Page 23

23

WARNER

The smell of blood hits my nose the same moment I hear her gasp.

Less than a second, and I’m at her side, staring in horror at the deep cut on the back of her forearm. My knife drips a delicate crimson stream, seeming to enjoy what it stole from her.

“What happened?” I press my bare hand against the wound, desperate to keep any more of her from leaking out.

Zoey stares up at me with wild, confused eyes. “Why can’t I wake up?”

The desperate words are their own kind of blade stabbing deep into my chest.

“This isn’t a dream, Zoey.”

Moving slow, so as not to scare her, I ease the knife out of her grip. I toss it into the woods, not able to look at the weapon a moment longer. With careful hands, I extend her arm and examine the wound. The slash is long, but not as deep as I first thought. Quickly, I strip my shirt off again and wind the fabric tightly around the wound, hoping to staunch any further bleeding.

“You keep stripping,” she mutters, gaze still distracted.

A tiny flare of hope streaks through my chest. Maybe she isn’t completely terrified of me. Maybe I can save this.

But the second I’m done tying off my shirt, Zoey steps away from me, heading farther down the dark road. I follow.

Guilt tears at my insides. She cut herself because of me. I should’ve done more to prepare her for the change. Or done a better job of convincing her to leave me to deal with the mountain lion. Instead, I gave in to my secret desire to share every part of myself, and now, she won’t look at me.

It’s hard for me to fully comprehend how outlandish this is for her. The existence of werewolves has always been a truth in my life. The supernatural is my norm.

I glance over and clench my jaw at the sight of her walking with her arms wrapped around herself protectively, head bowed, a slight limp to her walk. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time, reverse the clock fifteen minutes, when I had her body against mine, her laughter in my ear, her lips on my neck.

Zoey probably wants to reverse the clock for a whole different reason.

She just learned the world she’d thought she knew has more hidden bits to it. Dangerous, frightening secrets.

“You can ask me questions,” I offer, “if you want.”

Anything to get her talking again. But she seems uninterested in my olive branch as time and silence stretch between us. Just as I’m contemplating tearing out my hair by the roots, she speaks.

“How long have you …” She waves a hand, taking in the whole of me while keeping her eyes resolutely on the ground.

“Born this way. Although I didn’t turn for the first time until I was thirteen. A whole other level of puberty.”

Instead of engaging, she moves on to the next question. “What do you eat?”

“Well, I’m not a vegetarian.”

She doesn’t laugh. Not even a twitch at the corner of her mouth.

I try not to sigh. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Although I do hunt small game when I’m in wolf form. And the pack will sometimes take down a deer or two.”

“The pack?” Her voice ticks up a notch, and a new wave of bitter fear mixes with her scent.

I cringe. Probably shouldn’t have revealed there’s more than just one werewolf roaming Pine Falls.

If Roderick knew how easily I let that slip, I’d be in for a major beatdown. There are plenty of humans in town who are in on the secret, but those are locals. People who grew up knowing about us. Roderick is not a fan of outsiders , as he refers to them.

“We keep to our own,” is one of his favorite mottos.

Zoey’s breath hitches out faster than a moment before. She’s panicking, and it’s all because of me.

“I know this is freaky. But I swear you’re not in a horror movie.” I try out my most charming smile. “More like a paranormal romantic comedy.”

Zoey’s gaze flicks to the deep gashes on my chest, to the dark, ominous woods surrounding us, finally settling on my face with an incredulous stare.

I get her point.

When Zoey looks away again, we fall back into silence. She trudges forward, and I wince with every limping step she takes, fighting the urge to wrap a supportive arm around her waist.

“Who else?” she whispers.

Zoey never whispers.

Even still, I can’t give her what she wants. “I can’t name names.”

Another few minutes of no talking, then, “The Dark Moon Riders.”

I flinch. It wasn’t a question though.

“Full moon?”

“We get a stronger urge to change those nights. The pack will head a few miles out of town and then go on a hunt.”

“Silver bullets?”

“You looking to kill me?” I ask with an almost-hopeful laugh.

At this point, I might welcome her attack. Anything to bring back the vibrant, confident woman I know rather than this scared, confused shell of her.

“Are you looking to kill me ?” She stares up at me now, her eyes so wide that they seem to take over her face.

And I lose all ability to joke about the situation.

“Fuck. No. Gods, no.” I want to grab her arms, pull her into my chest, clutch her close until she understands how desperate I am about her.

But that would only scare her more.

Instead, I offer my vulnerabilities. Hoping to put us on more even ground. “Silver or lead. Gets us all the same. We’re not immortal.” I gesture at the cuts on my chest that throb with a constant sting. “Just more durable. And stronger.”

“And warmer,” she murmurs.

The comment came out so quiet that I doubt she meant for me to hear. But I did, and I hope.

As the minutes pass, I watch her from my peripheral vision, silently begging for more questions. But she’s curled in on herself, and she doesn’t pay any attention to me.

My body aches in a variety of ways. The bruises and cuts from my fight nag, but I know they’ll be half healed by morning. It’s the pain underneath my rib cage that’s getting to me. The ache spreads, radiating out from the spot where Zoey has taken up residence.

If I don’t find a way to earn her forgiveness, her acceptance …

I’m not sure when Zoey became such an important piece of my life. It could be as early as the moment she started crocheting while surrounded by bikers. All I know now is that the thought of her walking away makes me want to howl in denial.

I’ll fix this. Somehow.

I’ve opened my mouth to say something, anything, when a set of headlights flashes up ahead.

The two of us freeze, and then I’m stepping up to the road, waving my arms frantically.

Soon, Zoey and I are sitting in the warmth of Mr. Morrison’s pickup as he pulls back out onto the road.

“You kids are real lucky I decided to drive out tonight instead of waiting for the morning. Just think, you’d be walking another three miles before the gas station. And, shit, Warner, your chest is mangled. A mountain lion, you said? They normally don’t go for you big fuckers. Gotta look out for kids and dogs, but not hulking fellows like you.”

“Pretty sure it was a mama with her cubs nearby,” I answer when the old man pauses to take a breath and a puff from his cigarette. The window is cracked for him to blow out his smoke, but the whole cab still reeks of it.

Not that I’m complaining. I’m just happy that Zoey’s off her aching feet and safe from any other wild creatures roaming the woods at night.

Except for me, of course.

She sits wedged between the two of us on the truck’s bench seat, doing her best to sink into the recesses of my sweatshirt. I’d find the sight adorable if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s so quiet and studiously avoiding making eye contact.

“Well, that’ll do it. You’d better get those cuts seen to. Don’t know what that cat had on its claws. Could get infected.”

“We’ll be stopping by the doctor first thing after we get Zoey’s car up and running.”

Mr. Morrison nods, flicking on his turn signal as the gas station comes into sight. Once we’re parked, he climbs out, heading inside. I try to catch Zoey’s eye, but she keeps staring at her lap.

“You okay to wait here while I grab us some gas?”

A nod.

“Do you want anything else? Food or a drink?”

She shakes her head, eyes firmly shut.

“Are you okay?”

No response.

I resist the urge to gather her in my arms, following Mr. Morrison instead. He stands with me in line as I purchase a canister and pay to fill it.

“Your girl okay? Seems shook up.”

I clear my throat, thinking of what to say. As far as I know, Mr. Morrison isn’t one of the townspeople who knows about the wolves. I give half an answer.

“The mountain lion was a lot for her to take in. She’s from the city, you know?”

He nods and walks with me back out to the pump.

Not long before we’re back out on the road.

Once we pull up alongside Zoey’s old Toyota, she finally speaks, offering Mr. Morrison a quiet, “Thank you.”

“No problem, Miss Gunner. I owed Warner here a favor anyway. He was the first one up on my roof when it sprang a leak. And in the middle of a rainstorm, no less! Glad I’m finally able to pay you back.” He claps me on the shoulder as I wave him off.

The old man waits around while I fill the tank. Once Zoey starts the engine and it comes to life, no problem, he gives us a salute and continues on his way.

And we’re alone again.