The Hunted

  What do I say? I thought you were imaginary. No. I don’t know. My mind buzzes with all kinds of questions, none I care to voice in such a public place.

  Before I can work up my courage to say something, the flame-haired boy slings an arm over his shoulders. “Hey Seb, who’s your new girlfriend?” He winks at me. This one has golden-yellow irises.

  Seb rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.”

  “Sebby doesn’t have many girlfriends.” He pinches Seb’s cheek. “But you’re so cute.”

  He sure is.

  Seb shoves him. “I’m gonna getcha for that.”

  “Sure, sure.” He chuckles and returns to the group.

  “He’s such an embarrassment.” Seb shoots the boy a glare.

  “Does he do that often?” I dump the sugar into my coffee. “Embarrass you?”

  “Only around pretty girls.”

  A compliment?

  Eloise hands him his order.

  “Thanks,” he says to her, and then to me, “I’ll see you ’round.” His lips stretch into a grin again. He pivots on his heel, lumbering over to his friends.

  Huh. What just happened? Is that really him? Grabbing a magazine off the rack, I choose a seat by the window. I need answers, but now isn’t the time.

  A minute later, Eve sits opposite me. “Glad I found you. I have some exciting news!”

  “Yeah?” I say.

  A voice carries over to us—the boy sitting next to Seb. “Wanna see a magic trick?”

  I stare over Eve’s shoulder.

  “Does it involve the chips you’re holding?” the smaller one says.

  “Totally unrelated,” he says.

  “Okay…”

  “Watch them disappear!” He empties the bag on his friend’s head.

  “Hey, no fair.” The small boy brushes crumbs from his hair.

  I notice one of them is staring right at me. His crimson eyes fill me with dread. Again, I want to shrink down into my seat. I can’t tear my gaze away.

  Eve notices my preoccupation and swivels in her chair to look at them. “Oh, those bozos.” She rolls her eyes and turns back.

  “I thought they seemed okay, actually. The green-eyed one is pretty cute.” A smile floods my features, but I quickly wipe it off.

  She lifts an eyebrow. “Only losers hang out with them.” She flicks them a fleeting glance. “I’ve heard stories about them.” Leaning forwards, she whispers, “Grandad told me they sacrifice animals. And see the totems around their necks? Can’t be good.”

  “Maybe they’re into Voodoo,” I tease.

  She folds her arms across her chest. “Make fun of me if you want, but I’d watch my back if I were you. That one has eyes for you—you’re his now.” She stands.

  “Aren’t you gonna tell me your news?” I say, half-heartedly.

  “Oh. Whitney confirmed tomorrow is a date.” She squeals. “Can you help me pick an outfit tomorrow?”

  I nod. “No problem.”

  “Come at three.”

  I sip my coffee. “I’ll be there.”

  “Awesome.” She slings her handbag onto her shoulder. “Take care. Watch your back.”

  “Will do.”

  She hurries out of the door, crossing the road to her pink VW Beetle. The red-eyed one is staring after her.

  ***

  When I arrive home, I kick the door shut and amble into my room. I empty the contents of the shopping bags onto my purple comforter. My ears perk up, hearing boots in the hall.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Dad says. “How was your afternoon?”

  Well, Dad, I met this strange guy in the coffee shop. “It was fine.” I turn my back on him, pretending to sort through the pile.

  He gets the message; I wish to be alone. “All right, then. I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doing.” Swiveling, he clomps back down the hall. “Dinner’s in ten.”

  I slide onto the mattress and weave my hair into a clumsy braid. It was always better when Mom did it. Tight. Neat. Every scrap of hair accounted for. Wholly opposite to mine. And yet, my fingers don’t stop until the braid’s secured with an elastic. Tufts of blonde fall from the tie. But I’m past caring, feeling a tad closer to her.

  If only, I tell myself each week, month, year.

  If only I could speak to her for one more minute, have another moment.

  If only I could hug her again, confess my soul, my deepest thoughts.

  My mind skitters to Seb. What would Mom make of him? Would she feel the same, imprisoned in those compassionate eyes, as I am? I’ll never know.

  I sort through my diminutive haul and stow the books on the side table—a temporary holding, until I choose which one to devour first.

  “Five minutes,” Dad yells.

  I pad over to the window and hoist it up. Is Seb out there somewhere, watching? My eyes rake over the boundary of trees. Not a hint of gray. Probably for the best.

  Who am I fooling? I feel safer when he’s around, stronger. More like who I should be, who I’m destined to become. My essence sings with anticipation, and my heart aches with a longing so deep that it bores into my bones. How can someone so dangerous be so captivating?

  The little voice inside me says, Couldn’t you find any other person on this planet to fall in love with? Pretty pathetic…

  But I can’t help thinking it was inevitable. I wasn’t born to love just anyone. I was born to love him.

  He’s a monster, Dad would say.

  Maybe he’s right.

  And maybe he isn’t.

  The braches part. Green eyes appear. Then gray fur. The wolf stalks towards me, glowing irises harsh with rage. A growl rumbles in its chest. I’m numb from head to toe, frozen in fear. Behind me, leaves crunch under feet. Fingers weave into mine. The scent of spearmint and sage has me spiraling headlong into a Harlequin romance novel.

  Seb.

  He smiles at me and takes me into his arms.

  The wolf snarls, razor teeth snapping. Spittle leaks from the corners of his mouth. He’s hungry. He wants to eat me. Just like the legends depict. He lunges for my throat, toothy grin in place.

  Seb shoves me behind him, an arm extending to hold me back. Then he gasps and half-turns, pressing a hand to his side. Carmine-red oozes from a gash on his torso. “Why?” he whispers, irises ablaze with surprise and betrayal.

  I drop my eyes to the silver knife in my palm, dripping with blood.

  The wolf fades to nothing like a B-movie special effect. And Seb is lying on a bed of pine needles, bleeding out.

  ***

  I jolt awake. Someone is screaming. Me? The door bursts open, cracking against the wall. I scream again. A shadowy figure stumbles towards me. A hand covers my mouth, cutting off the shriek midway.

  Seb

  I watch the glow of the morning sun arc across my room as I think of her. I’d lost count of the minutes passing as I debate whether I should pick up the damn phone and see if she’s okay.

  What if she’s freaked?

  What if she’s not?

  I don’t know which is for the better. I’m a creature of her nightmares. How can she love me, someone so mythological?

  A monster.

  She plagues my every thought. I can’t escape her.

  Will I ever?

 

  Did you really have to come in all Hulk-ish last night?” I crunch on a slice of buttery toast.

  Dad shrugs. “You were screaming. Would you prefer it if I didn’t check if you were being murdered?”

  “No.”

  He drains the remnants of his coffee. “I’m gonna be gone most of the day. Should be back by four-thirty.”

  Big surprise.

  “You’ll be okay here by yourself?”

  I level a glare at him. He hasn’t asked me that since I was fifteen. “Yeah.”

  “Call Bill next door if you need help.”

  What does he think is gonna happen? A raid? An attack by a brood of vampires? An orgy? “Sure. But I’ll be fine. Just
writing my essay.” Maybe I do need to get a life.

  ***

  I scribble furiously across the page, aiming to have my Austen essay done by five. The pen’s ink begins to fade, leaving streaks as I scratch every last splotch out of it. Then I search through my bag for another. Nada. Dad probably has a stash in his office. It’s usually off limits, but he’ll never find out. It’s just a pen, right?

  I walk to the last door at the end of the hall and try the knob. It twists easily—unlocked. I slip in, my eyes already roaming his desk for writing implements. They catch a tin stuffed with them. I choose a blue one. As I do, my eyes drift over the papers on his desk. One catches my attention. I pick up the thick sheet, studying it. My heart kicks in my chest as I realize what it is. A list of the current Navajo reservation pack members and their corresponding animal.

  Hok’ee Nat’aanii (Seb) — Gray wolf.

  Tsela Kii (Kat) — Black puma.

  Ashkii Dighin Nez (Ash) — Brown bear.

  Shilah T’ah (Shi) — Eagle.

  Nastas Ketsoh (Tas) — Light brown puma.

  Gaagii Lighai (Jo) — Fox.

  Why does Dad have this? What interest would the skinwalkers be to him? He’s a doctor. I hear the front door snap shut, and a moment of panic ignites in my chest.

  “Cass?” Dad says.

  I drop the paper back on top of the others and scuttle out, shutting the door behind me as Dad enters the hall.

  His brow creases. “Cass?”

  I hold up the evidence. “Just looking for a pen.” Can I trust him? He’s no longer who I think he is.

  “Okay.”

  I step aside. For a moment, we circle like predator and prey. Then he slips into his office. The door closes. I gather my homework from the living room and lock myself in my bedroom.

  I try to wrap my head around it. Is this what Uncle Scott refers to when he gets me to pass on his inconsequential messages of rogue animals? Can’t be. I refuse to believe my family has anything to do with the skinwalkers. Two thoughts scream above all others.

  Is Seb in danger?

  Am I?

  A hand grabs my shoulder, shakes me. The knife in my grasp swings out, an automatic defense since I’ve been crashing at my sister’s.

  “Dude, it’s me,” Kat says.

  I flip over. “Man, what time is it?” Rubbing my eyes, I squint into the early morning.

  “Seven.”

  I roll back over and try to go back to sleep. He won’t let me. I grumble profanities until I notice the pure terror for me in his eyes.

  I sit up. “What is it? Is Alyssa all right?”

  “Dude, they’re talkin’ about gettin’ a new pack leader.”

  That wakes me up. “What?” My fingers tighten around the black handle. I knew it was only a matter of time before they came for me.

  “They’re sayin’ you’re no good, bro, soft.” He shifts from foot to foot.

  I have a conscious; this is the problem. I have a day job and not enough menace in me. Like to hang around the humans, pretending I am one. I stab the blade into the top of the side table. “Over my dead, decaying corpse.” They can’t get rid of me. My father was the previous alpha; it’s my birthright.

  “Don’t think killing you is a problem for them…” He places a hand on my shoulder. “It was nice knowing you.”

  Ash and Tas burst into the room, snarling and fuming. Kat backs up, worry and apologies in his eyes.

  “Lyssa! Gale!” I growl as they rip me from my bed, the wolf inside screaming to burst out. I know my sister and her husband can’t help. Any interference on their or Kat’s part and they’ll be dead in an instant.

  “She can’t help you now, Sebby,” Ash says. “No one can.”

  They drag me down the hall. Kicking out, I smash a vase and two picture frames. I recall the knife. If only I hadn’t stabbed that table …

  But this is not a place for if only’s.

  “You’re a disgrace,” Tas says.

  Ash tosses me into the front yard, where Shi and Jo are waiting. Along with two others I can’t place. They take their turn at punching me, tearing me to pieces. Breaking my bones. I’m different, and they hate that.

  Someone slits my wrists. I bleed into the earth.

  I’m a goner. The odds aren’t in my favor.

  There’s a deafening crack. My vision distorts the laughing faces above me, tunneling into pinpricks. I make one final attempt to save my life.

  Cassie

  Florence and the Machine blasts from my speakers as I make my way home, winding through the streets of Phoenix. When the outskirts of the Navajo reservation are whipping past my window, a fleck of black-gray fur wedged between the trees catches my eye. No cars behind me. I slam my foot on the brakes and peer into my rearview mirror, eyes searching for what I’d seen. Something slathered in blood protrudes from the foliage. Is that a paw? I throw my Elantra into reverse, and then pop the hand brake. I jump out and skid over to where I saw it, smacking away branches and vines. My eyes settle on a gray wolf. Blood snakes from his nostrils, dribbles from his slit paws and cuts. The slices in his flesh strike me as random slashes—over his back and legs.

  I collapse to my knees in front of Seb. Is he alive? Where do I check? If only Dad were a vet. My fingers float to his neck. Nothing. Hm. I cup my hands in front of his snout. Please be alive!

  Hot, sporadic breaths stagger from his open mouth.

  Yes! Only, how to get him help? I straighten, pop open my trunk, and grab a beach towel. I drape it over the backseat. There’s no way I can explain bloodstains to the insurance people. Or Dad. He’d certainly freak. How heavy is he? I think as I hook my arms under his forepaws. He must weigh one hundred and twenty pounds, but I manage to drag him across the tar—some higher power enabling me to, maybe—and heft him into my car.

  “Who did this to you?” I say, as if he can answer.

  As I swing into my street, he begins to shift—claws to fingers, muzzle to an über cute nose, fur to bare, light cocoa skin. My head whips around. Naked. He’s naked! A horn blares and I remember I’m driving. I straighten the car and try to rid my mind of the horrifyingly bloody images.

  He moans as he stirs. I pull into my driveway.

  His lashes flutter open, his green eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “What the hell happened?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.” I turn to look at him.

  At the same moment, he realizes he’s sans clothing and covers his bits with his hands.

  “I wasn’t looking,” I say. Much.

  “I have to go.” He tries to sit up. Blood secretes from his wounds.

  “Uh, no. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “I have to—have to see if Kat’s okay.” After a moment, he gives up on trying and sags back into the seat with a moan.

  “I’m pretty sure your cat can survive without you for a bit.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Come on; let’s get you inside before my dad gets home.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” he whispers. “Everyone’s turned on me.”

  My hands fly to my hips, indignant that he thinks I’m untrustworthy. “I’ve kept your secret so far, haven’t I?”

  He nods.

  “Then, trust me.” I help him out, secure the towel around his waist. That he’s conscious makes this trip easier. I get him to my bedroom and set him on my bed. “Lie down.”

  He manages a smirk. “Bossy.”

  “Just like my mother, I’m told.” My brow pinches. “Are you gonna try to eat me?”

  He stifles a laugh. “Cass, I don’t—I don’t kill people. Not since twenty-ten, anyway.”

  “But, I thought—?” Hasn’t Kelley been telling me they’re bloodthirsty creatures?

  “I’m not like the others. They don’t care about humans and certainly don’t hang out with them.”

  I mull that over for a beat, waiting for further explanation.

  “I hav
e a conscience.” He grits his teeth and reclines on the mattress. “That’s what got me into trouble.” Sweat beads on his upper lip and forehead.

  “Oh?” I march into the bathroom, filling a bowl with cold water.

  “They think I’ve gone soft, and the last thing they want is a weak leader.”

  Seb

  She’s so adorable playing doctor that I want to kiss her. But it’s better I not wreck anything so soon. Her room is shrouded in family photographs and sketches of landscapes and faces. I pick out mine against the others. How long did it take her? Did she struggle, trying to recall every feature? Cassie returns with a bowl and a hand towel, kneeling beside me and dabbing at my already-moist face.

  “Another king overthrown.” A cough sputters from my throat. I try not to wince as searing pain shoots through me.

  She grabs a tissue, a smirk flashing onto her lips. “Well, Caesar, not everyone likes their ruler.” She dabs at the corner of my mouth.

  I see red on it before she folds it and pitches it into the trash.

  I manage a weak laugh. “Great way to meet beautiful girls.”

  She smiles. “Thanks?”

  “I’m serious,” I say. “I show up all damaged and you run to aid.”

  “Guess it’s in my blood, helping people.” She swabs the damp towel over my wounds.

  Cassie’s as unbiased as they come—as a Hunter’s daughter, she should be freaking out that I’m in her room. Calling her Dad and organizing a hunting party. Does she not know her father is the leader of the group who tracks us and hunts us? If she were a boy, she’d know. Like us, it’s a genetic thing; only males inherit the dominant Hunter or skinwalker gene.

  Regardless of this, I catch her hand. “Don’t bother. I’ll be healed in a day or so.”

  “Yeah?” Her brow wrinkles again.

  Without thinking, my fingers reach to smooth out the creases on her forehead. Her face softens at my touch.

  The corners of her mouth hike upwards. “You gave me quite a scare.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re okay.” She slides a chair over and props her legs up on the mattress.

  My fingers march over her calf in a haphazard pattern. “I remember the very first time I saw you—it was a while ago, maybe a year. Blonde, gorgeous, alone in the woods.” I pause. I sound like a stalker.

  “Go on,” she says and smiles again.

  “I was my handsome wolfie self, hunting for dinner—deer, obviously.”