Red

  Damn it, damn it, damn it. I should have stopped us sooner. I should never have kissed her in the first place while we were both wet and naked. She was too much temptation. But she’d looked so beautiful in the flickering lights beneath the waterfall and I just couldn’t resist.

  I was the worst kind of ass. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t put her in a compromising position. With the life she’d led, she was beyond inexperienced, responding with instincts and feelings she didn’t know what to do with yet.

  And now she was upset.

  Damn me.

  I grabbed my wet shorts on my way out of the lake and stopped to put them back on. Well that was all kinds of uncomfortable. But no way was I going to make this situation any worse than it already was. I took my time approaching the tent, ears tuned for that hitch of breath that meant tears. Mostly I just heard zippers and the sound of stuff brushing against nylon. Elodie drying off and getting dressed probably.

  When the sounds of movement stopped, I spoke. “Elodie, I’m sorry. I—” What the hell did I need to apologize for the most? Being the practical one? The voice of reason? Taking advantage of her? Not saying no sooner? Did she think I rejected her?

  “I don’t know how to fix this,” I said miserably. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset.” Her voice was muffled somehow. Like it was pressed against a pillow or something.

  “You’re not?” Could’ve fooled me.

  “I’m—” The next word was unintelligible.

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m mortified,” she snarled.

  Wait . . . this was all because she was embarrassed?

  “But . . . why?” I asked.

  There was a muffled, double thump. Her fists beating the sleeping bags? “Because I needed you to save me from myself. Again.”

  How the hell was I supposed to respond to that?

  I sank down cross-legged at the entrance of the tent, feeling like a moron talking to her through zippered nylon.

  “Which part of this bothers you most—that you think you’re a danger to yourself or that all this is happening so fast? Because we’ll slow down to a snail’s pace if you want. I just got carried away.”

  “I think it’s very obvious what I wanted.” Disgust dripped from her voice.

  “You say that like a bad thing.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “So make me understand. Explain it to me.”

  Inside she moved. Rolling over, I guess, because when she spoke again, her voice was clearer. “I always thought they were stupid.”

  Not what I expected her to lead with. “Who?”

  “My ancestors. The long, three hundred year line of idiot women who were driven by . . . I don’t know . . . hormones and lust. Every last one of them did the exact same thing. And I was sure that under the same conditions, I’d be the smart one. The rational one. That I’d never let myself get into that kind of trouble because I’m not an animal,” she snarled it, like some kind of declaration. “But I was wrong. Put me in that position and I act like nothing more than—” She seemed to cast around for the right words. “Than a bitch in heat.”

  For a long moment I said nothing, too busy wrestling with a speechless fury at her parents for helping foster this kind of dysfunctional belief over perfectly normal, perfectly natural behavior.

  “And what about me?” I demanded. “I was right there with you. I want you. God knows, I want you sometimes more than I want to breathe. You’re my mate, of course, I do. Does that make me an animal?”

  “Then . . . how were you able to stop?” She whispered it, and if not for my keen ears, I’m not sure I’d have heard the question.

  “Because I love you.”

  Inside the tent there was a sharp exhalation, like I’d sucker punched her. Okay, maybe too soon for that too, but whatever. It was out now. I bulled on through. “Because you needed me to. And that’s okay. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but you have me now. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. That doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you an animal. It makes you human.”

  The silence stretched out, and I started trying to figure out how to run damage control. Then the zipper began to move behind me and the tent door slowly fell open. Elodie sat, curled beside the door in shorts and a t-shirt, her hair still wet and slicked back from her face, which was grave. She stared at me long enough that I went back to my damage control planning. Then she leaned forward and laid her cheek against my shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  Some knot inside me eased. I’d managed to stumble into saying the right thing again.

  “You okay?”

  She sighed. “Hard not to be. You’re here.”

  I tipped my head back, pressing my cheek to her hair. “We’ll figure it out as we go. In the meantime, is there another towel?”

  Elodie laughed and tossed a towel and a pair of shorts at my head, and I knew we were okay again.

  ~*~

  Elodie

  I didn’t sleep late. Beneath the July sun, even under the canopy of trees at the edge of the lake, the tent became an oven. Sawyer’s subzero sleeping bag didn’t help matters, nor did the boy himself, who threw off body heat like my own personal furnace. Not that I was complaining about being tucked tight against him. It was comforting to know he wouldn’t let me go, even in sleep. No matter how prudish, moronic, or otherwise neurotic I managed to be in the span of twenty-four hours.

  Because he loved me.

  And that was some kind of miracle. That he was here at all, that he’d come after me, risked his life, was like something out of a dream. Only the fact that I was wrapped in his warm, sleeping scent, his breath fluttering against my neck, let me know that I was awake.

  I love you.

  I don’t know why I didn’t say it back last night. It’s what I felt. It’s what I’d felt when I squared off against Dad. I won’t let you hurt him any more than Mom let my grandfather hurt you. Dad had known what I meant. But Sawyer didn’t have that background knowledge of my family to read between the lines. So why didn’t I say it for real?

  I guess because I was too busy reeling from his declaration and because I didn’t want it to sound like a knee-jerk response. Like I was saying it because he’d said it. Somehow it felt like it meant less that way. And maybe that was stupid, but that’s kind of how it felt the last several years with my dad. The letter had destroyed our easy affection. After that, his response to my I love yous felt more like rote than meant. I wasn’t going to do that with Sawyer. It was way too important.

  He moved in his sleep, nuzzling closer so that his lips brushed the nape of my neck. My body coiled in automatic response, but he settled back into even breathing. By slow degrees, I relaxed again, wondering if he would always affect me like this. The fact that I could even think in terms of always, of having a future with him was another kind of miracle. It was one thing to go through life, as I had, wanting to live but preparing yourself to die for a greater good. It was another thing entirely to have a real reason to live, to know that death was no longer even on the table as an option. Except for that small matter that someone was out to kill me.

  I wanted a life with Sawyer.

  And what if that meant I had to take another?

  In all my mistaken thoughts about what I was, I was always the danger to others. The idea of killing someone else because I couldn’t control the wolf terrified me. It had always seemed like the braver, nobler option was to take myself out of the equation. I’d never thought about it in terms of self-defense. But wasn’t that what this would be? This hunter wanted me dead. He probably wouldn’t hesitate to use the people I loved against me in ways more gruesome than what he’d done to Rich. Would I not be willing to kill to keep them alive and safe? To keep myself alive and safe for the chance at that future?

  The obvious answer for anybody else would be, of course I would. Straight up logic said the same. If someone tried to hurt
Sawyer, hurt Dad, I had no doubt I would rise to defend them.

  But what if I hesitated? What if my total abhorrence of killing stopped me at a crucial moment? I mean, it was one thing to say I’d do something, but you never really know what you’ll do until you’re put in that situation.

  I really didn’t want to find out. I didn’t truly want to know that I was capable of killing another person. So I hoped like hell that we found this cabin today and finally got some answers so that we could turn the whole damn mess over to the police.

  It took some serious maneuvering to make it free of Sawyer’s arms and out of the tent without waking him. I hadn’t planned on an exercise in stealth, but it was good practice. Once outside, I retrieved our food supply bag from the tree we’d hung it in to protect it from bears and hauled the camp stove closer to the lake. Coffee. Nothing said I love you to a non-morning person like coffee when you wake up. That I could do. And I’d fix his silly corned beef hash. Gag me. But first, nature was calling.

  Given it was broad day, the birds were active, twittering in the trees as I picked may way through the underbrush well away from camp. Something small skittered away as I neared. Squirrel maybe or a rabbit. I didn’t manage to catch more than a flash of motion and dun colored fur. Fail. I was a werewolf. I should’ve been able to tune in better than that.

  Coming to a halt, I closed my eyes and inhaled. The dry, musty odor of deadfall. Dirt. The sweet green scent of growing things. And . . . there. That trace of fear overlaying the fading trail of a rabbit. I wondered if it would have been as scared if I were human. My scent was changing. Sawyer had said it was because the change was nearing. He hadn’t said that was something to worry about, and his explanation for why it was happening so fast made logical sense, but I could tell he was somewhat uneasy.

  On my way back to camp, I circled around the long way. I wanted to experiment with what Sawyer referred to as calling my wolf. It was weird to me how he described it, almost as if the wolf was a second spirit or persona, inhabiting the same body. Sort of symbiotic but still separate in a sense. It was getting easier to tell when the wolf was present. My vision changed. The acuity was greater, the colors a little flatter than normal. It took some concentration to bring it on when I wasn’t riled up. Anger made it easier.

  I closed my eyes again and envisioned myself slipping into another skin, a freer skin than my human form. Free from human limitations and preconceptions. Free from conventions and logic. Something shifted inside me. An uncurling and stretching of some mental muscle. When I opened my eyes, it was like sliding on a pair of specialized glasses. Everything was clearer, each stick and blade of grass standing out in sharp relief. Like life in higher definition.

  I’d done it.

  My impromptu happy dance was interrupted as something crackled in the underbrush about thirty yards ahead. Something big and dark was moving through the trees. I stilled, tilting my head to listen, widening my nostrils. The thing was cross-wind from me. It couldn’t smell me, and I couldn’t smell it. What the hell was it? A bear? I didn’t think so. It didn’t sound like a bear’s lumbering gait when it moved. I needed to get closer.

  If I could just be quiet . . .

  I crept forward, testing each step before I put my full weight on it. My progress was pain-stakingly slow and my body hummed with impatience. One step. Another. Until I was within ten yards of the creature. Something snapped to my right. I cast out my senses and caught the scent just before he spoke into my ear with a voice more breath than sound, “It’s an elk.”

  I was so proud for not jolting.

  When I met Sawyer’s eyes, his glowed gold. His lips curved. I found myself grinning in response. When he bowed and made an after you gesture, I continued stalking forward. We flanked the elk’s position, and glancing at Sawyer, I realized the game was to see how close we could get.

  Twenty feet. The elk grazed between the trees, unconcerned with what was going on around it.

  Fifteen. Something small screamed and was silent, captured in the talons of a hawk. The elk, a male, lifted its head, antlers casting shadows in the midday sun.

  Ten. The elk turned to look right at me. I froze, captivated by those deep, liquid eyes. I wondered if it would challenge. Then the wind shifted, taking with it my scent, the scent of predator, and the elk whirled, springing into motion.

  The game shifted, no longer about silence, now about speed. I didn’t pause to see if Sawyer followed. I knew he did.

  The elk tore through the trees and down the slope. Without the wolf, I’m sure I’d have fallen. But I was sure-footed as I ran, despite the lack of trail and the presence of rocks. I’d always had good balance, but this, this was amazing. My muscles screamed as I pushed myself faster after it, and I grinned in fierce triumph.

  Sawyer shot ahead of me, toward the elk’s right flank, driving it in the opposite direction. Its hooves slipped on rock and we nearly caught it before it gained purchase and scrambled into the pass. The sound of its breath was like a bellows, pumping air in and out of its panicked lungs. My own breath was coming fast, but not yet painful. I still had reserves of energy. In some part of my brain I recognized that we could run this elk to exhaustion.

  And then what?

  My steps faltered.

  Something in me tightened, a growl building in my chest.

  No.

  But the denial was distant, and I knew I wasn’t fully in control. My speed built, my strides lengthening.

  NO.

  I finally understood what Sawyer meant when he described the wolf as separate because mine wasn’t willing to relinquish control. I could feel her fighting me. She wanted that elk, wanted the chase. She wanted to take it down.

  NO!

  I mentally yanked back, almost as if hauling back on a choke chain. The wolf jerked in the opposite direction and I lost my balance going down in a skid. I barely felt the abrasions on my skin because my body was cramping again. Muscles bucked and writhed. I felt my hips crack and realign and let out a scream.

  “Breathe.” Sawyer snapped out the order in a calm voice.

  I tried but my chest cavity expanded with a sickening crunch, and the pain drove the air from my lungs.

  “Look at me.”

  Was he crazy? I couldn’t look. If I opened my eyes, they would pop right out of my head from the pressure.

  “Look at me.”

  I managed to force my eyes open. Sawyer crouched in front of me, right at my level and fixed his eyes—his wolf’s eyes—on mine. It was a dominant stare, one that my wolf didn’t like one bit.

  “Let go.”

  I snarled at him, though I didn’t know if he was telling me to give into the wolf or the wolf to give in to me.

  “Let go,” he repeated.

  Focusing on his eyes distracted me from the pain. A little.

  “Breathe for me now. In. Out.”

  I concentrated on taking air in to my newly expanded lungs. On blowing it out. In. Out.

  “Try to relax.”

  He might as well have said, Try to fly. But I kept breathing. Kept watching him. And muscle by muscle tried to unclench my body.

  It hurt like a son of a bitch.

  I could tell muscles and bones weren’t their proper length but caught somewhere in between. I didn’t even want to think about what I looked like right now. I just focused on Sawyer’s eyes and tried to ride it out using some kind of bastardized progressive muscle relaxation technique.

  I don’t even know at what point it was over. Eventually I just lay on the ground, trembling with fatigue and twitching with aftershocks of pain.

  Sawyer laid his hand over mine. “Does it hurt when I touch you?”

  I made an incoherent noise in the negative.

  “I’m going to carry you back to camp.”

  Another noise. Affirmative.

  Carefully, Sawyer scooped me up. The blinding pain in my head wasn’t quite so bad tucked against his chest, so I curled closer.

  “It’
s gonna be okay,” he said. “Transition’s close. It won’t hurt so bad when you don’t get stuck.”

  “She . . . ” I cut myself off when my voice came out like a crow’s. Apparently my vocal chords were just shredded. “She fought me.”

  “Your wolf wanted one thing, you wanted another. You did well up to that point. Your stealth is improving and you kept up beautifully during the chase. She was closer to the surface then and wanted to push you.”

  I shuddered.

  “What happens if she wins?” I rasped.

  “It’s not a contest. You have to accept your wolf as part of who you are.”

  “But when she’s ascendant, I don’t feel like I’m in control. I don’t feel like I’m the one making the decisions.”

  “It’s still you. Just not a part of you that you’re used to feeling.”

  I thought about that for a bit as he strode back the way we’d come. He carried me so easily, despite the all out sprint we’d done for the last couple of miles. My whole body seemed to have the muscle tension of limp spaghetti after the partial shift. That’s what it had been. I’d been caught halfway between two forms. I wondered if anybody ever got stuck permanently in between and shuddered again at the thought. No, that was a fate worse than fully shifting, worse than letting the wolf be in full control. Wasn’t it?

  “But what . . . what if the wolf wants to do something horrible?”

  “Like killing something?” he asked.

  “Or someone,” I whispered.

  Sawyer was quiet for a bit. “I’m not going to lie and say the instinct isn’t there. It is. Your wolf’s primary drive is your survival. If you feel threatened, she’ll come forward and try to protect you the only way she knows how. And sometimes you have to let her because the human side just gets in the way.”

  I didn’t know which I was more afraid of. The idea of losing control to the animal. Or the idea that I wouldn’t be able to when I needed to most.