by Kait Nolan
“That makes two of us. But I have to say that I’m really glad to see you again under less . . . dramatic circumstances.”
He was glad to see me? Well didn’t that just make my heart go pitter pat? What was this? Where was that whole, perfectly-honed ice queen routine I’d perfected over the last three years of high school?
Rather than responding to his comment, I said, “Can you pull off here at Hansen’s for a bit?”
Sawyer spun the wheel and whipped into the parking lot.
“Just over to the side of the building, thanks.”
“What are we doing?” he asked.
“I need to pick up my bike.”
I slipped out of the truck and made a beeline for the dumpster. I’d stashed what was left of my bike behind it when I set out for work. As soon as I dragged it around, Sawyer was out of the truck.
“What the hell happened to it?”
“A classmate of mine backed over it this morning. That’s why I was late to work.”
He picked it up and hefted it into the bed of the truck. “Were they just not paying attention? Because, damn, you’d think they’d notice this.”
“Oh no, she knew exactly what she was doing.” I grimaced as the bike clattered into the back. But really, being banged around in a truck bed wasn’t gonna do it any further harm.
“Someone did this on purpose? Why?” There was a little growl in his voice that made my belly jump again, but not with nerves. I could tell he was angry on my behalf and, for some reason, that pleased me a great deal.
“She thought I was poaching on her territory. As if I would even look cross-eyed at the likes of Rich Phillips.” I could see Rich’s truck still parked on the far side of the lot, so I guessed the Barbie Squad hadn’t dropped him off from their little water skiing excursion. I shook off the desire to growl myself and climbed back into the truck. “It’s a long-standing war—one that’s always been one-sided. Her against me.”
“Every school’s got one.”
I directed him back to my road.
“So are you uninterested in this Phillips guy because you’re seeing somebody else or because he’s a douche?”
I thought of Rich boxing me in this morning, getting me on Amber’s radar. “He’s attractive, charming, and completely full of himself. And he can’t stand the idea that someone won’t fall at his feet and be grateful for the attention he pays.” I scowled, wishing I had said or done something this morning instead of just standing there.
“He hassling you?” The fury from yesterday was back in his voice. When I glanced over, his jaw was tight, his hands in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
“He’s harmless. An idiot, but harmless.” But I had a feeling that Sawyer wasn’t harmless. I could see so much rage simmering beneath the surface, just looking for an outlet. I wondered where it came from.
Sawyer visibly reeled his temper back in, then shot a half-smile in my direction. “So he is a douche. Although that doesn’t rule out option A.”
“Option A?”
“That you’re seeing somebody else.”
It took a minute for my brain to catch up to what he was saying, and when I did, all I could do was stare at him. I’m pretty sure my mouth was actually hanging part-way open, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Sawyer McGrath was fishing to find out if I was dating somebody. Which presumably meant that he hoped I wasn’t.
“I . . . uh . . . ” Oh great. Now I was reduced to monosyllabic stammering. Yes, here sat the future valedictorian of Mortimer High School. Aren’t we all so proud?
“It’s okay. That’s not really any of my business,” he said. “I mean, I guess it’s weird that I’m asking after how we met yesterday and all. Forget it.”
“No,” I said.
“No, it’s not weird?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Crap. Why couldn’t I get my brain to work? “Maybe it is a little weird after yesterday, but no I’m not. Seeing anybody.” And why did you tell him that, genius? Where exactly do you expect this to go? That’s right. The train is pulling out of the station to Nowheresville, where you can’t date. So stop encouraging him.
“Good to know,” said Sawyer, pulling into my driveway.
Anxious, I looked toward the garage, but Dad wasn’t back from his shift yet. He would flip his lid if he saw some guy bringing me home.
I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride,” I told him, hoping my face didn’t betray the schizo conversation I was having with myself.
“No problem.” Sawyer got out of the truck and retrieved my bike from the back. “Where do you want it?”
Seeing him holding the thing with the taco shell front wheel and the bent frame, I frowned. “I guess I probably should have just had you toss it in the dumpster. Even if I got a new front wheel, I probably won’t be able to straighten that frame out.”
Sawyer studied it. “Doesn’t look good,” he agreed.
“I guess just lean it against the wall of the garage there. I’ll let Dad decide what to do with it. Thanks.”
Relieved of the bike, he seemed not to know what to do with his hands, so he shoved them in the back pockets of his shorts and rocked back on his heels, looking at me.
I felt the blood rushing under my skin and prayed to half a dozen deities that I wasn’t blushing like a fire engine. “Um, I’d invite you in for a Coke or something, but my dad is kind of over-protective, and I’m really not allowed to have guys over while he’s out.” According to The Rules, I really wasn’t allowed to have anyone over while he was out, but that sounded even more lame and hard to believe. I gave an awkward shrug and half-smile. “Only daughter, single parent, and all that.”
“S’ok. I need to get home myself.” He took a few steps toward the truck. “Since you’re kind of sans transportation, why don’t you let me pick you up for work in the morning. It wouldn’t be any trouble. We don’t live too far from here.”
Oh, no. No. I could not have a guy coming to my house to pick me up. Dad would freak and probably put me on house arrest. But it’s not like I could hike six miles to work every day.
“Do you think you could pick me up at Hansen’s?”
If he thought that was an odd request, he let it pass. “Sure. Say seven-thirty?”
“I’ll see you then. Thanks.”
I fiddled with my keys as he climbed in the truck, waved, and drove away.
What. The. Hell. Am. I. Doing?
I was half numb with shock as I unlocked the door and headed for the kitchen to start something for supper. This was stupid. I was acting like a normal girl with a normal crush on a cute guy. It wasn’t just stupid, it was dangerous. Both to him and to me. It wouldn’t matter if he was a hulking giant of a guy if I wolfed out. Strength was nothing against razor sharp teeth.
I’d spent the last four years of my life doing everything in my power to avoid that eventuality. And here Sawyer comes and wrecks my “all high school boys are morons and assholes” rule to live by in just over twenty-four hours, such that I’d gone and accepted a ride to work and was looking forward to it.
I pulled some chicken out of the freezer and tossed it in the microwave to defrost. If I didn’t get a handle on this and put a stop to it fast, this chicken wasn’t going to be the only thing that was cooked.
I replayed our conversation from the ride home, reliving every awkward moment in a loop as I gathered ingredients for dinner. On the third time through, I stopped, my hand inches from the bottle of Italian dressing.
He’d just whipped into my driveway. I’d never given the address or pointed out the house, and our name wasn’t on the mailbox.
How had Sawyer known which house was mine?
~*~
Sawyer
Elodie Rose is available. I caught myself drumming a cheerful beat on the steering wheel and grinning like a dumbass at the thought. The expression felt so foreign that it kinda hurt my face. There hadn’t been much to smile about since Mom died.
And then I st
opped.
“What the hell are you doing, McGrath?”
I’d done what I set out to do. I’d apologized for my behavior from the day before. And then I’d flirted with her? Poked around to find out if she was dating anybody?
She’d entirely missed the first subtle query, and I could still see the shock on her face when she’d realized what I was asking. That was the expression of someone not used to such attentions. Which just went to prove that the guys here were grade-A, class act fucktards if they hadn’t recognized that she was amazing.
She was so cute when she blushed.
But what did it matter if she was dating somebody? It’s not like I could date her.
Hello? Werewolf. We don’t mate outside our own kind. I guess it’s not technically impossible. There aren’t any genetic incompatibilities. But I never heard of anybody doing it. I mean, it’s not like that’s a third date confession. “Oh by the way, I can turn fanged and furry at will. That’s not a problem for you, is it?” How many humans—given their fear of what they don’t know, don’t understand—would actually say, “Yeah okay, I can deal with that”?
No, they’d be calling up the men in white coats and trying to have you put away. Or locking you in a cage to test and poke and prod and probably dissect.
It was far smarter to stick to our own kind.
I’d done what I meant to. She wasn’t afraid of me. I’d apologized. Mission accomplished.
The best thing, at this point, would be to cut this off before it started. I mean, nothing had been started, really. It’s just that we had amazing, off-the-charts chemistry, and she had the power to soothe the savage beast.
Well, we didn’t have to be dating or together for her to do that. Just being around her seemed to do the trick. So I’d make nice, be her friend, and squash any idea that this could be anything more. It would be fine.
By the time I took the turn at the end of the road, I was scowling again.
My brain ran back over our conversation on the drive home. If she wasn’t dating anybody, then who had I smelled on her this morning? That Rich Phillips guy she mentioned? The one her bike got ruined over? She’d said he hadn’t hassled her—or more properly she’d said the guy was an idiot and harmless. I got the feeling Elodie was prone to both understatement and a tendency to handle things herself.
A jackass unable to comprehend the meaning of “No” was not something she should have to handle herself. It wasn’t safe. Someone should be watching out for her.
By the time I approached Hansen’s again, I felt the beast pacing within me.
A truck pulled out into traffic a few cars in front of me. The same truck Elodie had been scowling at when she’d talked about this Phillips guy. I couldn’t see the driver well enough to tell anything but that he had blond hair.
When he turned off into the park, I peeled off and followed.
I don’t know why I did it, but I was too cagey and restless to head home, so driving a while longer wasn’t a bad thing. Even after my morning run and a day spent hiking, I needed to move. Needed out of the confines of the truck, of society. Of my body. I was desperate to shift and hunt. But there were at least a couple of hours until sunset, and I just couldn’t risk it.
God, I couldn’t stand it here.
It’d been bad when we first moved to Mortimer. But it was worse now that I’d met Elodie, to have felt the calm and have it disappear again. Worse now that I’d released some of the chokehold on my instincts. I was going to go mad from inaction. And then where would Dad be with all his careful planning and restriction if I wound up hurting some innocent bystander because I hadn’t been allowed to take care of business. Case in point. Why the hell was I following this guy?
The truck pulled off at a trailhead, and I started to slow. Then I saw the little girl get out of the passenger seat and rolled on by. None of my business, and in my current filthy temper, if it was Rich Phillips, I wasn’t entirely sure I could keep a lid on it. No reason to risk losing control via fists or fangs when there was a child involved. Better that I find some way to decompress.
I could be careful. Hike in deep, find some cave to shift in and leave my clothes. Keep well away from trails. People would be hiking back at this point in the day, if they hadn’t already. Wanting dinner, a cool drink, a shower.
I parked at the next empty overlook. There was no formal trailhead here, but I could see a path through the underbrush that had been worn by some intrepid or foolish hikers before me. Lifting my nose I tested the wind, but there were no signs of people. The sounds of other vehicles were faint, far enough away that I could slip over the railing and into the foliage without being seen. Circling around, well out of the view of anyone from above, I pushed my way through the undergrowth until I came out on the forest floor more than a quarter mile below the overlook, hidden by the canopy of trees.
For more than two miles, I kept up a steady lope. It helped a little, burning some of the pent up energy as I kept my nose and ears open for the presence of others, my eyes scanning for a good place to hide and shift. It wasn’t a cave that I finally found, but a thick copse of trees that grew so close together, the branches practically knit to form a wall. I pushed through and stripped, then crouched to let the wolf take over.
It had been too long since I last shifted. My muscles bunched and cramped, twitching beneath my skin like a full-body Charlie horse. I gritted my teeth as my frame rearranged itself, bones lengthening to accommodate the additional muscle. Finally with somewhere to go, the clenched muscles loosened, the pressure eased. My claws dug into dirt as I stretched my new form, pushing and dropping my haunches, then dropping my front end low and stretching my hind-quarters all the way down to my toes.
Holy God, that felt good.
I pushed out of the thicket and into the long shadows of dusk. Night wasn’t far off and the forest was stirring. It was finally safe to be myself for a while. Suppressing a howl of joy—I had enough human intellect left to know not to push it—I took off at a sprint.
I ran for miles, free for the first time in months to just be. Free of rules. Free of restrictions. Free of my father. I wasn’t free of the anger, of course. It pulsed below my skin like a second heartbeat. But as a wolf, it felt more manageable, channeled into healthier pursuits, like hunting.
I cast about, testing the air for deer or rabbit, something that would give a good chase. And then I caught the scent. The same male I’d smelled on Elodie this morning. My lips peeled back in a snarl as I lifted my nose, determined direction. East. Toward the trailhead where the other driver had parked.
I shouldn’t have followed the scent. Even with some of the pressure released, my temper was still volatile. But I found myself tracking him as the sun sank behind the mountains and the sky bled with color.
When I realized I was hunting, I stopped short, my human intellect throwing on the brakes before I did something irrevocably stupid. I was not in control enough to do this and trust that I wouldn’t act. Yet instinct demanded that I do something to this asshole for hassling Elodie. Scare him. Rough him up. Teach him a lesson. I needed to protect her.
As if he’d make the connection between a wolf attack and his actions earlier in the day.
I threw back my head and howled in frustration.
And in the distance, I heard a long cry of response.
~*~
Elodie
It was a supremely lousy morning. My body was swamped with the kind of edgy, dragging exhaustion that made me wish I actually liked coffee. The problem of Sawyer had kept me awake into the deep hours of the night when even the crickets and cicadas had gone to sleep.
He’d followed me home from the clearing that day. It was the only explanation for how he’d known where I lived. Combined with his mysterious disappearing act after our confrontation, it added up to one thing: creepy. I wasn’t sure which part disturbed me more—that he had followed me or that I hadn’t sensed it. I should’ve been able to smell him at least. Of course I’d
been so rattled, it’s not like I was paying all that much attention.
He knew where I lived.
Well, duh, he’d have known from dropping me off anyway, but that wasn’t the same. He wasn’t just my boss’s son, a cute guy giving me a ride. He could be a stalker. And contrary to the heroines of some popular teen fiction, I wasn’t into that.
I called myself an idiot for my paranoia.
Sure, I felt nervous as hell around Sawyer, but it had nothing to do with fear for my personal safety. I felt jazzed around him, electrified and attracted in a way I’d never felt before. But what if my attraction to him was making me blind to something more dangerous? I couldn’t help but think about all the anger I sensed simmering just below the surface. Sawyer was not someone I wanted to piss off. I tried to imagine that rage directed at me, but I wound up less afraid of him and more afraid of what I might to do to defend myself.
I admit that I’m more paranoid than the average teenager. It’s kind of a natural byproduct when you’re forced to pick up and move across several states, change your last name through less than legal channels, and start a whole new life because your dad believes just enough of your mother’s crazy for “just in case”. But the idea of somebody I didn’t know just standing out there watching me, following me, freaked me the hell out.
I was glad we were meeting at Hansen’s where there’d be people and video footage.
Sawyer was leaning against the back bumper of an ancient brown Jeep when I walked up, his face set in a scowl. His was a real CJ-7, not one of those toy Barbie Jeeps like Amber drove. He was upwind, and I could smell him—that curious mix of evergreen and sweat and wild. And something else that I thought was maybe irritation. The scent made my pulse speed up a notch. I took a firmer grip on my pack strap, as if the gesture was somehow going to steady me.
His gaze swung my way, and I felt the punch of it in my gut, my heart thumping like a tympani in my chest. His mouth curved in a smile that had me thinking all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about what I wanted to do with it.