Page 50 of A Wolf’s Wound

Hannah

Ryder’s face goes white. He knows this man’s face.

I’m sure of it. Recognition, horrified and baffled, makes his breath catch ragged in his throat.

A car drives by fast, blaring music. The headlights illuminate the now hoodless man’s face, rendering him stark and terrifying.

The echo of it is burned into my eyelids even as I blink it away, letting my eyes readjust to the night.

“I…” Ryder stumbles on his words. It’s unlike him. He might not say much, but he’s never been shy.

Even in the dark, I can see the man’s manic grin widen. His teeth shine in the moonlight. “Well, Ryder? Don’t feel like sharing with the class?”

Shadow, sensing Ryder’s distress, nuzzles against his throat. Ryder slowly rakes his fingers across Shadow’s chin, and I don’t miss how he almost seems to nuzzle my raccoon back, taking comfort in his presence.

Ryder always seems so confident and sure, even when he’s confidently wrong about something. Hasn’t that been what we’ve fought over the most? He thinks he’s right about damn near everything. It’s eerie to see him so unmoored. His hands shake so much he has to fist them at his sides.

“Ryder…” the man taunts, taking a step forward.

His robes swish as he walks. Ryder draws himself up to his full height and snarls, and Brian laughs, holding his palms up in a mockery of surrender.

“Easy, there, Fido. C’mon, man, look at your poor girl.

She’s clueless. She’s like a babe in the woods. Get it?”

I want to intervene, but I’m leery of provoking this man when Ryder seems so unsure of himself. It takes effort, but I bite my tongue.

Brian looks at me, and contempt fills his voice. “She really has no idea. Does she?” He laughs again and my teeth clench. “Tell her my name, at least. I know you remember me.”

Before I can step in, Ryder speaks.

“Brian.” Ryder doesn’t look at me, keeping his wary eyes on the unpredictable man in front of him, but I can tell he’s speaking to me, not this guy.

“Brian was pretty much the only human I was regularly around until you, the only one I hung out with occasionally, at least. We used to meet up for drinks, sometimes play a game of pool.”

Brian’s eyes are electric on Ryder, but his body is completely relaxed. It’s a stark contrast to Ryder’s hunched shoulders and clenched fists. Ryder looks haunted, and Brian looks like the cheerful ghost doing the haunting. He snaps his gum, carefree.

I try to imagine either of them being friends with the other, but it’s almost impossible.

What could they possibly have in common?

Ryder is quiet and unassuming, the kind of guy who lets his actions speak more than his words.

Brian looks like he’s the opposite—like a bitey sort of Chihuahua who’ll do anything for attention, even if it means pissing on the rug.

It’s hard to imagine Ryder spending more than ten minutes with this guy without leaving or punching him in the face. I’m already struggling. He’s got a smug sort of jaw and an unearned sense of confidence that rubs me the wrong way.

Of course, the stalking doesn’t help matters.

“We never hung out sober,” Ryder admits, reading my mind.

“I think we met up for coffee one time, but he was a…” He trails off.

The look he shoots me says the words for him.

Brian was strange. Is strange. “He was intense whenever we were one-on-one. It was all group hangs to start, but Brian could hold his liquor, and most of my friends left whenever last call rolled around. Brian would always know a place that was still open. And I… At the time, I just didn’t want to be alone. ”

There’s something distinctly inhuman in Brian’s gaze now—a gold flash in his eyes, a more oblong shape in his pupil.

Adrenaline, I know, can do funny things to a person, and surely he’s chock full of it now.

He’s not even slightly breathless after chasing me for so long.

Meanwhile I’m nearly bent over, clutching my knees, with a sharp sting in my side whenever I breathe.

I have no doubt Brian’s a killer. I can feel a chill of warning whenever he looks at me or Ryder. But he also doesn’t seem malicious. He’s almost…looking for Ryder’s approval.

None of this makes any sense. Why is he chasing me ? Does he not want Ryder to associate with any other humans? And if they’re friends, why haven’t I seen him before?

“Anyway, I’m not proud of the shit I got into back then. Gavin wanted to tan my hide, and he probably should’ve. I got into too many bar fights, too many brawls, and Brian was like gasoline to my fire, always amping me up.”

Ryder makes a face. “No, that’s not right.

Brian was there, but I was up to my own shit.

Vodka was the gasoline, and I was chugging it like it was water.

The last morning I saw him, I decided to quit drinking so damn much.

When he disappeared six months ago, I thought he’d decided he was done with all that mess too.

I thought maybe went to rehab or somewhere to dry up—”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Brian interrupts, bouncing from foot to foot just like a little boy. He looks excited, like he’s dying to share something with both of us. “Do you really not remember? There’s no way. I thought for sure you would, man. Are you kidding me?”

He plans to finish what Ryder started. Isn’t that what he said?

The words resurface now, and I can’t believe I had suppressed them. I should have told Ryder, but I blocked out all the creepy things he said to me when I was trapped against that wall.

“Oh, this is too delicious.” Brian claps his hands together, and the sound bounces off the trees behind us. “Did you think it was all a bad dream?”

My stomach sinks, and Ryder doesn’t look like he’s faring much better. A dream? What had Ryder started? The fighting, maybe? Something to do with the pack—did he learn about shifters?

Brian’s grin grows, stretching to almost unrealistic proportions, and his eyes are wider still.

Crazy eyes.

“C’mon. You have to remember a little something.”

Ryder stares, his face blank. Then something—a whisper of memory—makes him frown.

Something happened, something to do with Ryder.

And I’m beginning to worry that whatever it is has more to do with some string of bar fights.

“Ryder?” I can’t help the note of desperation in my voice. I want him to tell me that this guy is just out of his mind—that they didn’t do anything wrong together. I’d believe him. I’d believe anything he tells me.

But he doesn’t. He gives me a long, searching, almost guilty look, and then he looks away from both of us completely and slams his eyes shut tight.

Is he… ashamed?

Ashamed of knowing Brian to begin with? Of his drinking problem?

Of not looking for Brian when he clearly needed some kind of help?

They’re all valid reasons, and he might have mentioned having a rough past here and there, but nothing like what he just described.

Ryder never mentioned fighting every night, getting blackout drunk, or abandoning an acquaintance who must have thought they were closer friends than Ryder did.

But even though Brian is creeping me out, I think it’s deeper than all that. Seconds tick by, and two more cars drive past. Ryder doesn’t say another word. His clenched jaw grinds together, and when he finally looks up, his expression is wretched.

He’s ashamed of something much darker.

What the hell happened—and how is Ryder connected to all this?