Chapter 4

I found a pay phone in front of a gas station and was able to beg two quarters off a man filling up his car, though I forgot about my red irises and lack of sunglasses until I noticed him staring.

“Contacts,” I explained lamely.

He nodded and wordlessly handed over the change. I called Jaze’s number and watched Grace as she wound and unwound a strand of hair around her finger and stared sightlessly out at the small town. I wondered if having the heightened senses of a werewolf helped compensate for her loss of eyesight.

“Hello?”

“Are you the one that sicced the suits on us?” I demanded without preamble.

“You’re the one who set us up,” Jaze accused. “There were armed men from who knows what organization trying to kill us on sight. I don’t take lightly to being shot at.”

I fought back a snarl at his tone. “Well, that makes two of us. How do I know you didn’t set us up?”

“Because I don’t do that,” Jaze replied, his voice tight. “I help werewolves. My goal is not to get them shot full of holes and silver. We were lucky to get out with our hides in one piece.”

The frustration in his voice calmed my agitation. I let out a small breath. “Us, too. Now what?”

“Where are you? They chased us northwest until we off-roaded and lost them in the mountains. Now we’re in some sort of mining community.”

“We’re in small town a few miles west.”

“Is there somewhere we can meet up?”

“The gas station, unless your phone’s bugged and we have to run again,” I said wryly.

“Mouse thinks it’s the website. They must have traced the IP address to the library. We’ll have to shut it down until we get it fixed.” He fell silent and someone else spoke in the background. He listened, then said into the phone, “It’ll take us about a half hour to get there, maybe more, but we’ll push it. I don’t want to risk those other men finding you before we do.”

Grace turned to me, tension in every line of her body.

“Who’s we?” I demanded.

“It’s too dangerous for werewolves to travel alone. I brought Mouse who’s a werewolf from my pack, my friend Brock, and another werewolf named Jet who’s handy to have around in a fight, which is definitely what we’ve run into.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered. The thought that other werewolves were helping eased my mind a bit, but we weren’t out of trouble yet. I glanced at Grace. Her hand that rested lightly on the frame of the phone booth now gripped the metal so tight her knuckles turned white. I ran a fingertip along her fingers and she took my hand. My leg throbbed as if to remind me why we needed help; we wouldn't get much further by ourselves. I closed my eyes. “Fine; we’ll be waiting. Try to hurry and don’t let the suits follow you here.”

“Great advice,” Jaze replied drolly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I growled and hung up the phone with a loud bang that made Grace jump.

“Sorry. I guess I’m a bit edgy,” I apologized. I took her hand and limped around the corner of the gas station to a small grassy area in the back. The grass was dried and mostly brown, but it felt good to sit down and rest. I stretched out my leg and tried not to wince at the throb of hot pain that ran up my calf.

From our position, I could see the road coming toward the gas station from the north, which I guessed was the direction Jaze would take. A black truck pulled into the gas station followed by a car and a four-wheeler. Two loud men in coveralls and cowboy hats passed from my vision into the station, then a truck parked at a corner spot and the driver turned off the vehicle but sat smoking a cigarette as if waiting for someone. I kept an eye on him, but he never glanced in our direction. I wondered if that was good or bad.

Eventually, a gray SUV with tinted windows pulled up on the other side of the gas station and a boy about a year or so younger than me stepped out of the passenger side. He stood about six feet tall, had dark blond hair, and wore a faded brown leather jacket. He was followed by another boy roughly a year younger with black hair and a stance that said he could take care of himself. The driver, a scrawny boy who barely looked old enough to drive, hurried to their side along with another boy with spiky hair who grinned and waved when he spotted us.

The first boy said something to the others and they waited by the truck, though it was obvious the black haired one didn’t like the idea.

“Still think we’re government spies?” Jaze asked when he was close enough. He stopped a few feet away and I appreciated the space.

“You could be informants,” I hazarded, helping Grace to her feet.

A smile touched the corners of his lips. “You could, too.” He glanced at Grace and his brow creased with concern. “Let’s get you guys home. Looks like you’ve been through the ringer.”

“We have,” I said quietly. I squeezed Grace’s hand reassuringly and took a step forward.

She pulled back, her expression tight. “How do we know we can trust you?”

Jaze glanced back at his friends, and when he looked back his expression was honest but anxious. “Helping other werewolves is what I do. We have a safe place where you can lay low until we figure out what’s going on, but we’ve got to get out of here before they track you down again.”

Grace turned in my direction and her body trembled. “I’m scared, Kaynan,” she said softly.

I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her. She rested her head against my chest. “It’s okay,” I said quietly into her hair. “I promise no one will hurt you.” I took a breath to calm my own nerves and was filled with her wild, werewolf scent mixed with vanilla and cinnamon. “I’ll take care of you, okay?” My heart clenched at the same words I had once told my sister.

Grace nodded and stepped back, her grip tight in mine. “Okay.”

Jaze led the way back to the truck. He glanced back once and asked, “What happened to your leg?”

I had been trying to hide the limp, but after all the walking it was so pronounced it didn’t matter. “Got shot,” I said simply.

Grace’s hand tightened in mine, but she kept silent.

“You’re still alive, so I’ll assume the bullet’s not silver. Couldn’t get it out?” Jaze asked in a level tone I appreciated.

“Not on my own. The skin healed over it by the time we stopped running and personal surgery isn’t a specialty of mine,” I responded dryly.

He gave a slight smile when we got to the SUV. “Jet, found someone who apparently likes bullets as much as you do.”

The black haired boy lifted an eyebrow at me but opened the door without saying anything. I stepped inside and helped Grace up, then guided her to the back seat and sat down beside her. She buckled her seatbelt, then whispered for me to do the same. I fought back a smile and obeyed.

“You taking care of me?” I whispered as the scrawny boy started the SUV.

“Apparently you don’t do a good job of it on your own,” she whispered back, a touch of resentment in her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you got shot?”

“Nothing we could do about it. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

She gave a soft, endearing snort. “Things were already worse. Not telling me doesn’t help anything.”

I watched the road race outside the window. Jaze had taken the front seat again, and the other two boys, one of whom I was surprised to smell was human, took the seats in front of us to give us the back seat to ourselves.

I was grateful for their consideration when Grace’s eyes shut and her head tipped forward. I scooted over another seat and lowered her gently so she could rest across the seats with her head pillowed on my lap. “Thank you,” she whispered, her face pale and worn. “But you should be the one sleeping.”

I shook my head, remembered that she couldn’t see it, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’m not tired,” I lied. “We’ll trade when you wake up.”

She mumbled something that sounded like ‘alright’ with a soft smile that touched my heart, then she fell silent. The steady sound of sleep breathing soon followed.

Sitting was apparently worse than walking with a bullet in the leg. The adrenaline from being chased and the necessity of pushing ourselves had kept me from focusing on the pain, but sitting and doing nothing made it throb and burn until my body ached with fever again. My shirt stuck to my sweaty skin, and my vision blurred at the edges.

“You don’t look so good,” the human with the spiky hair, Brock, said some time later.

He passed me a bottle of water; I downed it and was thirsty for more. He exchanged a concerned look with Jet, who glanced at my leg.

“Throbbing yet?” he asked in a reserved tone.

“Now that I have time to think about it, yeah.”

“Meg’ll take care of you; she’s great with removing bullets. Jet can tell you. He’s had a lot of experience,” Brock said with his affable grin.

Jet motioned for me to lift up my pant leg. I pulled it up carefully so as not to wake up Grace and moved my leg so he could see it better. The movement sent a surge of pain through my calf and I gritted my teeth. A red and white pocket surrounded the bullet’s entrance; red lines streaked away from the wound up my leg. I looked away. A tough stomach wasn’t one of my strong points.

“It’ll heal when the bullet’s out,” Jet said.

I liked his simple way of speaking, to the point with nothing frivolous. I compared him to Renee and almost laughed at the conversations they would have.

The thought of my girlfriend back home brought a sickening pain to my stomach. They thought me dead. All of them did. After what I had done, it was better they continue to think that. A shiver from the fever ran through my body.

“Want more water?” Brock asked.

I nodded and he handed me another bottle. I finished it, then sat back and stared out the window at the darkening sky and the barren desert beyond. I had never been to New Mexico before, but my first impression was of sand, the sun setting behind red mountains at our back, and eyes that gleamed in our headlights. The hair on the back of my neck rose at a glimpse of a dog-like creature I thought was a coyote. The urge to chase it surged through my body and I fought the impulse to phase. I loathed the animal instincts that warred with my tattered human thoughts. I closed my eyes and tried to block out both.