“I’ll do it,” Christiana says, holding out her hand. “You probably shouldn’t be touching that stuff any more than you have to, right?”
Probably not. I give her the dented tin and strip off my vest, shirt following right after. The last thing I need is silver sticking to my clothes, rubbing in with constant friction. Christiana’s eyes flicker up and down my body before her face heats up.
“Super bad timing.” She clears her throat. “Turn around?”
I do, dropping down to my knees so she can reach the back of my neck. My entire body is stiff as steel, blood surging and trying to take a new shape, but I force my eyes closed, breathing as deep as I can.
Not yet. Not yet.
My wolf claws and thrashes in my head as Christiana smears the silver paste across my back. It’s brutally cold, like a blade made out of ice cutting down to the nerve. Nausea floods my throat, but I do everything I can to swallow back the bile, pins and needles exploding across my body wherever the silver touches. Every pass of her fingers goads the beast again, rage incoherent as it’s bottled farther and farther down.
I’m going to be sick.
The vomit has more red in it than I’d like, but a little blood is better than the alternative. By the time I finish heaving, Christiana is frantically wiping her hands off on her shirt, then squeezes a bottle of water over them just to be sure, scrubbing off every little silver fleck. She passes it to me next, letting me wash out my mouth and guzzle the rest.
“Are you okay?” she whispers. “You look...even more pale than you usually do.”
Okay isn’t the word I’d use. My stomach is churning and everything hurts, but the wolf is distant, like someone else’s beast is calling for me instead. Vera’s balm—or whatever it should be called—is working.
“I’m not going to change.” My voice is a rasp, rough from acid. “We should stay by Connor’s scanner.”
Christiana sits down next to me, worry pulling her shoulders tight. Her heartbeat is vacillating wildly, but she welcomes my hand when I offer it, clutching at my fingers. Then she lets go, visibly nervous.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she mumbles.
“Christiana, take my hand.” I offer it again. “Take it and grip as hard as you can, with all the strength you have. I’ll tell you when it hurts.”
She looks skeptical, but does as I ask. Her entire arm tenses with the effort, and I hold her eyes the entire time until she realizes what’s happening.
“That doesn’t do anything, huh?” Christiana lets out a soft laugh. Her shoulders relax, just a touch. “Is Talisa sure you’re not immortal?”
“Silver can kill us if it’s applied to an otherwise lethal wound.” Right now it’s burning like napalm, but contact alone isn’t a killer. “Beyond that, it takes a lot more.”
“Like what?” she asks. “Getting hit by a truck?”
“The truck would lose.” A lot of supposed freak accidents that people survive untouched have something to do with us. “And I don’t know...maybe a bomb, if it was big enough. Our kind of warfare is pretty old-school. The best way to kill a werewolf is with another one.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Christiana wraps her other hand around mine, cradling both in her lap. “I’m sorry, Micah. Everything that’s happening—”
“I don’t blame you in any way,” I say, as firm as I can. “They followed me. I shouldn’t have ignored that cop.”
“He wouldn’t have been at the bar if Andrew wasn’t looking for me,” she protests. “The fact that he’d call the entire department on you makes my head spin. He and I were only together for like two years. I didn’t think I was his forever girl or—”
Because she’s mine.
My throat tightens as Christiana lays her head against my shoulder. Why would she want eternity after what he’s done to her, what he’s doing now? How would it feel like anything but a trap, escaping one person only to be bound by another?
“Why me?” she whispers. “Why won’t he leave me the hell alone?”
There’s no reason, because it’s not about logic. It’s about power. “Because you leaving means he doesn’t have control. That everyone doesn’t bend to his whim. Anything that gets in the way of that has to be destroyed.”
She looks up, meeting my eyes. “Kind of sounds like you have some personal experience on that front.”
“My relationship with my mother is...complicated.” For once, talking about her hurts less than everything else going on right now. “Although she used to be a good person. Doesn’t sound like Andrew even started from there.”
“No,” Christiana admits, and even that single syllable is hot and bitter. “I wrote so much of it off in the beginning, because guys, right? He had a steady job and was nice on the first date, and saying this out loud tells me how low my standards were. Yikes.”
“Or that the world raised you to settle,” I say quietly.
She opens her mouth twice and reconsiders, then mutters, “Well...yeah. That part definitely doesn’t help.”
Awkward silence stretches between us before she asks, “How are you feeling?”
Like I’m burning alive. “Been better.”
Christiana presses a soft kiss to my shoulder. “Does talking help? Or is it better for us to stay quiet?”
Talking isn’t easy, but it’s the best distraction I have. “I like the sound of your voice. If that doesn’t sound strange.”
Her laugh is lighter this time. “I appreciate that out of everything we’ve had happen, you’d worry about liking my voice being weird.”
Now my face is burning too. At least that doesn’t hurt. I love her so much. Why is saying that out loud so much harder than everything I’ve endured already? “The last thing I want to do is drive you away.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Christiana’s thumb rolls over my knuckles in slow, soothing circles. “I’m pretty into you, if you haven’t noticed.”
I have, but I want her for keeps. I’d beg for it. I’d do anything for that smile, for her kindness, to drive back the shadow of fear in her eyes every time she has to say her ex’s name out loud for good.
“Is this the kind of life you’re looking for?” I ask. “Staying out in the woods? Bike rides back and forth to the bar?”
“The bar wasn’t my long-term plan. Or my first plan,” Christiana admits.
“What was?”
She bites her lip. “I majored in dance at ASU. Growing up, I was pretty obsessed, and I think that’s why my parents let me go for it. Except there’s about a hundred pro jobs in the whole industry. Everything else is contracts in L.A. or trying to make it big on social media with choreo, unless you can sing too and head to Broadway.”
I nudge her with my shoulder. “What’s wrong with that?”
“After dunking like forty grand of my parents’ money into the impossible, the results were a totally unrelated job and some tiny apartment. Andrew asked me to move in with him constantly, but I always said no. Something about it scared me.” Christiana lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “Guess my instincts were on point there.”
They tend to be. If only my own weren’t stuck on frenzy right now. “Maybe you can dance for me sometime. Or...teach me how.”
“You can’t dance?” she asks, a smile pulling at her lips. “I bet you’d be good with practice. Strong and fast is a good combination for that kind of work.”
I lean over to nuzzle against Christiana’s hair. Her scent is grounding, and I need my wits about me. “You didn’t answer my first question.”
“What kind of life am I looking for?” She turns her head, eyes meeting mine. “I want to be free. I don’t want to hustle twenty-four seven, worrying about credit scores and bills and that I’m a total disappointment.”
“You are not a disappointment,” I insist.
Amusement shines in those beautiful brown eyes. “You’re a little biased there, Micah.”
About as biased as I can be, but that doesn’t make it any less true. “I want freedom too. I left behind a lot of opportunities at home. The kind of power a lot of people dream of. But it wasn’t worth the cost, and honestly, none of it compares to a night out with my pack, following the wind any way it goes.”
“It’s pretty great.” Her head tilts higher, lips a breath from mine. “When I’m on the back of your bike, I mean. I don’t have to worry about anything at all.”
I kiss her. Christiana melts into the contact, pressing against me with a sigh. Pain is a distant memory with her taste on my tongue, even with the moonlight pouring down on us, calling to a beast older than spoken language. This is just as primal, a bond that needs no explanation, implacable—unbreakable.
I have to tell her.
The scanner near my boot squawks with static. “Units, converge on Horony National Park. Confirmed motorcycle tracks on the main trail. Proceed on foot. All officers advised to use caution. Suspect is armed and dangerous.”
“They’re worried about a gun,” Christiana whispers in disbelief. “If only they knew.”
To be fair, I do also have a gun.
“We have to be ready to move.” I stand up, ignoring the spike of pain down my spine. Every muscle bunches tight, convulsing, and I shake it off with a growl. “I’ll be listening, but watch for flashlights. And dogs.”
She swallows hard. “What do we do if we see them?”
“Back away, slow and careful. Noise draws attention, but we can try to walk around the far side of the lake. It’ll muddle our scent and keep them from surrounding us.” Worse comes to worst, I can take her into the water with me and get away as fast as I can. “Cops aren’t actually very good at catching people, if it makes you feel better.”
“I just haven’t had the best of luck these days,” Christiana says. “Well, except for you.”
The distinct crunch of boots on gravel catches my ear. With her hand in mine, I start to weave through the trees, putting distance between us and the noise. There are at least four of them, but I doubt that’s the whole group. Even a first-year rookie knows to cover more ground by splitting up.
“What about your bike?” she whispers. “Or, um, your shirt?”
Them seeing me half-naked is the least of my concerns. “I can buy a new bike if they’re that vindictive. And I still have the keys, so they can’t steal it that way.”
Keeping quiet in this shape is a lot more difficult than I’d like. As a wolf, I can bound through the park without a single snapped branch, but right now my attention’s split between watching Christiana and listening for the rest of the search party. Pine needles scrape against my skin, leaving behind a faint sting, sap and earth gripping at the bottom of my boots, nature trying to lure me back in with every stride.
Six sets of footsteps. No, four—and a dog. I hear it huff, scenting the air, and a growl spills from its throat.
“Found something, boy?” an officer whispers. “Go on, get!”
The leash drops with a clink, and I pick up Christiana without thinking, launching us over a fallen pine and making a beeline for the lake. She clutches at me, burying a gasp against my throat, but holds on tight until the trees break. This late, the water is black, cut through with swathes of silver where the moon shines brightest.
“Are they coming after us?” she says, soft as she can.
The animal-quick heartbeat coming up behind me says yes. I duck behind a thick copse of rock and bushes, pressing us down into the shadows. Christiana presses her face against my chest, trying to keep her breathing quiet. I nuzzle the top of her hair, stroking a hand down her back to try to soothe the hammering pace of her heart. It could give us away as easily as scent, if the dog is good at its work.
As the noise slowly fades to silence, I relax a little—not good enough, it seems. There’s plenty of other wolfish trails around for them to follow, so hopefully that will keep the canine side of things confused. Tricking people is easy, animals less so. Yet Christiana stays rigid in my embrace, locked up by fear.
“They’re gone,” I say softly. “It’s okay.”
“For now,” she mumbles, leaning back so I can see her face. “Thanks for the carry.”
“Least I could do.” Certainly doesn’t feel like enough, considering the circumstances.
Even that brief sprint has my body aching, weak in a way I’ve never felt before. It has to be the silver, but that sickening shield is the only thing keeping the wolf at bay. Agony scorches my skin when I try to stretch, nausea lingering like lead in the back of my mouth.
“Keep talking to me,” I whisper, needing that anchor. “Tell me more about you. About dancing. About your family. Anything I don’t know.”
“Family.” The word makes her smile—a good sign. “I think you’d get along with my dad. He was a pretty wild rocker type when he met my mom back in the day. She and her friends were visiting New Orleans from Mérida and he serenaded her at a bar.”
What an image. “With a rock song?”
“By badly strumming his electric guitar because he was four drinks in.” Christiana shakes her head. “She told him to come find her when he was sober. And he did. Apparently he spent the next day and a half tracking her down to apologize for being a jackass.”
I manage to smile too, a little. “That’s one way to fall in love with someone.”
“Right? They spent the rest of her trip together, and Dad booked a ticket back with her to Mexico. There’s a billion old photos from them traveling around together, but when they wanted to start a family, they came up here to Arizona.” She shrugs. “You know, the whole American Dream in one package.”
“How did that work out?” I ask.
“Pretty good. I mean, I love my parents, and they always have wanted what’s best for me.” Christiana bites her lip. “Mom and I used to go down south together all the time, because she didn’t want me to forget where I came from. Then I got older. With work and school and Andrew getting in the way, I haven’t crossed the border in a long time.”
“Maybe I could take you back there someday.” It’s nice to consider the future for a second, even with danger in the rearview mirror. “I’d have to get a fake passport, though. Never been out of the country.”
Her eyes widen a little. “Do you not have a birth certificate or anything?”
“Not a real one.” Like most werewolves, I was born at home, far away from prying human eyes. “Otherwise we’d have to go to the trouble of faking our deaths too often. So there’s a big business in fake IDs and other personal info. We sell tons of it to your kind too.”
“Now you have me wondering if Bobby back in high school was actually a werewolf.” A spark of humor shines in her eyes. “He sold me a terrible ID senior year so I could buy wine coolers for a homecoming party. The card worked, but the party sucked.”
“Is that when you started bartending?” I tease.
Christiana huffs. “I wish. That might have made me a little more popular. But I’ll make you anything you want when we get out of this.”
“I can’t get drunk,” I admit.
Her eyes widen. “Wait a second. Like at all?”
“Some of it is metabolism, but our body chemistry in general is very...resistant.” Best word I can think to describe it. We have a lot more theory than science on our side. No one can take advantage of secrets they can’t steal. A lot of humans would pay anything for even a taste of what we are. “Royal smoked a growhouse’s worth of weed once, and the only effect was making them dizzy for about fifteen minutes. Alejandra’s chugged entire bottles of vodka on bets to shark people who don’t know better.”
Christiana slips a hand over her mouth to hide a laugh. “Wow. Guess that kind of limits werewolf recreational activities.”
“Ours are just different.” Sex is common—for those who enjoy it—but so is chasing adrenaline any way we can come up with. Some wolves have climbed the tallest mountains in the world or jumped off cliffs just to have something to do. “But on the flip side, if someone’s an asshole, they can’t blame it on being intoxicated.”
“If I had a dollar for every time someone told me it’s the beer that made them call me a bitch.” Christiana rolls her eyes. “I prefer the honesty. Alcohol’s only good when people are there to have fun.”
A stick snaps in the distance, and Christiana freezes. I press a gentle finger to her lips, listening and taking in the scents around us before lowering my hand. “Just a deer.”
“You’re sure?” she asks, breathless with terror.
“Yeah.” The cops are stampeding their way through the woods, nowhere near as subtle. “But we should probably move anyway. Mixing up the trail they have to follow makes their jobs that much harder.”
She nods, taking my hand as we stand up. There’s no sign of flashlights along the edge of the lake, no movement beyond a few nightjars and cactus wrens fluttering between branches. I lead us deeper into the narrow pines, taking the roughest path possible; the more they have to duck and climb, the less likely anyone is to pursue. Christiana endures without complaint, although I know it can’t be comfortable.
“Do you need to take a break?” I ask quietly.
“No,” she insists, squeezing my hand tighter. “But it would be great if you could kiss these scratches better later.”
She doesn’t even have to ask. “I promise.”
Even with my senses attuned to the world around me, Christiana’s scent remains the strongest, sweet and cloying. I want nothing more than to sink into that heat, for our bodies to meet until there’s no telling the difference between them. If I could kiss away every fear, I would. If I could will the world to treat her more kindly, I’d upend anything to make it happen.
The sharp scent of bourbon and spice suddenly fills my nose, undercut by a cold base of alcohol. It’s familiar, but I can’t place from where.
Rage bursts across my vision, red and overwhelming. The wolf surges with more force than I’ve ever felt, and my jaw snaps open, fangs bursting forth.
No!