by Tamar Sloan
The leaves and branches above me blur, making them look closer and darker, obscured by the slow trickle leaking from my eyes, tracking icy trails to my temples. This is why I don’t stop. An idle mind is a dangerous thing.
Maybe my mother was right. I need to talk to Emily about going to the vet center more often. I’ll study harder. Blinking, I realize that in this bleak wasteland there’s a path, one that’s been compacted, soil surface hardened and traversed countless times. By my mother.
And I know exactly where it goes. Somewhere where people can’t reach you. Because you are always slightly apart. Someplace where pain struggles to touch you. Because you pour yourself into what you can succeed in.
Caesar stiffens beside me. His ears twitch, his head turning toward the depth of trees.
“You go, boy. I’ll still be here.”
He looks at me, doggy eyebrows raised, body tense with the need to investigate.
I nod. You go.
He darts off, the slight limp not slowing him down, the prospect of pain and discomfort not holding him back from blazing a trail of his own.
I sit up straight.
When did I become my mother?
I shoot to my feet, calling out to Caesar, a second later using my voice. He comes powering through the trees, skidding to a halt before my feet.
“We need to get back.”
He sprints down the path, my two-legged run not far behind.
I burst into the house, scanning for the car keys.
They’re not on the hook. Or the table beneath it. My mind scrambles to think who had the car last, where they could be.
“What’s the rush?” My mother has stood up from the dining table. Papers are stacked in neat piles across its glass surface.
“Where are the car keys?” Caesar is sniffing around the entryway, like he knows what I’m looking for. As if he feels my urgency.
My mother takes a step forward, eyes narrowing. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll explain when I get back.”
Sharp heels clack out my mother’s approach. “Where are you going?”
It’s tonight. She doesn’t know, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to scream the words at her. I scrabble through the magazines on the hall table, looking in drawers.
“I need to tell him.” It won’t make a difference. But I need to tell him. Maybe make the burden a little lighter.
“You don’t want to do this.”
“No.” I straighten, hands clenching. “You don’t want me to do this.”
“It’s not worth it.” Those words are thrown out again.
“But at what cost, Alexis?” She pulls back at the use of her name. But what do you call the mother who never uses yours? “When is enough?”
Her heels rap out her backward retreat, and my voice softens. “Will I eventually also need the wine? The longer work hours?”
My mother’s fingers come up to rest in the hollow beneath her neck.
“Reading endless fiction. About the only ones who actually stay?”
She flinches. Her head drops. And she pushes her purse toward me. The leather bag tips, and the car keys spill onto the glass table top, skidding a few inches across its smooth surface with a tinkling, scraping sound.
I grab them and turn toward the door, without my mother saying another word.
My heart is pumping as I start the car and drive through the Inn grounds. It doesn’t know what to do with the frustration at what I left behind, or the apprehension at what lies before.
Noah.
I drive with controlled concentration to his house. I want to push my foot down, and drive like a maniac. I want to snap the steering wheel down, and turn around and head home. Instead, I focus on the grey asphalt, keeping my foot steady on the gas, keeping my hands at ten o’clock and two o’clock.
As I turn onto the dirt road, a waft of dust blows over the Saab. Like someone has driven here recently. Not surprising really. I suspect there’s a lot of commotion going on right now.
There is a bonding happening today.
I slow down, telling myself it’s for the dirt road, that I’m being a safe, responsible driver. Not the nervousness that has stepped up to heart palpitating, sweaty-palmed anxiety.
I pull up in the driveway and climb out of the car. And see Noah coming out of the house, his shocked eyes registering my presence.
Oh no. He’s wearing a tux. It makes him look taller. Broader. Devastating my senses. Disastrous for my fragile control. My palms itch to touch him. To run over the material hugging his shoulders. To feel that wild blond hair, almost tamed for the occasion. To taste his heat. The irony that I’m so, so ready.
But I can’t.
Today he bonds with another.
I jam my hands into my back pockets, my thumbs clamping onto the denim for good measure.
I meet him on the pathway, where he hasn’t moved a muscle. I join this Adonis statue, drinking him in, devouring everything I’ve missed. I can already feel his warmth thawing the endless winter that has invaded my veins.
I open my mouth. But now that I’m here, with Noah in a tux in front of me, uncertainty raises its ugly head. I don’t know where to start. What to say.
Behind Noah the door opens and Tara comes out, looking breathtaking in a brilliant ivory dress, her hair up, the sweetheart neckline showing off her own wolf tattoo. The Channon mark resting within, a rectangle with a line through the middle, like a domino.
“Oh, hi, Eden. I’ll come back out in a minute.” She turns back inside, her skirt swishing around white heels. Something strikes me. Maybe it was her smile. Her light step. But she seemed…happy.
And although it hurts, I’m glad she is.
Noah glances over his shoulder. “We need to talk.”
He heads to Grandpa Douglas, the silent witness to so many of our moments. I follow those broad, black shoulders, thinking of how they felt beneath my hands during the piggy back. How I felt.
Beneath the spreading branches, he turns to me. His eyes are soft, caressing my face. I take a deep breath, spiced sandalwood giving me the courage I need.
“I wanted to thank you.”
“I—” His mouth clamps shut. “Thank me?”
“I wanted you to know I have no regrets.”
He opens his mouth.
“No, Noah. I need to say this before…” I wave my hand toward his suit. “I want you to know.” My voice drops. “Every moment with you was worth everything we’re going through now.”
Noah is shaking his head. His hands come up, then drop again. “Eden, I’m not choosing a life without you in it. Which is why this,” his hand does its own arc, “isn’t happening.”
Shock reduces me to a whisper. “Not happening?”
“I’m not doing it. To Mitch. To Tara.” He takes a step closer. “To us.”
“But—” And I can’t go any further. What is he saying? What does this mean?
“I told Kurt a little while ago. The bonding will go ahead, but I won’t be in it.”
My eyes widen. He wouldn’t have taken that well.
“Yeah. I don’t think I’m on his Christmas card list. ”
“That means…you’re…we could be…” My hand comes up, hovering between us. “Together?”
Noah’s echo flows out on a breath. “Together.”
My hand rests on his chest, finally connecting. It reflexively curls over his mark, anchoring me. Because I’m drowning in blue oceans of promise. Heated promise.
Together.
Ever so slowly Noah leans in, head tilting down. His beautiful face fills my vision. My senses. My heart is climbing up on each hopeful beat, like it’s trying to reach out, trying to draw him closer. And like all the other times, he stops.
Our breaths mingle on a question. A wish.
A prayer.
With no hesitation, I push up on my toes, banishing the remaining inches between us. Our lips touch, meld. And I melt. His lips feel just like I expected. Firm�
�soft…amazing.
And like nothing I could have imagined.
They move across mine free of tentativeness or uncertainty. But firmly, born of the knowledge that this is achingly right.
Exploring. Caressing.
Impossibly beautiful.
Simultaneously, we press closer, our bodies merging like our lips. The kiss deepening. Noah’s hands wrap around my waist, hauling me against him. I feel his muscles hot and hard against me. My hands shoot through his hair, pulling him closer, and I finally feel those strands weaving through my fingers.
A feeling I’ve only ever sampled blazes through my body.
Desire.
It explodes across my skin, streaks through my veins. Obliterates my mind. The heat passed from cell to cell, beginning at every point we touch, burns through each atom, every fiber, through entire layers of skin, muscle and tissue. All coursing toward, converging on one point—my heart.
“Noah, where are you?”
The sound takes long moments to infiltrate my consciousness. Through the haze of desire in my mind. The haze of Noah.
Noah’s hands loosen their powerful grip around my waist, and come to lie on my hips. I slip my hands from his hair, bringing them down to rest on his shoulders.
We pull away and Noah rests his forehead on mine.
And we’re back where we started. Close, breaths mingling, eyes questioning.
But everything has changed. As is always the case with this amazing boy, something has irrevocably transformed. It’s there in our panting breaths. Our locked eyes. Our speechless lips.
“Wow.”
A soft smile tips up my lips. “Wow.”
Noah grins. A softer, gentler version, but his grin nonetheless.
“Noah, where the fishsticks are you?” Tara’s sweet voice is now a growl of frustration.
Noah twists his head to the house, calling out. “Coming.”
He turns back to me. “We have a bonding to get to.”
I look down at my jeans, jumper, sneakers. “Oh no ‘we’ don’t. I can’t go looking like this.”
Noah pulls back a little, but doesn’t let go. “Beautiful?”
I blush. “You know what I mean.”
“No one will care.”
I sigh. Noah is being an obtuse male. It only took a minute for us to have a men-are-from-Mars-women-are-from-Venus moment. “I will. I’m not going to a Were wedding in jeans and a sweater.”
“But I really want you there.”
“And I really want to be there.”
Planetary stalemate.
“There you are, Noah.” Tara is walking toward us, holding up her full, white skirt as she tiptoes across the pine needles. As she gets closer I notice her delicate bodice, the tendrils of lace curling down onto the organza skirt. It’s exquisite. She doesn’t blink an eye at our wrapped arms, the absence of space between us.
“We leave in ten.”
“Eden won’t come.”
“Well, of course she won’t. Look at what she’s wearing.”
Ah, fellow feminine understanding.
“But I can fix that. Come with me.” Without waiting for permission, she grasps my hand and pulls me away. Every inch of my body instantly mourns the loss of Noah’s closeness and his heat.
But Noah doesn’t object as Tara drags me away, into the house. There Beth is standing, looking worried. She smiles a smile of relief when she sees Tara has me by the hand.
“Beth, we need your wardrobe.”
Beth quickly realizes the issue. “Go for it, there’s a lovely blue number that will probably work a treat.”
I blush. Not only was I just kissing her son under the branches of the family tree, I’m now going to raid her wardrobe. “Thanks Beth,” I say in a little voice.
Tara doesn’t release my hand as we head up the stairs. Maybe she suspects I’m tempted to run.
In Noah’s parents’ room, Tara opens the walk-in wardrobe. Beth, the picture-perfect mother and housewife surprises me with a small section of bagged hangers.
“Beth has always been a bit of a social butterfly.” Tara, efficient as always, quickly unzips and peeks in each bag.
“She was right.” She pulls one out and opens it up.
Inside is a royal-blue dress. Pleated chiffon starts at the shoulders and falls to the floor. Cinched at the waist, the lined skirt flares and flows, thanks to the added volume of the pleats. She pushes it toward me.
I stand there, looking at it. “Come on then, I have a bonding to get to.”
I duck into the bathroom, quickly undressing. Goose bumps skip across my skin as the silky lining slides down my body. Deep blue layers have just brushed my ankles when Tara bustles in.
“No time for hair. Let’s just go with it down.”
I blink. Bondings can really bring out the drill sergeant in people. For once I say it out loud.
Tara giggles, her shoulders hunching above her strapless dress. “Hair down,” she commands.
I remove the mass from its tie and it falls in heavy waves down to my waist.
“Dang it girl, how can you hide that much hair in one knot?”
She grabs a brush and pulls it through in long strokes. From a small clutch, she removes mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick. So that’s what girls carry around in their bags. Not maps, drink bottles, and dog treats.
Tara hitches her lovely dress as she comes around and, in swift minutes, has applied a light layer. She steps back to admire her art work.
“Holy Frijoles, Eden. You look amazing!”
I duck my head. “Just trying to keep up.”
Tara curtsies; with her red hair up and full skirt, she looks like a queen of old. “Bonding ceremony, here we come.”
Back in the bedroom Tara fishes out a pair of strappy, silver sandals. I put them on and I’m glad they don’t pinch. I don’t want to repay Beth’s generosity with stretched shoes.
Standing in the doorway, Tara is hopping from one foot to another.
“I’ll be down in a second.”
Tara grins and skips out of the room.
I look in the mirror at the new girl in front of me—the change deeper than the emphasized eyes, unbound hair and flowing dress. I bring my fingertips to my glossed lips.
I took the leap.
And faith feels heavenly.
It’s full of hope, trust, and a willingness to take a chance on these intangible ideals. Scary, but so, so worth it.
I take a trembling breath, filling my lungs with courage, and head for the stairs. The pleated skirt buffets and swirls with each step down. I’m so preoccupied in not tumbling that I don’t see Noah until I’m almost at the bottom.
He’s wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
I blush, my hand habitually coming up to rub behind my ear.
“Wow.” This time he only mouths the word.
I blush brighter, hotter. I cover the last few steps, coming to stand before him. In the low heels, we’re eye to eye. Green meeting darkening blue, a color I’ve never seen before. A color that raises my body temperature significant degrees. My hands come up to rest on his chest.
“I stopped my mother from cutting it when I was five.”
Two hands slowly come up, brushing my cheeks as they travel to my hair. His fingers graze my scalp as they flow past my neck. They brush my bare shoulders, moving down to finally rest, tangled in the ends of my hair at my hip. Heat follows his fingers like the tail of a comet.
“It’s kind of hot, so I’ve just got used to wearing it up.”
He blinks once. Twice. “We’re always living in cold climates.”
Before his lips are on mine.
Those soft, hot lips brush against mine. Stealing my breath. Creating magic all over again. Sending my pulse skyrocketing.
“We are going, people!” Tara has the door open, ivory foot tapping impatiently. Noah grins then grabs my hand. We all head out to the Phelan truck. Not your standard wedding car. But I suppose a BMW would never make it to the Glade
.
We climb in, Noah driving with Beth in the front, Tara and I in the back.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too, Tara.” Noah’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.
Tara grabs my hand in a painfully tight grasp. “Eeek!” She squeals in an ear-splitting pitch.
Noah turns onto the highway. “I’m not taking it personally that the prospect of bonding with me had you in tears.”
“It’s very personal. Mitch is much better looking.”
“Now, Tara, both my boys are devilishly handsome.” Beth turns toward me, also in a strapless number showing off her wolf tattoo, this one in pale green. “Isn’t that right, Eden?”
I feel a little cornered. Faith Eden. “Beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder.” My gaze holds Noah’s in the rearview mirror. His eyes widen, a little pleased, a lot flustered. My heart swells.
We turn onto the rutted track surrounded by green. Tara bounces three times higher than anyone else, like she’s full of helium.
There are already several cars in the mini parking lot, all sturdy AWD’s. Noah comes around to open the door for Tara, and she clambers out in a puff of tulle. Without warning she launches herself into his chest.
“Oomph.”
“Thank you, Noah. You have no idea what this means to me. To Mitch.”
“I think I have some idea.”
“You’ve made our dreams come true.”
Noah releases Tara, rubbing the back of his head and messing up the not-so-tame hairdo. Tara darts to the hidden trail, lifting the branch like it’s half its size, and disappearing behind it. Looking like a fairy-tale princess disappearing into a magical forest. Off to find her prince.
“I’ll see you in there, Noah.” Beth rubs her hand down his arm before following Tara.
Noah comes up to me and we head into the Glade. Just like last time, Noah moves the branch and we’re back in the green cocoon. Noah squeezes my hand, and I squeeze his back.
The path opens out and the Glade stands before us. It’s like I’ve stepped into another world, one that’s even more magical than before. The giant pines, almost black in the half-light, stand imposing and silent. Their tall spires surround the Glade like a city of cathedrals. The space in the center is empty—a sacred, solemn expanse—the dusky twilight making it glow. The place is spellbinding.