He comes closer, his focus still on that box. “Maybe I can try to neutralize it further.”
“It seemed like that spell kind of wore you out last time.”
“You noticed that?”
“Sorry. I won’t tell anyone else you aren’t invincible. It can be our little secret.”
His gaze flickers away from the box and takes mine. I swallow hard, unable to keep myself from thinking about what other sort of little secrets I’d like to keep with him.
“Well,” he says, still looking at me and not the box and key in question, “I’m not above thievery as an option, either.”
“Somehow I had a feeling you wouldn’t be.”
And somehow I don’t think we’re talking about lockboxes anymore, either.
His lips part with a sly little smile as he takes a step closer. The door to our room is still cracked. I can hear people chattering and walking by outside, though they’re just barely audible over the sound of my own pounding heart. But I hear them. I smell them. I feel the vibrations of their movements—all of my already-heightened senses seem to be in overdrive mode, and I’m simultaneously afraid of being caught while getting drunk off the idea of being this close to him, keeping these secrets in almost plain sight. My mind races, warring over these thoughts, trying to decide whether to stay or to run.
Then he presses his mouth to mine, and there’s no more war.
There’s no more anything for a moment.
Time seems frozen along with my body, until he takes my face in his hands and pulls me deeper into the kiss. Then everything comes back at once: the morning dew scent of him, the taste of coffee and cream on his lips, the feel of his fingertips pressing into my skin and sending every nerve-ending in my body quivering to life—every part of him collected, rushing over me like a wave that leaves me breathless and unsteady for a moment.
He steadies me by backing me against the wall. Then he leans away, just far enough that he can see my face. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and lets his fingers linger there, teasing and tickling my earlobe for a moment before he says, “I don’t like leaving things unfinished.” His voice is low and raspy through his heavy breathing. “So I’ve been thinking about this since we were interrupted the other night.”
“This is essentially anarchy,” I breathe. “I hope you realize that.”
“I do, my rebellious Little Wolf.”
I cover his smirk with a swift, more aggressive kiss. “Still don’t like that nickname,” I growl, which makes him laugh and kiss me back even harder.
We tangle more completely together, movements hungry and quick for fear of another interruption. My hands grip his hips, and then slide to the warm skin of his hard stomach as he trails his lips down the side of my neck. I feel his teeth on my skin, and my vision blurs a bit as something beastly and insatiable surges up in me, bringing dangerous strength with it.
The strength of a wolf.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve twisted our position and pressed him against the wall instead. My vision changes again—not blurring, but clearing as the colors around me shift. His hands are around my wrists a moment later, pushing against the grip I’ve claimed on his waist. I instinctively growl and try to twist away from him. He’s surprisingly strong. But I know I’m stronger. I jerk free of his hands. I’m prepared to pounce, to crush him against the wall in a show of dominance that I can’t help but want to put on. Before I can, he stubbornly reaches for my arms and pins them awkwardly to my sides—but it’s his voice that actually gets me to stop.
“Easy,” he whispers. “Look at what you’re doing.”
I squirm free of his grip, but I don’t attack him again. My sight slides back to normal human vision, and I manage to find enough focus to follow his gaze as he narrows it on the window. Through the crack in the curtains, I can just barely see a group of people, huddled together on one of the many flower-lined paths that crisscross their way around this quaint little inn.
All of them are pointing at something I can’t see.
I sprint to the window, fear skipping through me and making the room spin and making my steps unsteady. I slam into that window and clutch the velvety light-blocking curtains for support, holding my breath as I survey the damage that I’ve done.
Or that we’ve done, I guess.
Luckily, it isn’t much. Just enough to catch people’s attention, it seems; the spot they were pointing to is just a scar of strangely-red sky, though in the sunlight I think I catch a sparkle of the ash-like fissure residue falling from it. I scan that sky, the yard, the distant mountains—everywhere I can see—searching for any sign of any creature I might have inadvertently unleashed on this poor village. There’s nothing to see, though, and after a moment that group outside begins to disperse, and I finally remember how to breathe properly.
And then I promptly forget again as I sense my accomplice moving into the space behind me. His hand just barely brushes my hip. Not even on purpose, but it still sends electricity shimmering over my skin and thoughts of the past few minutes rushing through my head. I close my eyes and bite my lip, frustrated at myself for almost losing control, frustrated at him for standing so damn close right now, even if all he’s doing is looking out the window for himself.
“World’s still in one piece,” he remarks.
“I almost lost control.”
He turns and studies me for a moment before he says, “Yeah. I thought that only happened when you were in danger or distress?”
“Apparently my inner wolf can’t tell the difference. It just senses my heart racing, and then you cornered me and I…I just… I’ve never…”
He reaches and casually picks a loose thread from my sleeve. I’d swear there’s a hint of a grin flirting with the corners of his mouth. “Never gotten quite as worked up before over something like this?” he guesses.
“Stop looking so pleased with yourself,” I mutter.
“Sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. But…”
“But what?”
“But it’s also interesting to know I have this sort of effect on you.”
“It’s dangerous, apparently.” I wish I could get rid of that low note of desire still humming underneath my every word. Because I know he hears it. And the way that he’s looking at me…it feels like he’s hearing everything else I’ve never actually said to him, too. Like he knows entirely too much, and I’m not entirely sure how I let this happen.
But to his credit, he doesn’t try to argue my point.
“Yes. Obviously, that was very dangerous. And that’s disappointing.”
“So we’re agreed.” I take a deep breath. Swallow hard, like I might be able to choke that desire down my throat. “No more touching like that.”
“I’ll do my best.” He says it with the smile of a saint, but his tone is perfectly sinful as he adds: “Though it probably wouldn’t hurt you to practice more of what we were doing so we could work on you keeping control. Practice makes perfect and all that.”
I roll my eyes at him, but before I can come up with a proper retort, a flustered-looking Carys throws open the door to our room. I don’t have to guess what’s made her eyes so wide and her breathing so heavy.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. It doesn’t stop the harried looks she’s tossing back and forth between Soren and me, though. And it occurs to me then that I probably should have been coming up with an explanation for this inevitable moment instead of bantering with Soren.
“We tried taking the key out of the lockbox,” he lies for me, “and its energy was a little much for her.”
“I just slipped for a moment,” I agree.
“I thought you’d used a neutralizing spell? What happened to that?” She takes a step closer to Soren, arms crossing and then her hand lifting, balling into a fist that she rests her chin on. Leave it to Carys to demand further evidence.
Soren doesn’t falter under her interrogative gaze, at least. “The s
pell isn’t indefinite. I was just about to reinforce it. But that required taking it out of the box.”
“It probably wouldn’t have effected me,” I add, “but I’m just overly tired, I think. And with everything on my mind…”
She slowly lets her gaze slide away from Soren and fix on me instead, and a moment later I hear her voice in my mind, (Are you sure you’re okay?)
(I’m perfect.)
She slowly nods, finally letting it go—which should be a relief, but honestly it just makes me feel a little sick to my stomach.
Because let’s make a list: so far, I’ve managed to alienate one of my best friends, nearly rip a hole in the sky, and now I’ve added successfully lying straight to the face of my other best friend. A real banner day for Eleanor McLelland, in other words.
Before I can do any more damage, I gather my things in silence— which neither of them interrupts, thankfully—and we head for the nearest exit.
Chapter Thirteen
It’s raining, and the four of us are crammed into a dented black taxi cab, on our way to the Cambio Forest Visitor’s Center—which is apparently a lot farther away than it looked on the map that was hanging on the inn’s wall.
Carys volunteered to take the front seat with our driver, in hopes of solidifying some of the Romanian that she’s learned over the past days. It’s been kind of entertaining watching her attempt this, since our driver has spoken approximately zero English, aside from a few super friendly greetings. In addition to her memorized lines, Carys has been making use of a translator app on her phone, and the friendly old man has been finding this endlessly hilarious; either because the translations are way off, or because the robotic voice of the translated words. Not sure which, but I’m trying to focus on the sound of his deep laughter, whatever’s causing it.
Because the alternative is focusing on the fact that I’m currently squished between Liam and Soren with barely an inch to spare on either side. The latter has his head resting against the foggy window, his eyes closed. Asleep, I think. His legs are stretched diagonally across the center floorboard and pressing lightly against mine. I can’t so much as take a deep breath without causing him to stir too, and to readjust and brush against me, inviting dangerous memories of the hotel room to come flooding back into my mind.
Meanwhile, to my right, Liam is still uncharacteristically quiet. We exchanged a few words before crawling into the car, but ever since then he’s been staring out the window like he’s trying to memorize every tree and its position in every rolling field we’re driving past. I keep waiting for his thoughtspeech to shove its way into my head, for him to privately insist we finish the argument we started earlier.
A half hour of this so far.
Soren yawns and shuffles his position a bit. His hand falls lazily to his side, brushing mine as it does. Our knuckles rest lightly together. I should pull away, but I don’t. I shouldn’t be watching him out of the corner of my eye, either, but I’m doing that too. I’m ninety-eight percent sure he’s actually asleep; he never looks quite this vulnerable or peaceful when he’s awake, no matter how much magic he might use to hide himself. And how much of it is still an illusion at this point, I wonder? How much of his real self have I seen?
I shouldn’t be wondering.
I shouldn’t care about him like this. Nothing beyond how he’s going to help me finish this mission we set out on. Because it doesn’t matter—especially not after what after what happened earlier, which just proved that caring, and getting too close to him, is going to have disastrous consequences, one way or another.
But it’s hard not to see him when he’s this close.
If you were wondering what the definition of hell is—it’s this. It’s exactly this.
I mean maybe just the first circle of hell, but still. Or does lust land you in the second circle? I can’t remember. I probably should have paid more attention during our homeschool study group.
I stare ahead, zeroing in on the rearview mirror and what I can see of our driver. He still seems happy, at least. He’s laughing so hard at whatever Carys just said in Romanian that he nearly swerves off the edge of the narrow road.
(You’re positive this guy knows where he’s going, right?) I think. (And that he’s not just bored and driving us around as an entertaining practical joke or something? Like maybe we’re on one of those hidden camera shows or something…)
(Or maybe he’s kidnapping us?) Liam suggests. (How do you say ‘we aren’t worth any real ransom money’ in Romanian?)
(I trust him,) Carys replies, undeterred. (He seems nice. Apparently he’s a real family man—he has six kids. Or maybe six goats. I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m not mixing up the words for ‘children’ and ‘goat’. But either way, I don’t think he’s going to kidnap us or murder us or anything.)
(Well if nothing else, the Nice Goat Man seems to be taking the long way around, doesn’t he?) I ask.
(You could just enjoy the scenery,) she suggests.
(There’s nothing to my left but empty fields, and Liam’s giant head is blocking the window to my right.)
To my surprise, after a second of hesitation, Liam gives me a crooked smile and takes my teasing bait. (You should feel grateful that you get to stare at me,) he replies. (A lot of people would kill for this view.)
(Behave, children,) Carys scolds.
(I will, as long as Elle stays on her side of the car.)
(Tell Liam to stop touching me please.)
(I will turn this car around!)
(Do you even know how to ask our driver to do that?)
(…No. But I have an app for that.)
I barely contain a laugh—the tricky thing about having amusing conversations entirely in your head. If our driver thought we were strange and entertaining before, he’d really lose it if we all started laughing for seemingly no reason at all.
Maybe because he’s thinking the same thing, Liam decides to start a new conversation out loud. “I was going to give this to you earlier, by the way,” he says, leaning over and digging into the brown paper bag at his feet. “But I didn’t get the chance.”
The way he says that last part basically translates his message to: I was going to give it to you at breakfast, but that ended disastrously before I could, so here we are.
“I found it at this random little shop in the village square.” He withdraws his hand, and then unwraps the tissue-paper-protected figurine that he’s retrieved. It’s a small little lizard carved out of wood and painted in brilliant shades of turquoise and grey.
Because of course it is.
“Oh, you’re hilarious.”
He grins. “I thought it had been awhile since I reminded you of your finest hour.”
The lizard thing is a running joke between us. And the finest hour he’s referring to is the moment it all started: two years ago, when I’d woken up in the dead of night because I felt something crawling on my leg. I’d screamed. Obviously. And then, when I’d seen what it actually was—a damn lizard— I’d screamed even louder, tripped my way out of my bed, gotten tangled in my covers, and smashed my head into my dresser hard enough to knock myself out.
Because, confession time: reptiles of all shapes and sizes freak me out.
I want to toss all snakes into a fiery inferno.
I won’t go into any body of water if there’s even the slightest chance that I might spot a turtle bobbing its creepy little head in and out of its shell.
And freaking lizards. I do not like the way they move. I do not like the way they dart their eyes around. I want to cringe at the thought of that weird little neck pouch thingy that some of them have going on—seriously, what is that?
All of this, of course, Liam finds hilarious. He was the one who’d reached my room first that night, expecting to find someone murdering me. I’d come back to my senses while in his arms, and after I’d told him what had made me knock myself out, he’d laughed for at least a solid minute before finally agreeing to hunt down the
creature responsible. Then he’d insisted on releasing it outside instead of killing it, and I’ve never really forgiven him for that.
Ever since then, he likes to surprise me with dumb little lizard-themed gifts like this. I have a small shrine of them in my room—stuffed, glass, metal. All in my closet. So I can shut them out of sight, because just looking at them gives me the creeps.
This newest one is exceptionally creepy, with its black eyes made of shiny thick dollops of paint. I shiver and squirm as Liam insists on walking it up and down my arm. I’d snatch it and fling it out the window, but I know it’s more than just a silly gift—it’s a peace offering. A reminder of all our silly inside jokes and all our good moments that vastly outnumber these past few uneasy days. So instead I bare my teeth at him in the closest thing I can manage to a smile while that thing is touching me.
“I hate you so much,” I say, lovingly.
“I know you do.”
I lean my head into his shoulder and sigh, and he finally takes that gross thing off my skin.
Our taxi pulls to a stop outside the small castle-like visitor’s center a few minutes later. After doing his best to freak me out with the carving a few more times, and getting several more laughs out of it, I manage to grab the lizard and bury it deep in the corner of one of my bags, next to the stolen lockbox and the key it holds. I direct him to the visitor’s center to procure a map, and Carys goes with him while I take care of paying our driver and unloading the bags.
“Seems like the two of you made up,” Soren says, yawning as he comes around to help me with the bags.
I shrug. “We never stay mad at each other long. He gets too bored when he isn’t able to tease and torment me for his own amusement.”
I think I see something like jealousy flash in his eyes, but I tell myself I imagined it. He says nothing else, only gives me a small, sleepy little smile as we finish piling our stuff out of the trunk. I take a deep breath through my nose, sling several of the bags on my shoulder, give our driver a friendly little wave, and then start toward the visitor’s center. My steps are quick and determined. Soren has to jog to catch up with me.
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