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  Buka moved away from me and then paced back. She butted me with her head.

  “Go away,” I mumbled, my voice thick with tears.

  She whined again.

  I sighed, knowing my behavior upset her but unable to stop myself. All of the worrying and crying over the last few days had been for nothing. Dace would never trust me. I climbed to my feet. “I’m going home, Buka. You can’t follow me through town. Someone will notice.”

  She looked at me for a minute and then rose to all fours and dashed back the way we’d come.

  I waited until she disappeared into the trees, and then started walking. I glanced down and noticed the blood covering my jeans and soaking through my sweater. My throat tightened.

  I couldn’t walk home. Someone would notice the blood as surely as they would have noticed a huge wolf trailing along behind me like a tame puppy. I hesitated at the edge of the parking lot, unsure of what to do. The only people I knew to call, Chelle and Dad, couldn’t drop everything to come drive me home. Dad was with Melinda, and Chelle didn’t need to deal with this when she’d just buried her sister.

  And Dace … I swallowed convulsively. I might have been weak, but he wasn’t innocent either. He hadn’t even given me a chance to explain, or told me anything in the last weeks that might have helped me save his friend. How could I do anything differently than I’d done when he couldn’t even be bothered to tell me what I needed to know?

  “Screw it,” I muttered and stomped through the parking lot. I would walk home, and anyone who noticed would have to deal with it. And if they called the police, well, they would just have to deal with it, too.

  I made my way to the end of the street, still muttering to myself, before I noticed the dark car trailing along behind me. I pretended I didn’t see the car and kept walking. If someone wanted to be nosy, they could stop and do it properly on their own. I was angry, hurt, covered in blood, and freezing cold. In short, not in the mood to make anything easier for anyone.

  The car pulled up beside me. It was black and sporty, with windows tinted so dark it was surely illegal in several states. The car crept at a snail’s pace beside me for a moment before the window rolled down. I didn’t stop walking.

  “Would you like a ride?”

  I froze as that familiar, far too perfect voice sent alarms sounding in my head. I turned, telling myself I only imagined things.

  Ronan stared back at me from the driver’s seat.

  “No,” I answered curtly, unable to even attempt to hide my dislike of him.

  “Is that blood?” he asked, not sounding at all surprised.

  “It’s nothing,” I mumbled, cursing myself for being an idiot. I would have to tempt fate. I shivered, though I didn’t know if it was because of my nerves or the cold.

  “Shouldn’t your boyfriend be looking after you?”

  His question stabbed at my aching heart.

  I growled, suddenly more furious than hurt or scared. I stomped toward the car and jerked open the door. I hopped into the front seat, kicking an empty coke bottle out of my way, before I could even think it through. The car stank of tobacco and grease.

  “Happy now?” I muttered, jerking the door closed.

  “Of course,” Ronan said, actual amusement lacing his tone.

  I turned my face away from him.

  Ronan drove slower than I might have wished.

  “Why are you covered in blood?” His tone lacked concern. In fact, it lacked any sort of inflection period.

  “There was an animal … .” Wildly rolling, pain filled eyes flashed through my mind. I cleared my throat, forcing the image away, and continued, “In the woods.”

  “Ah.” A pause. “What were you doing with this animal in the woods?”

  I blew out a breath and turned to tell him that my doings were none of his damned business, only to find him focused straight ahead, his eyes hard and his face cold.

  The depths of my recklessness hit me then.

  Had I not, only days ago, tried to convince Dace that Ronan might be a murderer? Had I not held what might have been one of his victims in my arms less than an hour ago and watched it die? And then I jumped in the car with him anyway because I was angry?

  I felt physically ill.

  “Are you okay?” He stopped at the top of the street and shot a quick, assessing look in my direction before making the turn onto my street.

  “Fine.” The word felt strangled in my throat. How did he know where I lived?

  “Of course,” he said again, stopping in front of Dad’s house.

  I had the door open in record time. “Thanks,” I squeaked, jumping out of the car.

  He nodded curtly, his eyes far away and even harder than they had been earlier. My heart hammered in my chest.

  Ronan drove away before the door even clicked closed.

  He scared me more than anyone I had ever seen in my life. Getting in his car like that was beyond stupid. If I ever saw Dace again, I truly would kill him for walking away and leaving me there alone.

  I ran into the house, slamming and locking the door behind me. My teeth chattered and my hands shook. I stood in the entryway for a minute, my ears straining toward any hint Ronan might return. I heard nothing though, and drew a deep, shaky breath.

  When I thought my legs would hold my weight, I stumbled to the laundry room and peeled off my clothes. There was so much blood, more than I’d realized. It was drying and hardening, turning the fabric stiff. I started shaking as I tossed my clothes into the washing machine and turned it on.

  I cowered in the shower, hot water beating down on me before I stopped shivering. I held my eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see the water running red as the dried blood washed away. It bothered me that the animal’s blood washed away so easily while the memories would not. Those would haunt me forever.

  Dace’s angry face floated through my mind.

  I felt tears burning up my throat and fought them down as I scrubbed myself head to toe. I wouldn’t cry, not over him. He’d shut me out and left me there, refused to let me help him, or to explain why he was so angry with me. There wasn’t an excuse for that.

  I stepped from the shower to towel myself dry, shoving all thoughts of him into a little corner of my mind. I felt as if there should be welts on me where his anger lashed.

  I ran the brush through my hair.

  The phone rang.

  I ignored it and carefully sat the brush down on the sink.

  The phone stopped ringing as I wrapped the towel around myself and walked down the short hall to my room. I dressed slowly in sweats and a T-shirt, the phone ringing again and again.

  I flung myself across the bed as it rang a fifth, sixth, and then seventh time.

  When it rang an eighth time, I growled, jerked my pillow over my head, and let the damn thing ring.

  I barely left my room the rest of the night. I didn’t want to move. My head hurt, my heart hurt, and I was beyond tired. The nightmares came, and they didn’t come alone this time. All night, the flickers of memory that had flooded me at Chelle’s weaved through my dreams like loose tapestry strings. I woke more than once with Dace’s name echoing in the dark around me.

  The following evening, I stumbled downstairs, my head still aching and my eyes burning. I’d won one battle though. I hadn’t cried once since Dace walked away.

  Dad sat in the kitchen when I stumbled in. “Hi, hon. Hungry?”

  My stomach rebelled at the thought of food, but I nodded anyway.

  I made it halfway to the table before the phone started ringing. I groaned as Dad turned to pick it up.

  “Hello?” He listened for a minute. “She’s right here.” His eyes flickered in my direction, widening slightly.

  I lay my head down on the table.

  “Of course,” Dad said into the phone, surprised. “Uh-huh. Are you … ?” A sigh. “Alright. Yeah, that’s fine.”

  I heard the phone beep before he placed it back on the base.

  I
waited for him to say something. For a long time though, he didn’t. I began to relax, thinking maybe it hadn’t been Dace on the phone after all. I lifted my head to find Dad staring at me.

  “Please, don’t,” I begged when he opened his mouth. “I don’t want to know.”

  He narrowed his eyes and blew out a breath between his teeth, but he nodded.

  “Thanks,” I said, relief running through me.

  “Sure,” he muttered and turned back to the food.

  I hopped up to gather plates and utensils, feeling incredibly grateful that I had him. He didn’t push and didn’t interfere. He accepted.

  “Need tea?” I asked.

  “Juice,” he said and started whistling. The tune sounded less cheerful than usual.

  I filled two glasses with apple juice, then deposited them on the table before going back for the plates and forks. We worked in silence as I set the table and he finished the stir-fry.

  “That was Dace on the phone, wasn’t it?” I sighed, defeated, fiddling with the placement of my silverware.

  Dad stopped stirring and nodded.

  Of course it was Dace. “I suppose you have a message for me?”

  “No,” he said, his expression wary. “He just wanted to check on you. He said he’d been calling … .” He trailed off with a shrug, not even mentioning how many times Dace had called the house since I returned yesterday.

  Nineteen, including that one. He’d called my cell almost as many and hadn’t left a single message. That hurt more than it should.

  I dropped back down into my seat, scowling down at my glass.

  “Did you two have a fight or something?” Dad asked, his voice steady, disinterested almost.

  “Something like that,” I mumbled, not sure how to classify what’d happened. Dace simply left. No argument. No explanation. Nothing.

  “Ah.” Dad deposited the wok on the table.

  I dished out a heaping helping for him and not so much for myself.

  Dad frowned at the little bit on my plate, but didn’t comment.

  “Um …” He cleared his throat as he picked up his fork. “He asked if he could stop by to talk to me this evening. I told him yes.”

  “What?” My head shot up.

  Dad held up his hands. “I didn’t know you were angry with him.”

  Great. Just great. I glowered, viciously stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork.

  “I’ll call and tell him not—”

  “It’s fine,” I interrupted sharply. Too sharply. “Sorry,” I said when his fork wavered near his mouth.

  He quirked a brow.

  “Really, it’s fine.” I told him, more calmly than before. “I have some reading to do anyway.” We both knew that was a lie.

  “If you’re sure,” he said, still hesitant.

  “I’m sure,” I lied, feeling anything but. My problem though, not his. Besides, the house was big enough for both me and Dace for one evening. I would simply hide out until he left. No problem.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After dinner I made my escape to the back porch, afghan and book in hand. I was prepared to camp out there for as long as necessary for Dace to come and go. Cowardly maybe, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to see him. The back porch seemed as safe a place as any to accomplish that. Dace had no reason to come this way, and I happened to like the back porch.

  Dad had decked it out with comfy chairs and an awesome sound system. He’d also had it enclosed with glass windows that could, when warmer, be thrown wide open. In the winter, a gas stove piped heat in. All in all, the room was quite comfy.

  I curled up in one of the two plush recliners, draping the afghan around me then opening my book. Within moments, I found myself completely absorbed in Verne’s fictional account of poor Axel being separated from the professor and their guide in the heart of the earth. The book was my favorite. No matter how many times I read it—and I’d lost count long ago—the story sucked me in. Axel made such a reluctant and endearing hero. No false bravado marked his account, and he didn’t embellish to make himself seem braver, more charming, or amusing. He was an honest-to-goodness reluctant hero, and had no qualms about letting the reader know it.

  Fifteen minutes after I started reading, the door creaked open. I froze in the midst of turning the page, my hand hovering in midair.

  Dace stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

  I turned the page.

  A board creaked as he stepped closer.

  I lifted the book higher, pointedly ignoring him, and continued reading. Somehow, I managed to pull it off.

  He sighed and sat in the other chair.

  I kept reading.

  I closed the book on the last page, wiping tears from my eyes.

  “Journey to the Center of the Earth makes you cry.” The way he said it was neither question nor statement of fact, but more … a revelation.

  “So?” I muttered, not about to tell him the book never made me cry before. The ending just seemed happier than I remembered. Axel returned to Grauben and made her his wife as he’d hoped to do all along. His constancy, at least, did not merit question.

  “Are you very angry, then, with me?” Dace made it sound like two separate questions.

  “Nope,” I lied, pulling the afghan up around my shoulders. “Anger would denote caring that you walked away with no explanation and left me there.”

  He cringed, his shoulders hunching.

  I wouldn’t feel sorry for hurting him. I wouldn’t.

  “I haven’t looked in on your thoughts all day,” he said, staring straight ahead.

  “Good for you,” I retorted, secretly relieved he hadn’t looked. Having him in my head would have made everything harder.

  “I felt frantic all day, worrying if you’d made it home safely after sending Buka away yesterday, but I didn’t look. I didn’t know what I’d find if I did. The lost look on your face yesterday horrified me. I made you look that way,” he whispered.

  I refused to be swayed by how distressed he sounded.

  “Buka’s very angry with me, you know. She threatened to feed me to the shifters if I didn’t make you smile again.”

  “Good for her,” I said, making a mental note to thank her for her loyalty.

  “Kalei and the others offered to help her.” I heard a trace of a smile in his voice as he relayed that piece of news. And then he turned serious once more, still staring straight ahead, his voice pitched low. “I faced down an entire pack of very angry wolves to come here tonight. They didn’t want to let me.” He clenched his jaw, though his voice didn’t rise above that low, silky whisper. “I would have fought through them had they made me.”

  “You better not.” I narrowed my eyes. “If you hurt Buka—”

  “She shouldn’t have tried to stop me from coming to you,” he interrupted angrily, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have decided to come.” I refused to let his vehemence worm its way into my heart.

  “I had to,” he said. “You belong to me.”

  My stomach flip-flopped. My heart followed. I swallowed, trying to force the butterflies away.

  He rose gracefully and paced toward me.

  I leaned away from him as he hovered over me.

  “There’s something I want you to see.” He held out one hand toward me, his eyes wary. “Will you come?”

  I stared at his hand for a minute, worrying my lip between my teeth. There was no choice, I decided, not really. I placed my hand into his, cringing as even that little bit of contact erased some of the chill clinging to me since he’d left me out there alone yesterday. Touching him should have been illegal. I couldn’t think with his skin near mine, and I still wanted to be angry with him.

  He gave me that half smile, his eyes softening, and pulled me to my feet. My afghan slithered toward the floor, but he leaned down and snagged it.

  “You may need this,” he said and wrapped it around me.


  I hesitated as he led me toward the door to the backyard, not sure if I should tell Dad I was going out or not.

  “He knows,” Dace said, smiling when my eyes flew to his. “Just a guess. I didn’t look.”

  Of course not.

  He led me down the steps into the backyard. Night was falling, causing the air to cool quickly. Relief that Dace had wrapped me in the blanket rolled through me. It would be cold again soon.

  I expected him to lead me around the house, but he didn’t. He started across the backyard.

  “Where are we going?” My question sounded more breathy than I’d anticipated.

  “Not far,” he promised, his voice no less gentle than before. “The pack is waiting ahead, through the trees.” He nodded toward the trees that started where the lawn ended.

  The pack? I frowned, more intrigued than I had been moments before. His earlier comment, about the pack refusing to let him through, rose to the surface of my mind. I brushed it aside though, not sure I wanted to know what he’d meant.

  The trees were thick where we entered, the tangle of branches causing shadows to gather faster than they had in the yard. I pulled the afghan more securely around my shoulders.

  Within seconds, we broke through into a tiny clearing. The area appeared more natural than the pond: a simple break where trees had not grown versus an area cleared and then forgotten at some time in the past.

  Ten pairs of yellow eyes turned in our direction.

  My steps slowed.

  Dace squeezed my hand.

  That little pressure on my fingers gave me the strength to keep walking forward though my heart felt like it would beat out of my chest. I suddenly understood why Dace had requested Kalei bring as few to our first meeting as she could. Ten wolves watching me approach was an impressive sight.

  Even though I knew that two, at least, wouldn’t harm me, the sight still caused a moment’s pause. Compared to some of the wolves standing there, like the one that had wanted to eat me, Buka could have been a puppy. On all fours, she reached me mid-thigh. Several of the others reached Dace mid-thigh, and he stood a solid foot taller than me.

  He stopped a few feet from the pack, not exactly wary, but definitely alert. His eyes sought mine, questioning. He wanted to know if I was okay with them approaching, I think.