the light. I crawl into the shadows of the trees, wrapping the blanket around me like a cloak. The tug of the moon wanes, and I can breathe a little easier. I realize I’m shaking, cold sweat dotting my skin.
Ahead, I hear whispers.
“Yes, but I didn’t expect this would be such a burden.”
Randall. And then, Winema.
“You should have considered the consequences before you bit anyone. You have already caused the death of one boy, and the birth of a bloodborn.”
“I know.” Randall’s voice rises. “But I—”
“Shhh,” Winema says. “Mind the pups.”
I inch nearer in a crouch. My breathing sounds too loud, but I manage to get close enough to see them, standing beneath a tree.
Randall lowers his voice. “But I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I don’t know if I can handle being a sire. I mean, I’m only twenty-seven.”
Winema sighs and her hand drifts to her belly. “I’m not sure any of us ever feel ready.”
“If only he weren’t so damn rebellious,” Randall mutters. “Then I could handle it.”
She laughs gently. “Remember when you first came to this pack?”
“Hey, I wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh, yes you were. I’m amazed Jessie even convinced you to come up north. You were a real troublemaker. Had the cops on your tail.”
“My dam abandoned me. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Which is why you can’t abandon Brock.”
Randall sighs and swings his head toward the moon. “He hasn’t changed yet.”
“You will need to show him,” Winema says.
He nods. “Eventually.”
“Soon,” she says. “Before it’s too late.”
“All right.” Randall retreats from his Alpha. “Good night.”
Winema kneels in a cluster of ferns. I peer harder and ma
ke out the shapes of the three werepuppies sleeping in a lump. Winema stokes one between the eyes, and it licks its nose happily. She smiles to herself.
Charles pads closer, his long silver hair bright in the moonlight, and crouches beside her. “How are you feeling?”
“The moon is waning,” Winema whispers. “The baby is fine.”
“Are you sure?” he says,
“Yes.” Her voice sounds tight.
“Winema … maybe we should go to the doctor. Just this once.”
“No.”
“But you haven’t—”
“I said no.” Winema sighs. “It’s your turn as watch.”
Charles straightens. “Be careful.” He walks away.
The baby. Go to a doctor. The moon. What does being pregnant do to a werewolf? Or maybe … what does being a werewolf do to a pregnant woman? My ears hot, I start to stand, trying to be as quiet as possible.
“Brock,” she says, “I know you’re there.”
I flinch, grabbing fistfuls of leaves. She must’ve smelled me.
“Come here,” she says.
I climb to my feet, shivery and shaky-legged like a newborn calf. “Yeah?”
Winema meets my gaze, her eyes catching the moonlight. “Do you understand what position you are in right now?”
“Yeah.” I look away. “I got bitten, so you guys won’t let me go.”
“Do you understand what it means to be bloodborn?”
A sweet, fresh wind scented with rain and forest slips across my face. I shudder with longing. I don’t want to be here, standing still, not knowing where I want to go, just wanting to run far away and forget it all.
“Brock?”
I close my eyes. “It means I’m going to become a werewolf.”
“You are a werewolf. You need to understand that.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I tighten my calves, my muscles itching to move. “I’ve got to embrace my inner wolf, whatever. What if I don’t want to?”
She stares unblinkingly at me. “You can control the wolf, or let it control you.”
I frown. “How is the second different from the first?”
“When the full moon comes, the change will tear apart your mind and body. You might die. You might go insane, consumed by the desire to bite and infect. If that doesn’t kill you, we will—and it will be the merciful thing to do.”
My mouth goes dry, but I shrug and shuffle away. It’s only when I’m sure she can’t see me anymore that I let myself tremble. I clench my hands to still them. I stare at the moon to prove that I can control myself.
I don’t want this. I don’t want to have no choice.
You made this choice already, when you decided to hunt the werewolves. You didn’t have to follow Randall. You didn’t have to fight him.
I growl at my powerlessness and punch a tree, the bark bloodying my knuckles.
Someone coughs nearby, and my head snaps toward the sound. “Cyn?”
She stands in the shadows, leaning against the red convertible, her hoodie shadowing her face. “What happened?”
I fold my arms to hide my scraped fingers. “Nothing.”
“Brock,” she says, in her I-don’t-believe-you-for-a-second voice.
“Winema said they’re going to kill me if I can’t control the change.”
Cyn steps toward me and throws back her hood, her face white in the moonlight. “What are you going to do?”
“Escape? That sound like a good idea to you?”
“But … you can’t escape who you are now.”
“Thanks for reminding me, Cyn.”
She purses her lips, then shudders so hard her eyelids flutter.
“What’s wrong?” I say.
She hugs herself and rubs her arms. “It’s cold out here.”
“Really? I’m actually sweating.” I can feel the heat radiating off my skin.
Squinting in the darkness, Cyn comes close enough to touch my forehead with the back of her hand. Her skin’s like ice. “Oh, wow, you are.”
“You’re freezing!” I press her hand between mine. “That hoodie isn’t warm enough.”
“But you’re burning up. Feverish. Are you okay?”
I shrug. “It’s normal, I think. For a werewolf.”
Cyn looks at me in this strange, soft way. “When we broke up, you hated werewolves so much it scared me. And now that you are one … how do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“And?”
“And what?” I let go of her hand. “What else is there?”
She sighs, and looks so sad that I wish I’d said something different. “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe I’m an idiot. Maybe I’m totally wrong about you.”
I wish I knew what she thought of me.
She’s standing completely away from me now, not touching me anymore, even though she’s still shivering in the cold night air.
“Ugh,” she says. “I feel kind of lightheaded.”
“Why?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Jessie and Isabella ended up spending all their money on meat. I mean raw meat. I wasn’t about to eat nasty uncooked beef.”
I remember stopping at Bigfoot’s Big Burgers. “I should have bought you something for dinner. I didn’t think of that.”
She shrugs. “I can figure something out.”
“Cyn, we’re in the middle of the mountains in the middle of the night. There are no towns or anything for miles. The werewolves are watching us, so we can’t really borrow a car and drive down to the nearest Safeway.”
She sighs a long sigh, and I realize how tired she is.
“Cynthia … come here.”
“What?” She just stares at me, her eyes wary.
“Come here. I won’t hurt you.”
Before she can step away, I rest my hand behind the small of her back and draw her closer. She stiffens at my touch.
“You need to warm up,” I say quietly.
Cyn makes a small noise of protest, then sighs again and rests her head against my chest. “Okay. But just because you’re hot.”
“What?” I laugh, surprised.
“Oh, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” she grumbles against my shirt.
We stand like that, not quite holding each other, breathing to the same rhythm. A sweetness, warmed by my body, rises to my nose. I glance down and see the miniature rose blossom tucked in her pocket. The scent uncorks a flood of calm throughout my body, the same I felt whenever Mom talked me out of my fear or pain.
“You kept the rose,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says.
I smile a little. “That thing’s indestructible.”
“I’ve missed seeing you smile,” she whispers.
I blush, and I don’t know what to say.
“Here,” I say. “I’m going to get you a blanket so you stop shivering.”
“Brock, you don’t—”
“And some food,” I say. “I can hear your stomach growling from here.” That’s not really true, but I’m sure she’s got to be starving.
Before she can act all tough and too-smart-for-this, I walk round to the blue pickup and yank off the tarp covering everything. Sure enough, in an old duffel bag there are some flannel blankets, worn but clean. I toss one to Cyn, who catches it and gives me a sigh, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile.
“Now, food,” I say.
I open one of the coolers in the truck, and its hinges make this horrible death-squeal. I cringe and glance around. A few glowing eyes stare at me, their annoyance as plain as day, but soon enough the werewolves go back to sleep.
“Better be quiet.” Cyn hops up beside me on the truck bed. “Let me see what’s in there.”
We find some sliced American cheese and a couple of cans of baked
beans and franks. She wrinkles her nose, but peels plastic from the cheese slices, one by one, and eats them all. I pop open the cans and hold them out to her.
“What a romantic moonlit dinner,” she says, with a roll of her eyes.
Startled, I glance at the moon hanging above the pines. She hasn’t been tormenting me, even though my skin is drenched in her light. Cyn has more power over me? But no … now that I’m looking at the moon, and thinking about the wolf curled inside me, the familiar sick twisting feeling wakes up in my stomach.
“These are disgusting,” Cyn says, as she eats the beans and franks with her fingers.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds too hoarse, and I cough. “But you have to eat.”
She isn’t even noticing how I clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists, how the moon sinks a hook between my ribs and reels me in. A shudder ripples through me, and I bend double for a second. This time, Cyn notices.
“Now you’re shivering,” she says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I shake my head. “The moon is out.”
“Well, get out of the moonlight! You’re standing right in it.” Cyn jumps down from the truck and grabs my arm to steer me away.
Her fingers scald my skin. My heartbeat thuds rapid-fire in my chest; my lips are pressed together to hide the fact that my teeth are itching, maybe sharpening into fangs. When I look at her, I feel a longing so sharp it hurts.
What longing? I don’t know, and that scares me more than anything.
“Brock, what’s going on?”
“You should go,” I say. A churning in my stomach sickens me. “I don’t … I don’t want you seeing me like this.”
Cyn furrows her forehead. “You look normal to me. Just sick. Are you … ?”
“No. I don’t know. Please.” My spine crack, crack, cracks and I hunch over. “Cynthia!”
“I’m not leaving.” Her face looks hard. “Not unless I know you’re going to be okay.”
I let her tug me out of the moonlight and into the deepest shadows. I huddle with my back against the bark of a tree, panting, staring at the dizzying pattern of the pine-needle shadows. The Lycanthrox must be wearing off at last. I imagine the virus copying itself over and over in my veins until my blood swarms with squirming disease.