Claire flopped down onto the forest floor, her heart pounding from the frustration and the wasted effort.
In her pocket, her cell phone rang. The noise startled her. It sounded so alien in the quiet rustle of the night forest. She wasn't the only thing surprised by the sudden sound in the darkness. The tiny creatures in the woods around her fell silent as everything but Claire held its breath.
A breeze ruffled Claire's hair. With a sigh, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw that it was already after midnight.
And Matthew was calling.
"Hello?"
"Hey. How are—" He paused. "It sounds windy. Where are you?"
Claire stood up and brushed the bits of dirt and leaves off her shirt. With one swift kick, she sent the unburned twigs skittering across the clearing, so that they came to rest in a natural-looking scatter. Screw it. She'd come back the next night and try again.
"I'm heading home, actually." She turned and started to walk. "You're up late."
"Yeah. I couldn't sleep." His voice was ragged with worry. She could hear Saturday's game hanging over him.
Claire took a long breath. She knew that the state finals were a big deal. A huge deal. Matthew had been recruited by some schools, even offered scholarship money, but he still hadn't heard from his top choice—UCLA. There would be a Bruins rep at the game. Watching him. Making little notes that could determine his entire future.
"Matthew, it's going to be fine. You're amazing—you've been amazing at every match this season, and there's no reason this game is going to be any different."
He sighed. "I hope you're right."
She laughed. "Of course I'm right. I'm always right. Don't you know that by now?"
"I know, I know. I wasn't calling to talk about it, anyway. So. Where're you headed home from?" He was trying to keep his voice light, but he wasn't completely successful.
Claire crouched low and slipped through the hole in the brick wall, stepping onto her lawn.
"The woods," she said, "but I just made it back to the house. Last night wasn't as fantastic as it could have been. I mean, the gathering was fine. But it turns out that the pack is having a special gathering for me. Like, where I'm supposed to demonstrate my—" She paused. "My skills." Her words were heavy with meaning.
"I don't see the problem. You're good at all of that, right?" He sounded distant, and she could hear him shifting around in an edgy sort of way.
Claire stared up at the dark windows of her house. "Except lighting the fire. I can't do that part." Her voice came out in a whisper.
"I—oh. Well, I'm, uh, sure you'll work it out." His voice was as bright and fake as a cheerleader's smile.
Something tightened in Claire's chest.
But what if I can't? What if I screw up so amazingly that I can't ever lead the hunt?
Claire didn't say anything. She looked up at the moon. It was still nearly full, just the tiniest sliver missing from one side. She knew it would shrivel away to nothing all too fast, but she didn't want to add to Matthew's worry if she didn't have to. He was plenty anxious about his own stuff—after all, he was about to be judged too.
Claire shook herself. "Sure. Right. Anyway, I'm home, and I need to go to bed. And you do too."
"Yeah. At this rate, we're both going to be zombies tomorrow." He yawned. "I love you, you know that?" he asked, sounding like his old self again.
"I love you, too," she whispered.
The intensity of her worry rubbed against her, making her want to strip off her human skin and run until she was too tired to care about anything. But instead of transforming and sprinting through the woods until she had run herself out of her self-doubting, Claire flipped her phone shut and trudged into the house. Pretending she was just an ordinary human. Pretending everything was fine.
* * *
By Friday she was a wreck. Claire sat in the forest, surrounded by little unburned piles of kindling. Nothing would light. She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the stack of sticks in front of her, wondering what it would really be like to fail in front of the whole pack. If she couldn't figure out how to get something to catch fire, that's exactly what would happen.
She didn't want to ask her mom for help, mostly because she didn't want to admit just how much trouble she was having with something that was supposed to come naturally to werewolves. It would be almost as bad as admitting that she couldn't wag her own tail. Claire pressed her forehead into her knees, the denim blotting out the mocking, unlit wood in front of her.
Two more days. I'll just practice for two more days. Then, if I still haven't figured it out, I'll talk to her.
The idea that she might really be an incomplete wolf was so awful that she couldn't even think it any louder than a whisper. But there was a little voice at the back of her head that had started muttering ugly, doubt-filled things, and once it knew it had gotten her attention, there was no way to shut it up.
Part of her knew she should stay where she was and try again to make some sort of combustion happen. But Matthew's game was the next day. All the other soccer players' girlfriends would have flowers and cards and signs with their boyfriends' jersey numbers on them. Claire wasn't going to let Matthew down by being the only one sitting there at the state finals with nothing. Even if it meant missing out on a little bit of practice. She still had more than a week until the gathering. That would be plenty of time to work things out—to keep herself from being humiliated, from having everyone think she wasn't as good as any of the other wolves.
At least, she hoped it would be plenty of time. Saturday morning dawned, full of heavy gray clouds and the promise of colder weather. Claire was relieved. At least by nightfall Matthew's stress would be over. And the game would be a good chance for her to think about something else and blow off some steam. She was even looking forward to the traditional postgame celebration at the diner.
And then afterward she promised herself, she'd head straight for the woods and practice.
She'd been up way too late trying to make a decent-looking sign, but she'd finally managed it. It was just Matthew's number inside a glittery heart, but it was big enough that he'd be able to see it from the field. After doing her best to drown her fatigue with coffee, Claire tugged on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt with a disintegrating collar. She had hours until the game, and the caffeine had made her way too jittery to sit around the house. The only thing she could think to do—at least, in the daylight—was go for a run.
She paused on the front porch, stretching out her left calf and adjusting her earphones before taking off down the driveway. She loved the shock in her chest as the thud of her shoes against the pavement reverberated into her ribs and her lungs stretched, trying to keep up with her sudden effort.
Just when her muscles had really warmed and loosened and the running started to feel almost—but not quite—as good as when she was in her wolf form, Claire reached the edge of the forest. Seeing the shadows between the trees sent a flutter of anxiety through her, undoing most of her relaxation. She wanted to be there, in the woods, practicing. She turned her eyes back to the road in front of her, training her gaze on the cracked pavement. She needed to stay focused on Matthew right now. On her human life.
Besides, there wasn't anything she could do about her werewolf existence until it got dark.
With the road spooling out in front of her like a ribbon, Claire inhaled long and slow and matched her pace to the drum-beat rhythm of the song that poured through her earphones. She let the repetition calm her, numb her, until she wasn't worried about fire lighting or Matthew's scholarship chances. Until she was just running. Breath and motion and nothing else.
When she was sufficiently sweat soaked and soothed, Claire jogged home and hurried to shower—she had time before the match started, but she wanted to be early enough to get a good seat. After she was clean, she pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that was cute enough for Louie's. Then, for luck, she threw on one of Matthew
's sweatshirts. She ran her thumb over the slightly-frayed edge of the cuff, imagining all the other times he had worn it, all the times it had been his skin inside the soft fabric instead of hers. A happy little shiver ran down her spine. She grabbed her phone off her vanity, sending Matthew a quick "I love you and you're going to be fabulous" text before shoving it in her pocket.
In the kitchen her mother sat with her hands around a cup of coffee and stared out the window. There was an untouched sandwich in front of her. Claire took a deep breath, gripping the edge of Matthew's sweatshirt for support. She hadn't spoken to her mother much since the gathering, which wasn't such a big challenge. Marie worked crazy hours, meeting with clients, working her contacts, and playing with new equipment when she wasn't involved in an actual photography session.
Claire was mostly relieved that her mother hadn't seemed to notice how much time she was spending in the forest—that she wasn't questioning whether or not Claire was ready for the new moon gathering. Claire grimaced, wishing she wasn't going to be paraded around like a trick pony—or trick wolf. Whichever.
As if she could hear Claire's thoughts, Marie turned to Claire and took a sip of coffee.
"Good morning, chérie. Actually, afternoon almost, isn't it? Are you just waking up?"
"No. I went for a run. Did you need me to check in or something?" The last sentence came out with a fish-hook barb on the end of it, and Claire bit the inside of her lip, hoping it wasn't going to get her in trouble.
Just pretend everything's fine long enough to get through this afternoon. That's all I have to do. Then I'll spend every possible second getting a handle on the fire stuff.
Her mother raised an eyebrow, but she let the comment slide. "Matthew's game is today, yes? The important one?"
"Yep. I was wondering—um, is Lisbeth coming this afternoon? I sort of need a ride."
"Emily isn't going?"
"No. She has a family thing she couldn't get out of. Plus, she doesn't really love soccer, you know?"
In spite of the fact that Claire and Matthew had been dating seriously for months, Emily and Matthew still hadn't become friends. At first it had seemed like Emily didn't want to butt in. She'd made lots of innuendo-laced comments about a couple needing to "get to know each other" without interruptions. But lately Claire had been wondering if there was more going on. Interspersed with the eyebrow-waggling one-liners, Emily had been mentioning third wheels and unwanted spinsters.
"You look extremely thoughtful." It was a statement, but there was an obvious question underneath it. Marie was always worried about Emily—or, more specifically, Claire slipping and Emily figuring out the truth. "I'm just not awake yet." Claire shrugged off her mother's curiosity. "So, can you drive me?"
Her mother shook her head. "I've got client calls starting in half an hour, and I'll be busy straight through dinner." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "But they are sending a car for me for the dinner. . . ." She slid off her chair and padded over to the coat closet. When she came back, the shiny black oval key fob dangled from her hand.
Car keys.
The car keys.
Marie held them out. "Why don't you take my car? You have a license. There's no reason you can't drive yourself." Do not squeal. Do not squeal. Do not squeal.
Claire cleared her throat as casually as she could. "Are you sure?"
Her mother stared at her pointedly. "I trust you with far more than a car on a daily basis. I know you will be careful."
Claire reached out and took the keys, reveling in the sharp weight of them against her palm."Thanks," she said. "This is actually great—I'll be able to give Matthew a ride home after Louie's."
Marie smiled. "See? Better for everyone, then." She looked at the clock. "I'd better go prepare for my calls. Enjoy your afternoon."
"Sure thing." Claire grabbed her bag and headed for the garage before her mother could change her mind. She'd driven plenty of times—with Marie in the passenger seat. She'd even driven Matthew's car a couple of times at the very end of the summer, when he'd pulled a muscle in his calf.
But she'd never had a car all to herself before.
The Mercedes sat in the garage, all glossy black paint and sinfully soft leather. Claire hit the button that opened the garage door and slid behind the wheel.
This was going to be good.
Really good. The match was intense. All the players knew what was on the line, and they were playing hard, not keeping anything in reserve. They weren't afraid to get injured—they were all hitting each other as hard as they could without getting thrown out of the game. By the midway point of the second half, Hanover Falls was up, one to nothing. That's when the right back came flying out of nowhere and slammed into Matthew as he dribbled the ball toward the goal. A two-footed hit in the box that meant a free kick. If it went in, it would come close to sealing the game.
Claire held her breath, curling her toes against the soles of her shoes. The adrenaline pulsing through her heightened her senses until she could hear Matthew's determined, nervous breath. The scent of tension—sharp, bitter—poured off the players on the field, strong enough to make her wrinkle her nose. Matthew took two steps back, squinting against the sun as he lined up for his free kick. There was a rip in the back of his jersey, remnants of the illegal hit he'd taken moments earlier.
Claire watched as intently as the rest of the fans. She'd never been really interested in a sport before she started dating Matthew, but the speed and athleticism of soccer appealed to her, and once she'd learned the rules, she cheered and hissed as loudly as any other fans, even when Matthew wasn't on the field.
Matthew shrugged one shoulder, and Claire gripped the cold metal of the bleacher as he ran at the ball. The solid thunk of his foot hitting the black-and-white sphere echoed across the field, and Claire—along with the rest of the crowd— jumped to her feet as the ball sailed past the goalie and swept into the back of the net. The free kick put Hanover Falls two goals ahead of Lawrence with twenty minutes left in the match. Claire sat perched on the edge of her seat, hoping they'd done enough to win. Willing it to be true. Her nose twitched and her confidence grew. There was no way Lawrence could make a comeback. Their players all reeked of exhaustion.
Claire watched impatiently as the time on the game clock ticked away. The sensation of a certain win swelled inside her, sending pinpricks of barely contained excitement into her hands and feet. When they entered the two minutes of injury time, she was on her feet, yelling with the rest of the crowd.
The referee's whistle sounded, signaling the end of the game.
Claire let out an enormous whoop and hugged the random girl sitting next to her, who hugged Claire back just as enthusiastically. She let go, turning to watch as Matthew celebrated with the rest of the team, slapping shoulders and getting cuffed on the back of the head.
He turned and caught sight of Claire. A grin spread across his face, and he jogged over to her. Claire climbed down the bleachers, stepping over people and purses, hoping no one noticed she was doing it a little more quickly, more easily, than a human would. Her feet hit the ground at the sidelines.
Heat spread through Claire's middle as Matthew came to a stop in front of her, smelling like clean sweat and grass and the sort of sweet-apple scent of happiness.
He scooped her up and swung her in a circle. "We did it! Can you believe it? We actually did it!" He set her down, leaned in, and planted a quick kiss on her lips.
His joy was so genuine and so all-encompassing that it wrapped around her, tight as his arms, filling her with a lemony-light giddiness. "Are you kidding?" She linked her hands at the small of his back. "Of course I can believe it. That free kick was absolutely amazing, Matthew."
"Thanks." He fidgeted with the hem of his jersey, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "I just hope it impressed the UCLA scout. I hope like hell he's writing the words "full ride" in there." Matthew's gaze flicked to the top of the bleachers, and Claire followed it. She spotted a man with an out-
of place tan and an unnecessarily heavy jacket scribbling away in a leather portfolio.
Matthew blew out a long breath, his normal expression— calm and confident—returning to his face. "Anyway, I guess I just have to wait and see. No use worrying about it right now."
Claire grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. "It'll be fine. It'll be more than fine."
"You ready to eat?" Matthew asked.
Claire nodded. She was always ready to eat. Ever since she'd become a full werewolf, her appetite had been insane. She was also starting to feel antsy about getting into the woods—as the sun slid to the west, she could feel the seconds ticking closer and closer to her practice time.
"Awesome. Let me just grab a quick shower, and I'll meet you outside the locker room, okay?"
Matthew. In the shower. Claire's insides quivered.
"Sounds perfect," she said.
She watched him walk away, his cleats throwing up little clumps of dirt as he went. In her back pocket, her phone started chirping. Claire pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. It was Emily.
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