My stomach tries to rebel against me as I grit my teeth and toss Troy's picture to the ground. Tod bends over to pick it up as I start to pace the room, shaking my head and fighting against the feeling of my fingers shifting into claws.
“Who is he?” Tod asks quietly.
“Troy.” The name bubbles up through the hatred to be spat out at my friends. “My ex-boyfriend.”
I wish he was here right now. I'd rip his throat out.
“It's like a movie,” Aliah says. “He wanted a mate, so he attacked his girlfriend.”
“A bad B movie,” Tod agrees, staring at the photograph in his hand.
“Only you didn't change when he thought you should,” Aliah goes on. “So he thought it hadn't worked.”
Tod nods. “So he changed Kim, too.”
“Stop that,” I snap.
“Stop what?” Tod asks.
Folding my arms tight across my body, I glare at him. “Finishing each other's thoughts. There's only so much cute I can take right now.”
“Sorry,” they respond. In unison. They both struggle to hide grins.
Besides, there's a flaw in the idea he changed Kim just because nothing happened to me. “Couldn't he have smelled the difference in me?”
“It can take a while,” Tod replies with a shrug. “If you'd smelled different right away, then Mom would have gotten you up here sooner. He'd probably already given up on you before your scent shifted.”
Right... “I didn't feel human anymore,” I mutter. All the blood lust and the restlessness and the dreams of running in the wilderness, it was pretty obvious to me that something had changed.
Aliah gives me a sympathetic look, but Tod ignores the comment. “Does this help us catch him?”
“Maybe.”
“We're not using for you bait,” he clarifies. “Is there any other way this could help?”
“We could use her clothes,” Aliah suggests.
I snort. “I think he'd guess something was up if he found a trail of loose clothing leading him somewhere. But I may have something else.”
“What?” Tod demands swiftly.
“Perfume. There's this one I wore most of the time we were going out. He really loved it. Enough that I haven't worn it once since I've been here.”
“What's its name? Is it hard to find?”
“No need, I have some with me. There was a travel bottle in my toiletry bag. It came with me because I didn't notice it was there.” I nearly threw it out when I found it. Glad I didn't.
Tod's on his feet. “We need to tell Atherton.”
Aliah starts trying to get out of bed, her eyes latched onto Tod with a fanatic desperation. She doesn't want to be left. But she's having trouble getting up, so she needs to stay put.
“You guys wait here,” I tell Tod, jerking my head significantly toward his beloved. “Take care of Aliah. I'll be back.”
He doesn't look too pleased, but he goes to sit beside Aliah, holding her hand while I leave.
Taking a few seconds to grab the bottle first, I run downstairs to find Mr. Atherton. He's not in his office, but in his living quarters. Vivianne is there too, sitting on a sofa in front of darkened TV. She looks like she might have been crying recently.
“What is it, Michaela?” she asks, her voice raspy but kind.
“I think this will help catch the male all-were.”
I wave the little bottle through the air. The others trade a look. “And that is?” Mr. Atherton prompts.
“My ex-boyfriend's favorite perfume.”
Neither of them look startled, shocked, or even curious about the revelation that I know who's out there. They do look guilty though.
“You knew.” My knees give way, dumping me into the nearest chair. “You knew it was Troy, but you didn't tell me?”
Mr. Atherton sighs. “I thought knowing would make it harder for you just to sit here and wait.”
The wolf has a point. It is hard not to run outside, screaming Troy's name. He came all the way to Alaska to live outside in the cold for me; he'll come to talk to me if I call for him.
And then I can kick his ass.
Except he's a lot tougher than I am. I've never been in a fight in my life. Troy has. And, to my knowledge, he's won all of them.
Vivianne reaches out and places her hand on mine, tentatively, as though she thinks I'm going to jerk away. “We know he wants one of you girls, but we didn't want to scare you. And we certainly didn't want you running off to handle things yourself.”
“Not one of us,” I correct her, telling her about my conversation with Amanda. “She's certain I'm the one he's obsessing over. Even when I pointed out that Kim has wound up in the same school as me, she was sure that if he showed up it would be on my account, because I was all he talked about for days before he vanished. Of course,” I smile faintly, “she was probably also sure he wouldn't have four legs and a tail.”
Lifting the bottle, Mr. Atherton turns it in his hand, studying it. “This is something he would associate with you?”
I nod. “I wore it most of the time we were going out. He bought me a bottle for my birthday and stuff.” I shrug. “That's why I haven't worn it since I came here. It reminds me too much of him.”
Nodding slowly, he starts to smile. “So you think we could trap him with it?”
“I think so. Unless he's gotten a lot smarter than he used to be.”
He thanks me, then sends me away under renewed orders not to step outside of the building unless it's on fire.
I try to just chill, but the urge to go out and do something is nearly overwhelming.
Back in my room, I pick up my phone and dial a number from the local phone book. I think I know at least one person who will relate to how I'm feeling.
“Denali's,” comes a voice. It has the same professional tone as Warren's, but is nowhere near deep enough.
“Is Warren there?” I ask. “It's Michaela.”
I regret volunteering my name when she repeats it and then starts go, “Um...” and “Uh...” Clearly, she's stalling. “No,” she finally recovers. “He's not home. I think he went with his dad. They're trying to figure out what this all-were does all day.”
“Well, when you see him...” And why do I get the feeling she can see him right now? She can't be the one keeping him from talking to me, though. He would hear what she's doing, and he'd object if she was doing it without his permission. So, he just doesn't want to talk to me then. And he's too chicken to say so. “Just tell him I said hi, and that I hope he's alright, and that...” That I miss him more than I want to admit? That the fact he won't speak me to me makes me feel as though I'm shattering into a thousand fragments, each one throbbing in pain? “Tell him I know who the male all-were is.”
“What?” she hisses. I can hear footsteps, then a door closing.
“I know who he is. He's my ex-boyfriend. He turned me. Then he turned the girl he replaced me with. And then he came up here to stalk me. I gave Mr. Atherton some perfume that should help lure him out from wherever he is.”
“You cannot tell that to my son.” The words are frighteningly firm and full of threat, even though they're whispered.
“Why not?” I ask, genuinely perplexed.
“Because-” She cuts off her exclamation, returning to her steady whisper. “You just can't tell him, Michaela. Please?”
The please is so heartfelt I would have to be a complete bitch not to agree.
But I wish she'd explain why not.
I'm still obsessing over this hours later, when someone knocks on my door around five and sends my heartbeat to warp speed even though I know the knock isn't one Warren would use. It was far too timid.
Plus, there's the fact that the guy won't even talk to me on the phone. He's not exactly likely to be visiting anyway.
Expecting one of the foxes telling me it's time for the Lord of the Rings marathon they've planned to start, I open the door with a smile. The smile doesn't falter because I find out I'm wrong, although I'm certain my expression changes.
“Are you ogling me?” Seth asks. “And is that a good thing?” He assumes a look of puzzlement. “I'm not sure if I've ever been ogled before...”
“Oh, you've been ogled plenty, baby,” I assure him with a lascivious leer. Laughing at his expression, I let my face take on a more natural countenance. “Sorry.” I lean against the door frame. “You look good, Seth.” This is an understatement. I don't usually ogle people who merely look good. In a black suit with blue shirt and tie, the leopard looks at least a hundred different kinds of hot. And his eyes...
Actually, his eyes aren't nearly as gorgeous as they should be considering how well the clothes set them off. They're too worried.
“What's wrong? You're not nervous about Sarah, are you?” I don't know his date, but I can't imagine her being in any way displeased with him.
“No,” he responds quickly, sounding absolutely certain of the truth of the denial.
His eyes move into my room, then to the hallway, where people are running around frantically trying to finish last minute preparations, then back inside. I take the hint, scoot out of the doorway, and wave him inside, closing the door behind him.
Patiently, I wait.
He leans against my desk, picks up Wolfgang from beside my computer, staring at the plush wolf dully. He puts him down again and looks at me. “I'm worried about Sam.”
Worried about Sam?
“Why?” I sit down on the edge of my bed and peer at him. “I mean, other than the whole Bryce thing.”
His hands grip the edge of the desk. “Do I need something other than the whole Bryce thing?”
“Well, yeah.” I watch him closely, but his body isn't betraying much and his face is hidden. “She's hurt, but she's not going to fling herself off a glacier over it. She'll cry, she'll mope, she'll eat too much cheesecake, and then she'll get over it.”
He lets out a long breath. “But she will get over it?”
“It's just a crush, Seth.”
“Are you sure?” He asks this with a slow measure that makes me think he's placing a great deal of value in my answer.
“Pretty sure.”
Standing so still he looks like a statue, he takes a few long moments to think about this.
“Alright,” he breathes eventually. His eyes finally leave the floor and meet mine. “But you'll watch after her? Just in case she needs it?”
“Of course.” My smile is small, but hopefully reassuring. “Although, Samantha Fox isn't nearly as fragile as you're implying.”
“I know. It's just...” His head shakes, letting his unbound hair swish with the movement. “When Bryce started on about that bear yesterday morning, and I saw how much it hurt her... I don't know how I got out of there without trying to kill him.” He falls silent for several heartbeats, then glances reluctantly at his watch. “I have to go. Commitments, you know.”
“Yeah. Commitments.” I don't have any idea what else to say.
I watch the door for a while after he leaves, wondering what just happened. There's never been any evidence of anything between Seth and Sam before, but that certainly came across like more than friendly concern.
When the sounds of people in the hallway die down and I'm pretty sure everyone who's leaving has left already, I slink from my room to go down the rec room, where I find the two younger Foxes at the foosball table.
“What are you doing here?” Scot asks, sounding affronted.
I shrug. “I've never been into dances. It would have been a bother, going all the way to Anchorage to hunt for a dress, then having to wear it and do makeup, then having to force myself to get through a dance....”
“Is that girl code for no one asked you?” he interrupts as his sister shoots a goal. “Because if no one asked you, then the boys here are just plain stupid.”
Smiling at the kid, I shake my head. “Thanks for the sentiment, but several people did ask me.” Like half of the freshman class. They seem to think I'm heroic. “I honestly didn't want to go.”
Toni drops the ball in. “Besides, there's no reason to tie yourself to one person for the whole night. It's better to go stag anyway.”
She tried to sell this to her sister earlier. Sam didn't buy it. Unlike me, she had a dress and had been looking forward to going before Bryce's little bomb dropped. I don't know that he needs to die for it, but I wouldn't mind it if Seth roughed the bear up a little.
I wasn't going to tell Sam about the leopard's visit to my room, but she looks so forlorn cuddled up in an armchair with a tub of Ben and Jerry's clutched in her little hands that I find myself spilling the news within minutes of the opening credits.
“You're kidding,” Sam hisses when I'm done.
Holding my hand over my heart, I pledge, “May God strike me dead if I'm lying.” I grin and lower my hand. “I tell you, he was really worried about you. He wouldn't go until I promised him, like, a million times not to let you wander out onto the tundra and die.”
Sam stares at me by the flickering light of the television. “Seth?” she hisses. “We are still talking about Seth?”
“Yes! Seth!”
“Seth who goes to school here? The leopard? The one with the luxurious if bizarre hair and gorgeous eyes that delve into your soul and a body that's to die for? The Seth who could have any girl in this school, except for Amber and possibly - stress on the possibly - Aliah? That Seth?”
“What do you mean possibly Aliah?” Tod asks from where he lays on the sofa, his arm draping possessively over his mate, who promptly pinches him and then draws the arm tighter.
“Yes,” I say, ignoring the interruption. “That Seth.”
“You people are talking over the movie,” Scot complains.
Toni smacks at her brother. “But, what they're saying is more interesting than hobbits.”
“You'd make them shut up if they were talking over elves.”
“Hello! Only because Legolas is almost – almost – as gorgeous as the guy they're talking about. I mean, have you met Seth?”
“Hello! Not gay!”
Sam is still curled up in a pitiful way, she's still got her ice cream in a death grip, and the puffy redness has not fled from her face. But as her siblings start punching each other over a very mature argument of, “Be quiet!” verses, “No, you be quiet!” she is smiling.
My good deed accomplished, I slide over to lean against the edge of the couch. Tod reaches down to ruffle my hair. “Good work,” Aliah whispers.
Too bad I'm having so much trouble ignoring my own pit of despair. I try to get caught up in the fantasy and not dwell on why Warren won't talk to me, but it's like trying to ignore starving to death. It can't be done.
We take an intermission after The Fellowship of the Ring and before The Two Towers. Volunteering for popcorn detail, I run into the mini-kitchen and start the first bag in the microwave, then rummage through the lower cabinets for large bowls.
I'm halfway into one of them, reaching way into the back, when a sudden realization I'm no longer alone causes me to jerk up, smacking my head into a shelf with a clunk I'm sure was audible throughout the entire state.
The laughter behind me, I recognize.
“Jesus Christ, Warren, what is it with you freaking me out in kitchens?”
He stops laughing. “Sorry.”
He turns to go.
“Whoa! Not so fast!” I scamper to my feet.
Stopping with his back to me, he looks over his shoulder with deadened eyes. “What?”
Good question.
I feel as though I should be demanding explanations from him, but I'm not quite sure which ones.
The look in his eyes bothers me.
“What's wrong, Warren?”
“Nothing.” He turns away again, although his feet don't move. “I'm just here to pick up some stuff.” Another step.
“You're in the kitchen to pick up some stuff?”
“No.” His shoulders move under the power of a massive sigh, settling into an uncharacteristic slump. “I'm in the building to pick up some stuff. I'm in the kitchen because I smelled your scent coming in here and wanted to make sure you were alright. You seem to be.” He takes another three steps before I stop him again.
“Warren! What kind of stuff?”
“Just stuff from my room I don't want to leave here.”
“Don't want to leave?” I cross the space between us in some of the longest, quickest strides of my life. “You say that like you won't be here to use them.”
His face turns towards me, but his eyes refuse to meet mine. “I won't be.”
I don't know the name of the emotion that grips me, but it's cold and it hurts. My heart isn't breaking, it's freezing.
“Warren...”
He looks completely away, shifts his body, but doesn't leave. “It's better, Michaela.”
Then he does move away. One step... two... three. The tears make my vision blurry, but I can still see him approach the door, ready to leave, ready to walk right out of my life.
I shouldn't care, not this much. But I've never felt a pain this intense.
“Am I really that disgusting?”
He stops. “What?”
Sniffling, I run my hand along my nose, not caring how gross that is. “You find me so appalling you have to move? Kissing me was that revolting?”
“Michaela!” His hands wrap around my shoulders, and his eyes bore into mine. “Did I seem revolted to you?” he growls.
No, he didn't... not at the time. At the time, he seemed at least as attracted to me as I was to him. But then there was the email, and the refusing to talk to me, and now the leaving.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I struggle to draw enough breath to whimper. “You said you only did it because the moon drove you crazy. You said you were sorry. You regretted it. You're never going to do it again.”
There's an audible sigh, and the hands fall away, leaving my shoulders cold. “It wouldn't be very nice to Seth for me to keep doing things like that, would it?”
I open my eyes far enough to give him a confused squint.
“Seth?” My brain struggles through my agony to try to think.
“Seth?” I repeat again. Warren's looking at me like I'm an idiot. “You're not allowed to kiss me because of Seth?”
His face is close. “Your boyfriend?”
“He's not my boyfriend.” My tears have stopped. The faintest of glimmers of hope starts to shine. I almost, almost, manage to laugh. “I don't know where you are getting your gossip from, but it's not a reliable source.”
He scowls at me, the look dashing my newborn hope against the wall and drawing tears back to my eyes. His words are uttered in a guttural growl. “It's not gossip.”
“What do you mean?”
With a deep breath, he jams his hands into his hair, leaving his fingers tangled up in it. “I've seen you.”
“Seen us?” What the hell is he talking about?
His hands jerk forward. “Why are acting dumb?”
“It's not an act.” I shake my head. “I don't know what you think you picked up on, but you're wrong. We flirt some, but that's the extent of it.”
“Stop lying to me!” he roars.
“Warren.” It's a whimper, whispered as tears start to cascade and as my whole body begins to shake with emotion. I back up, stopping when I hit the counter. “I'm not lying.”
“I saw you. You were kissing him. And you meant it, Michaela. I could see you meant it.” The words are dragged from somewhere deep and dark and hidden. Hearing them, I slide down the side of the cabinet to the floor. “It hurt so much,” he whispers. “I jammed my claws full force into my leg and couldn't feel it.”
Jammed his claws... I stop shaking, traveling to the point where I am so upset as to appear calm.
“Blood.” My lips form the word, but I'm not sure it was audible. “It was your blood in the hallway outside of the music room.”
“Yes.”
That was the same day he left Wolfgang at my door, the plush wolf that I've clung to every night since. Bile rises in the back of my throat. That was the last day Warren was at school. He left, thinking I had chosen someone else.
“Warren...” I look up at him. His pain is raw in his eyes. “I'm sorry.”
Pausing for a tearful breath, I try to let him see how much I mean it.
“Sorry?” he asks in a dull voice.
“I...” I don't know what to say, what I should be explaining. “I never meant to hurt you.”
God, say something less trite! “It...” Struggling to breathe, I take half a second to try to think. It doesn't work. “I didn't even know it would have hurt you...”
Why won't he say anything? Why is he just standing there, looking at me with an expression I can't translate and a tension that feeds my tears?
“And he was so sad...” I sniffle again, an ugly sound I'm sure comes with an ugly wince. “And I didn't know I shouldn't have done it. And that's all there was, one kiss. And then we laughed about it because the idea of us being anything other than friends is just ridiculous. And I swear that's all we are, all we ever were or ever will be.”
The sudden surge of words collides with a series of sobs that still only when I realize Warren has edged closer to me.
Expression guarded, his head leans to the side. He takes a long breath, and his eyes narrow. “You smell like him.”
He's not exactly accusing me of anything. He's just doesn't appear certain he can let himself believe me.
I sigh. “I told you, we're friends. You probably smell Sam on me too, and, I assure you, I'm not dating her either.”
His stance doesn't alter.
“I last saw Seth several hours ago,” I tell him, although I don't know why I'm going to these lengths to explain myself. If he doesn't trust me, do I want him to stay? “He was on his way to the dance. Without me. And he was worried about Sam. He just wanted me to tell him she'd be fine and he was doing the right thing to run off to take the girl he'd promised to go with to the dance. I gave him a very chaste hug on the way out because he is my friend, and he seemed to need it.”
Abruptly, Warren sits. “He's your friend.”
“Yes.”
He looks down at the denim stretched over his knees, then pulls his gaze up to mine. “Am I your friend?”
My eyes drop. “Sometimes.”
“When I'm not being an idiot?”
“I don't mind you being an idiot.” Looking at him, I start to feel everything might be okay. “Just don't be a jerk about it.”
Every so slightly, his mouth curves, and his eyes start to crinkle. “I'll try.”
We sit, looking at each other and not saying anything, for what feels like years, before he takes a long, very shaky, breath as asks, “So, does that mean you are currently unattached?”
Currently unattached? I smile at the phrasing. “I don't know.”
His eyes narrow. “You don't know?”
“No.” I shake my head, my eyes staying with Warren's. “You see, there's this one guy I'm really, insanely, interested in... I even broke into his room once and stole a dirty shirt so I could wrap it around my pillow at night.” His eyebrows go up. “And he gave me this stuffed animal I not only can't sleep without, but would carry around to class if people wouldn't make fun of me for it. And he disappeared for a few days, and I've nearly gone crazy looking for him pretty much everywhere I go, up to and including the ladies' room.”
I was fine when I started speaking, but the words are getting harder to form, my breath harder to draw. My earlier panic grabs hold of me again, shaking me like a rag doll. “But he's stopped answering my email, and he won't take my phone calls, and now he says he's leaving school.”
The tears are back in force, spilling down my face in an avalanche of watery grime. “And I know it's crazy when I've only known him for a month, but...” I have to fight to have enough air to go on. “I don't know how I'll stand it if you leave, Warren.”
Leaning over my knees, I stop talking and allow myself to cry in earnest.
“Michaela.” He moves to wrap me in his arms, pulling me onto his lap, placing me sideways to rest my head on his shoulder. Hands pushing me into him and stroking down my hair, he makes soothing sounds. “Shh... It's alright. I'm not going anywhere.”
“You said,” I gasp.
“That was before what you said.” He arms tighten for a brief moment. “How could I leave after all of that?”
“How could you leave before it?”
There's a gentle sigh. “I didn't know you wanted me... to stay.”
“Of course I want you.”
He squeezes me tighter.
“God, I love you, Michaela. So much.”
He loves me.
Loves me...
Love...
I love him too, don't I? That's what I was saying before, in a much more roundabout way.
I am in love with Warren Denali.
I am in love with a wolf.
My heart is cheering, and I grin as I pull back, even though the tears haven't stopped. I put my arms around his neck, bring his head down for a kiss, trying to put everything I feel into it so he will know, beyond a doubt, that I do value him... want him... love him.
“Mike!”
I go still at the sound of my name pounding against me from outdoors.
“I know you're in there, Mike!”
Oh, expletively expletiving expletive! My head turns, my eyes going in horror to the windows.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
“Who is that?” Warren half-growls, half-breathes into my ear.
I look back to him, a new level of fear surging inside of me. I understand now why his mother didn't want me to tell him what's going on. The fear of Warren doing something stupid and getting himself hurt is crippling.
“Come on, just one dance?” the voice comes again. “For old time's sake?”
Warren's teeth grind together. “Who is that?” The question, slowly ground out, is a deep, ominous, rumble.
“It's Troy,” I admit, clinging to Warren for dear life when he tries to spring to his feet.