by Tamar Sloan
I wonder where Noah’s enthusiasm stems from.
We separate in time for Caesar to jump up on Noah, broad paws hitting him in the abdomen.
“Hey, boy. You get a playdate, too.”
Stash, the Phelan Labrador, bowls past Noah, leaping up to meet Caesar. Tails wag madly, threatening to take out anything at knee height.
“Come on, you two; you can take that enthusiasm out the back.”
When I return, Noah’s sitting on the lounge, open laptop on the coffee table, one arm stretched across the back, like there’s a special spot just waiting for me.
I climb in, legs tucking up, facing that sculpted face I could watch all day. All week.
For the rest of my life.
Noah brushes a strand of hair over my shoulder. “No Alexis?”
I shake my head. “Like I said, I doubt we’ll be making eye contact, let alone exchanging words, anytime soon, which suits me.” I go for a change of subject, one where the outcome isn’t already decided. “So, Tara and Mitch are out wheeling and Wereing?”
Noah blinks, the hand that was playing with the ends of my hair stilling. Was it the sudden change in topic? “Yeah, most of the Channons are happy with their new leaders, but they’re just making sure.”
I wonder if they’ll be seeing Seth, but I don’t get a chance to ask. Noah leans in and gifts me with a quick kiss. “So, why don’t we start on our English stuff then finish up with the biology assignment?”
It’s my turn to blink. “Sounds like a plan.”
Noah brings his arm over and leans forward to retrieve our computers. He passes me mine, and settles his own on his lap. “What’s your topic?”
I fire up my laptop, pretending this is what I wanted to talk about. “I have to do the book review on The Outsiders and its relevance to today.”
I turn a little, leaning back on the muscled arm he tucks into his side, taking up our study position.
Noah snorts. “At least yours is in English from this century.”
With my back to him, my eyes pretending they’re absorbed in my laptop, I click open the document. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk about?”
Noah clicks something then clicks it again. “Nah, I figured it out.”
My assignment flashes open on the screen; the title of the book, black on glowing white, looks at me. The irony of our allocated reading is not lost on me. I’m pretty sure I can’t write an essay on a human girl wanting to fit in with shapeshifting Weres. On all the reasons she can relate to Ponyboy and the obstacles that he has to face, although it’s not wealth this time around, just supernatural laws.
I don’t turn around to check Noah’s expression; I don’t sigh. Instead, I focus on growing the words on my screen and losing myself in arguing that Ponyboy’s patience and perseverance pay off in the end.
A tingle on my scalp brings me back from the East Side. My curious mind stills then realizes Noah’s fingers are tangling in the ends of my hair again. Little shivers of warmth ignite where his fingers brush, and I have to hold myself still, reminding myself we are here to study, that Noah is still trying to translate Hamlet.
Noah’s shoulders move a little as he readjusts the laptop, and that hot upper arm massages the middle of my back. That banked fire flares a little more. My fingers have stopped, hovering over the keyboard, and I know the heat has flushed my skin. From the corner of my eye, I see Noah smile.
He knows exactly what he’s doing!
I remember the look, those wide eyes burning a little hotter when we were on the dance floor. With a hidden smile I raise one arm, brushing my hair out of my face and over my shoulder. Till the ends brush his thigh.
The movement behind me stops.
My secret smile grows a little.
Then I sit forward, like I need to stretch. I roll my shoulders, ever so slightly arching my back before leaning backward again. The back that is not nearly as relaxed as I just made out to be reconnect with the statue of muscle behind me.
Now I can’t even hear breathing.
But Noah doesn’t move, which is not really where I saw this going. I type a few more words, and as gibberish scrolls across my screen, I realize my little plan has backfired. I’m hot and bothered but still supposedly studying.
One glance over my shoulder tells me I’m not the only one with the elevated pulse. One glance over my shoulder and it ignites.
Laptops are carelessly dumped on the coffee table, and I’m on top of Noah like I’m about to devour him. Lips touch then mesh, breaths hitch then exhale in an excited new rhythm.
Noah’s hands are on my waist, gripping then moving, making me arch. My hands find the strip of bare waist, fingers molding to the heated skin. I love the feel of the hot silk, and my hands want more. Searching hands creep across over the ridges, to the valley of his spine.
Trembling hands, overwhelmed with sensation, move up. I feel the muscles shift beneath the smooth heat, bunching, releasing. Just like my heart is. Leaving his waist, I discover the hills and valleys of this new world. Noah’s t-shirt rides up as my hands reach for his shoulders, wanting to see if they are just as smooth and sculpted and scorching.
With a gasp Noah pulls back, wide eyes looking almost…scared. My hands slide down, and Noah’s shirt tumbles after them, until all three rest at his waist. Did I do something wrong?
Then I hear the almost silent whirr of the garage door. Oh, Alexis is home. Noah’s sensitive Were hearing would have picked up the sound. We scramble back to our upright positions, returning computers to our laps, trying to get our breathing under control.
I glance at Noah to find his eyes full of nothing but laughter. I grin back, glad my overactive insecurities aren’t getting any more fuel.
“Am I allowed to mention mother of the year is coming up, just in case she wants to start collecting awards?”
I throw him a don’t-you-dare look. “My guess is she’ll go to the office.”
I watch Noah’s face and see my prediction is correct. His face widens with surprise as his sensitive ears hear Alexis’s heels stride down the path and away from our house.
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Told you.”
He shakes his head, and I’m reminded of the relief I now feel that she no longer surprises me. It means I don’t get to experience the disappointment and disbelief that I know underscores Noah’s quiet statement. “Unbelievable.”
I’m about to suggest we look at biology, deep down hoping that the passion we had to bank so suddenly might find an opportunity to flare again, when Noah’s phone dings. He looks down, rolling his eyes when he mumbles Mitch’s name.
His thumb swipes the screen, and his brows come down. Blue eyes come up to meet mine, no longer light with laughter. “Mitch needs me to check something out.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
Like straight away? I wait for an explanation for the urgency, but Noah is collecting his computer, stuffing it and his books into his bag.
“Okay.”
Was that as pathetic as it sounds?
Noah stops, and I think his shoulders drop an inch. “He didn’t say why. I don’t think it’s anything major, but I’ll head home and check it out anyway.”
“Sure.” I smile, because isn’t that what an understanding-girlfriend-who-desperately-wants-to-be-an-insider does?
“We’ll talk biology tomorrow. If we’re in public, I might actually write something that makes sense.”
My smile becomes a little more genuine. I don’t doubt Noah’s feelings for me.
Once Noah is gone, I pick up the worn, rumpled copy of The Outsiders. Ponyboy learns that some things connect us beyond our wealth or class. I live that every day with Noah.
I flick it back onto the coffee table. I’ve read the whole thing. I know that Ponyboy looks for doors to open. And I know that although he finds some that open to whole new worlds, I also know that some not only stay shut, but firmly locked.
13
&n
bsp; Noah
You need to see this PRONTO
This had better not be Forgotten Fire’s latest video clip. As I tap impatient fingers on the steering wheel, fed by the frustration that I’m creating more secrets with Eden, I admit why I left in such a rush. Mitch wouldn’t call me home unless this was significant.
Whatever prompted that single line has me edging the speed limit the whole way home.
“You’re home early.” Mom is sitting in the dining area, photos spread out over the table. Scrapbooking night has grown to scrapbooking year.
“Yeah, we finished early.”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t just go there to study.”
My eyes bug out to twice their size. Did she just imply what I think she’s implying? “What?”
“Well, you guys walk the dogs, eat pizza, solve world peace. All the usual stuff teens do.”
That’s what I thought she meant. “We were both a bit done, so we decided to have an early one.”
Mom gives my lame explanation the look it deserves. Chin pulled in, one brow arched. “Right. Well, I made some lamb hotpot if you want some.”
My stomach simultaneously sinks and clenches as I realize I haven’t eaten, and lamb hotpot is going to have to go in there.
“Thanks, I’ll get some later. I’ve got to check something with Mitch.”
“Sure, honey. I’ll warm it up when you’re ready.”
I head up the stairs as my stomach drops another few feet. I wonder what I’ve ‘got to see.’
Mitch is in his room, correction, his and Tara’s room. A double bed takes up most of the space, the rest sucked up by the extra wardrobe we managed to cram in. Tara’s paintings are on the wall, Mitch’s woodwork creations covered beneath various feminine shirts and jeans.
They’re both on the bed, his laptop balanced over each one of their legs. Neither looks up when I enter; they heard me coming minutes ago.
“Well?”
Mitch has his serious pants on. What’s more worrying, so does Tara. They shuffle on the bed, and I climb over, propping my back against the wall alongside them.
“Here.”
Mitch passes the laptop, and I see it’s on YouTube. They’d better not have dragged me away from Eden, alone time with Eden no less, for the latest cat video. The title that catches my attention and my own serious pants hitch up.
WEREWOLF SIGHTING — WE TOLD U THEY R REAL!
I press Play, knowing we see these all the time. Usually, amateur jobs that get so few hits they’re barely worth acknowledging. But the two Weres beside me are quiet. It’s an unsettling absence of light-hearted humor kind of quiet, one that doesn’t usually accompany watching these things.
The square screen shows what’s probably a camera phone held by a person running through the forest. He’s panting, but it sounds like the huff and puff of an exerted panting, not a scared kind of panting. The picture jerks and jiggles through a forest, the multi-trunked, umbrella-canopied forest you would find in more temperate climates.
The phone is bumped, for a moment angling up to show a twilight sky, then zips back down, leaving you reeling. I don’t know how the amateur documentary maker kept hold of it, because it’s a big animal that thunders past, a huge furry animal that almost knocked the phone out of his hand.
A huge animal, much too big for its species. A fast animal, far quicker than you would have thought possible.
A wolf.
It runs ahead, not glancing back, unconcerned by the human and the hand videoing it. It powers ahead, all greys and browns, heading for the trees. The camera tilts down, showing a massive paw print in the soil.
Okay, a mutant-sized wolf doesn’t prove the presence of Weres.
The camera focuses on the trees then zooms in on the disappearing wolf. The focus readjusts, blurring the tree line, then sharpens. Just in time to see the wolf straighten and shrink, lighten and straighten, just in time to see a human disappear between the grey trunks.
The camera blacks out, like the battery died or its motherboard couldn’t handle that much supernatural information. I consider doing the same.
My hands come up to massage throbbing temples. Four eyes are watching me very, very closely.
Now I understand the seriousness, the quietness. The urgency.
There is a stream of comments below. A lot are critiquing the CGI graphics. The odd one claims they refuse to reveal their true identity. One woman claims the guy is her boyfriend and she’s pregnant. I look to see how many hits it’s had. If this video falls into the obscurity of the World Wide Web then we don’t have a situation on our hands.
The numbers, clocking into six digits, do the math for me.
We have a situation on our hands.
“Have you found anything out?”
Mitch shrugs. “It was uploaded two days ago. The vegetation is not from around here. It could be anywhere. And it looks pretty real.”
Even if it’s not real, it’s a little too close to the truth to sit comfortably.
“Well, we know Weres have expanded beyond the natural distribution of the wolf.”
It was a contentious decision. It’s easier to explain a wolf sighting in Wyoming than somewhere like Australia. But Weres didn’t want to be limited. And we were all committed to the Precepts, our secret.
Until now.
“Anything else?”
“It’s all over social networking.”
I’m struggling to find a word that won’t offend any delicate sensibilities. My mouth opens, an ‘F’ precariously hanging, puckering up my lips.
“Flunky fudge fish?” Tara contributes helpfully.
I look at her. Then look at her again. Really?
I suck in a deep breath. “Flunky fudge fish!” That wasn’t nearly as satisfying. I take another deep breath. “Who would do something like this?”
“Someone who wants to make some waves.”
I want to growl. “Where is this guy’s Alpha? It’s their responsibility to ensure this doesn’t happen.”
Mitch rubs his lower lip. “And do what? I don’t know if we have enough power to enforce them. Banishment doesn’t carry the same weight it used to.”
The growl leaves my body in a rush. Valid point. In our over-populated, uber-connected world, probably not. Technically, I’ve broken Precepts for Eden. And I don’t regret it. Banishment would never have stopped me.
Mitch hasn’t finished. “And what if it was an Alpha?”
Silence hangs heavily in the room.
Tara leans forward. “It seems the appearance of the last Precept was timely.”
Two hands jam into my hair, staying well away from my mark. “It was the last Precept that started all this.”
Tara shakes her head. “I think it addresses what was inevitable.”
Mitch stands. “Although the ‘who’ and ‘where’ are pretty important, what we need to be asking is ‘why?’”
Why would someone deliberately, and publicly, break a Precept?
Tara’s voice is small, but it doesn’t need to be big for us to hear. “It seems Dad wasn’t the only one with ambitions for more.”
I think of Seth and his speech. The Channon pack is destined for more…
Mitch’s eyes widen then turn to me. “By breaking the Precepts, they can claim Prime Alpha.”
Flunky fudge fish.
The Smurfs jingle vibrates through the room, and Tara’s glances at her phone. The moment she presses the green button, Dana’s voice hits every Were ear. “Have you seen it?”
Dana’s voice is high pitched, fast. Like she’s worried or excited.
Tara climbs off the bed, heading for the door. “Yeah, we’re just deciding what to do now.” Tara disappears down the hall, taking the high-pitched response with her.
Mitch crosses his arms. “Well?”
“We need to tell Dad…about the video.” And nothing else.
Mitch sighs in a way that says he really doesn’t agree. “About the video. Then what?”
“We do nothing.”
“What?”
“Everything has a shelf-life on the Internet. We just need to wait for the Kardashians to lose their bikini, and this will go away.”
“I don’t think this is going away.”
“Of course it will. Human attention span is the equivalent of a squirrel on steroids.”
The joke hits Mitch’s unsmiling face and falls flat. “You know what I mean.”
I won’t touch my chest. I won’t protect my mark. “It’s too soon.”
“It looks like Weres need a leader.”
I’ve barely been a Were, let alone a leader. “Eden needs more time.” I think of her growing spontaneity, how much she’s shed that shell. What would something like this do to her? To us?
“She needs to know.”
“No.” The word is low, final.
“Noah, you’re the—”
“Every pack has their Alpha. Weres don’t need a leader.” My hands clench because every muscle in my body is tangled with tension.
“Apparently, we do.”
“I won’t choose.” I spin on my heel and head for the door. There’s nothing more to say.
But apparently, there is. Because a soft breath follows me, carrying three words. Three words that fall, slide across the silent floor, then gain momentum as they follow me out the room. Three words that grow, snowballing until they are indisputable. Snowballing until they have the power to slam between my shoulder blades, spear through my chest, pierce my heart.
“You just did.”
14
Eden
“Mitch seems quiet.”
The school is as empty as its parking lot after we stayed back and worked in the library. The whole time we sat at that table with generations of initials scratched in black and blue ink Mitch had been lost in his text. Tara and Noah talked like nothing is amiss. But something is different with Mitch.