Chapter Eight

Charlie

 

The following morning, Dad excused me from class. I had to tell Brent The Babysitter I was experiencing “female problems,” but it worked. He’d reddened, mumbled something about delivering the message, and a few minutes later, Dad had sent a note up to “rest and feel better.”

I spent the day alone in my room, reading the pack law book and talking to my mom. Both were frustrating tasks. The law book still yielded nothing even though I’d been through it twice now. And there was only so much I could tell Mom. I wasn’t stupid. I knew they were listening to my calls.

At least my new family had left me alone. Even Regan hadn’t showed and that was fine by me. I might’ve choked on taking down that deer but I was determined to beat Regan. To show them all I wasn’t useless—as a wolf or a human or even a sister. Part of me did wish I had some ally—even Regan—to ask about the strange vampire I’d seen in the woods. But I wasn’t willing to do that if it meant giving away my secret friendship with Owen. At least, I thought it was a friendship. Every time we got closer to something else, one of us seemed to scramble back. I wasn’t sure what we were headed toward anymore.

When I woke Saturday morning, the sunshine streaming through my window made the future seem a little brighter.

It was a day off that hopefully included some training time with my favorite vampire. I checked the clock, towel-drying my hair still damp from the shower. Time to go.

I grabbed my hoodie—despite the warmth of the day, I needed to cover the growing sets of bruises that proved I wasn’t spending all my time away simply running. I took my usual route down the stairs and out the back door. The morning air was cool, still fresh with the dew evaporating from the tips of the grass. I loved it this way, when all the smells melded together and created a scent so intoxicating you wanted to bottle it for later.

But even the perfect weather here in Paradise wasn’t enough to distract me. The moment I looked up from the wet grass, I was met with the completed construction of the arena. It sat erect and silent in the lower half of the yard, the wood so new and smooth it looked like an imitation rather than fresh oak felled by pack members mere days ago.

Owen was expecting me in the gray in-between of our territory line any minute now. But the frustration of what felt like impending defeat choked me, and I couldn't make my legs move into those trees. All I could do was stare at the arena. One of us would lose there. At first, beta had seemed like an acceptable consolation prize, but not anymore.

The idea of deferring to Regan, dealing with her mood swings and cutting remarks day in and day out forever … and even worse—watching her marry Owen…

Hot tears burned my lids at the thought.

It was crazy. I was seventeen—NOT ready to marry anyone. And I wasn’t even sure I had feelings for Owen. I mean, I couldn’t. Or shouldn’t. He was the enemy. So it’s not like I wanted him for myself, but some possessive, animal instinct flared with fury at the thought of watching him promise himself to another.

I paced the lawn, slapping my fist loosely into the opposite palm, taking calming breaths to center myself. It was ridiculous, but I felt like I was going to start crying.

I could not cry.

Not here. There were eyes on me—there were always eyes on me—and I knew that if I started crying, the pack was going to see it. They didn't need one more reason to think less of me. I tilted my head back to the sky, shutting my eyes.

Calm down, Charlie.

With my nose tilted to the air, I caught a familiar cold, woodsy smell. A smell that immediately shot thrills of excitement deep into my belly.

Owen.

My eyes flew open. Even though I couldn't see him, I knew he was here—lurking just on the edge of the woods again.

Fearing for his safety made me forget all of my self-pity. I tied my hair back into a ponytail, just like I did every time I "went jogging," and ran into the forest.

It might have been my imagination, but I thought I could feel Owen's presence. It was more than just his smell. It was a sense of certainty deep in my stomach. Even though I couldn't hear him, I knew that he was following me into the murky depths of the forest.

I stopped in our usual clearing. There was still no sight or sound of him. But he was there.

“Owen,” I whispered, eyes narrowed as I scanned the trees for a flash of pale skin.

Nothing.

Another rustling but still no visual, and I realized what it would take to find him. Slowly, I let my eyelids slide shut.

“Owen,” I repeated, letting my hearing drift on the air, through the subtle cracks and shifts in the trees. Over broken leaves barely brushed by footsteps too light to detect with human ears.

My wolf pricked, shoving to the surface until I was only centimeters from shifting. I barely hung on to my fingers and toes as I leaned in.

I felt the softest shift of air along the small hairs of my cheek.

He was coming.

I heard the rustle of leaves an instant before a fist drove into my back, between my shoulder blades. If I had stood still, it wouldn't have hurt much at all—it was meant to be a love tap. But I did move, and I moved the wrong way. I threw myself backward on instinct—the wrong instinct—and his concrete knuckles jammed into my spine.

“Ouch!” I cried, eyes flying open.

Owen stopped dead, shock in every line of his body. "Charlie!"

He stepped forward, hands outstretched, trying to catch me and comfort me.

But the sharp pain of the blow brought all of my instincts roaring to the surface. I grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward, jutting out my hip. I threw him over my leg and onto the dirt. He landed on his back and had barely scuffed the dirt before he was on his feet again.

Owen blurred into motion, leaping at me, crimson eyes blazing. I twisted out of the way, gripping my wolf with all of the mental strength I had. Rather than force it anywhere, I let it rule me for once. I let it choose.

Jumping to the other side of the clearing, where he couldn't reach me, I dropped into a crouch and gave in to my wolf. Owen waited until I finished shifting and then advanced. I pulled my top lip back in a toothy growl. The wolf in me was pissed about that first hit—accident or not. After everything that had happened over the past few days, I wanted to show him I could fight. I wanted him to look more scared than amused.

When he was almost on me I darted forward, head low and jaw open. I went for his shin, hoping to throw him off balance, but he danced away faster than my eyes could follow. I huffed and repositioned.

We went again.

Every time I got close, Owen would dance away, always just out of reach. He also never got in any more blows against me. I was more out of breath than battered when we finally stopped.

I shifted back near a hidden cluster of trees. With Owen around, I never knew when something would distract me or throw off the shift and I’d end up human with no shirt or something embarrassing, so I needed to be careful. But my running shorts and tee were firmly in place when I felt two legs under me again instead of four.

I stepped clear and marched back over to Owen. He was leaning against an ancient-looking spruce, arms crossed loosely. His stance appeared bored or faintly amused. The look in his eye let me know there was more to it than that.

“You did okay, kitten.”

“Okay?” I echoed, indignant.

“Well, it wasn’t Chuck Norris or anything, but you’ve got potential. If you’d learn to defend your vulnerabilities you might have a shot.” The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. “And if you didn't throw yourself onto my fist.”

I glared, hating how easy this was for him. For all of them. “You really suck at pep talks, you know that?”

He grinned. “You should hear my inspirational speeches.” The smile faded as he grabbed my arm, pulling me against his chest. Owen suddenly looked serious. So much more serious than I had ever seen him before. I could barely breathe with my face pressed into his neck as he tilted my head to the side, pulling back my shirt to look down at my back. “Did I hurt you?”

If I said no, was he going to let me go? Honestly, I didn't want him to.

In a bold move, I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and breathed his musk in deeply. In answer, his fingertips traced down the furrow of my spine and I shivered.

“I think I’ll live,” I managed.

“You should be more careful,” he said, his breath tickling my ear.

My lips twitched and the tension lightened. “You're the one who punched me in the back.”

Owen took me by the shoulders, forcing me to look up at him. When we stood this close, I should have been able to see all of his imperfections: the pores of his skin, places that he had missed shaving under his chin, too much hair around his eyebrows. The usual flaws that teenage boys—human boys—carried with them everywhere they went.

But Owen had no flaws. His skin was smooth perfection, like ivory. The dark pools of his eyes captured me, holding my heart suspended in their endless depths.

“I would never hurt you, Charlie,” he said. My name was silk on his lips.

I found my hands creeping underneath the front of his shirt, seeking out a gap of skin. I needed to feel him. My brain wasn't part of the decision—and any doubts I might have had were utterly silenced when my fingertips made contact with his ribs.

“I know,” I said. “I trust you.”

His thumb ran along the line of my jaw then caught the back of my head, cupping it closer. His brow creased as he studied me. “What's wrong?” he asked. “I smell that pack on you, like you’ve been rolling around with them. I smell death on you.”

“Death?” I blinked, impressed he could glean all of that from something that happened forty-eight hours ago.

“Did something happen between you and your pack?” he demanded.

I blinked at the sudden ferocity behind his tone. Was he that sure my pack hated me? Was it that obvious?

“No, not the pack.” I bowed my head against his chest again, and he rested his chin atop my head. “I trained with the other werewolves. We had … school. A hunting lesson,” I said, grimacing.

“And?” he prompted.

“And it went badly,” I said. “I don't want to talk about it.”

He relaxed a little against me and pulled me in close, the friendly embrace turning deeper. “You're doubting yourself again. You think that you won't be able to lead.”

How was it possible that Owen already knew me so well, better than anyone else in the world? Better even than my half-sister—the girl shared DNA with me.

“We've practiced a thousand times, but nothing has changed,” I said. “The first test is coming. A test of strength, according to my reading. I’ll never be ready.”

“You underestimate yourself. Your lack of confidence is limiting you,” he said.

“What does that even mean?” I huffed and went on before he could answer, “You know what? Forget it. I don't want to think about it anymore. I want to relax today.”

“I can help you relax,” Owen said, pulling away from me.

I was cold without him, and disappointed. Once again, right before we took that turn into more-than-friends territory, someone pulled back. But he didn't put much space between us. He caught my hand and pulled me through the trees. “Walk with me,” he whispered.

The nightmare of hunting deer with Regan seemed a million miles away when I walked through the forest with Owen. It didn’t matter that we were too deep inside his territory to hear birds chirping or for cheery sunlight to penetrate. Here, Owen was the sun. I didn’t need to ask him if he knew the way. I had no fear that he would take care of me.

“Your parents aren’t close by, are they?” I asked after a while.

After the slightest pause, he said, “No, they are on a different errand today.”

I tugged on his hand to get his attention. “What sort of errand?” I asked.

He looked away, his eyes flitting to the treetops before finally returning to me again. I knew I was prying, but he’d told me so little about himself. I was falling for him—I couldn’t deny that anymore—and I couldn’t let myself keep feeling like this for a guy I knew so little about.

“Are they hunting?” I pressed.

“Charlie,” he began.

“You can tell me. I mean, we don’t have to pretend you aren’t … what you are,” I said.

Owen’s mouth tipped in a half-smile. “How very diplomatic of you. But I don’t ask you to tell me about your hunting escapades or how many of your pack members have boasted to you for killing vampires.” I opened my mouth but he pressed his finger to my lips, shushing me. “I am enjoying your lack of prejudice against me. Let’s leave it for next time, shall we?”

I wanted to point out that lack of prejudice and lack of knowledge were not the same, but his touch distracted me. I found myself nodding an agreement and earned a soft smile before he changed directions. “Come. We’re relaxing, remember?”

He took my hand again and the two of us entered a clearing. It was bare of grass, and the earth was dry and crumbly here—a lot drier than the rest of the forest. Owen skirted wide around the center. I wasn’t sure why. In the middle, growing in almost a perfect circle, were dainty pink and white flowers with slender petals.

I broke free of him, caught up in such unexpected beauty here in the depths of the woods.

“How pretty,” I breathed.

I only got three steps before Owen grabbed my arm again, stopping me with cold fingers. “Careful,” he said. “That’s bitterroot.”

“What?”

“Bitterroot?” he said again, as if I should recognize the name. When I just stared at him blankly, he shook his head. “I had almost forgotten how little you know about this world. You can look at it, but be careful not to touch, kitten. I know they’re attractive, but that’s no catnip.”

I jammed my hands into my pockets as I approached the flowers. They were growing really well in the dry ground with tall, broad stems and climbing leafy vines that covered the dirt at my feet. I glimpsed a wooden stake on the other side of the circle—the kind of marker gardeners used. These flowers were being cultivated deliberately.

“Who would grow a garden all the way out here?” I asked.

Owen’s features were pinched. “It could be either of our people. My family, or your pack. Nobody has laid claim to it for political reasons.” His hand tightened on my arm. “Bitterroot is a deadly poison to werewolves.”

My mouth suddenly felt dry. I licked my lips. “Deadly poison?”

“The werewolves have no cure once the plant is ingested.” He pulled me away from the flowers, and this time, I didn’t try to fight him.

I glanced around the forest. We were on the boundaries between our territories, so there was no way to tell who was cultivating bitterroot. But I wanted to be as far away from it as possible.

When we reached the edge of the clearing again, I stepped back to face him. “Did you show me this on purpose, Owen?”

Owen’s expression was knowing. Guilty. “What do you—?”

“Don’t lie to me,” I warned. “You think someone from the pack is growing this?” A new thought, more horrific than the last, had me widening my eyes.

“I don’t know for sure,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing.

“Then why did you show me this? I mean, it could be your people, knowing how deadly it is to us,” I said, my voice rising as I spoke.

I paced away from him and ran a hand over my ponytail, my thoughts racing.

“It could be,” he agreed, though I could tell he didn’t believe that. Neither did I. Not really. And that worried me. The pack hadn’t exactly been welcoming, but I didn’t think they were killers, either … Did I? Owen clearly did. Was his opinion rubbing off? Was I actually becoming a traitor to my people?

“But you still showed it to me,” I pressed.

His eyes flashed with something fierce and then, as quickly as it had come, it died again and he was the picture of calm. “Charlie, I want you to see your world as it is. Not as they mean for you to see. There are many things you don’t know about this world. Mine and yours. I don’t want you blindsided by any of them.”

I stared across the dirt at the pale, earnest expression he wore and I knew, without a single shred of proof, that he meant every word. That he was possibly the only one protecting me or trying to keep me safe in all this. I sighed. “Thank you, Owen. For always being honest,” I said.

He nodded, his mouth solemn and down-turned. “I won’t lie to you,” he promised. “I can’t always share everything, but if you ask me outright, I won’t be dishonest. I’ve experienced enough of that to know … you deserve better,” he said.

I looked back at the patch of flowers, innocuous enough in the still morning and filtered light beaming down on them. Either way, seeing such a deadly plant growing out here was a chilling reminder of our families’ animosity, and I didn’t want to think about what it would mean to know which side had planted it.

And because of that, or maybe in spite of it, I kept my vampire sighting from the woods two days ago to myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Owen … It was like he’d said, I just didn’t know enough about this world. And for the rest of today, I didn’t want to. Besides, he’d already made it clear there was plenty he didn’t share with me.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said finally.

We continued to walk along the ridge that marked the border between our territories, until we reached a place that the trees broke open and, at last, warming sunlight filtered in from above. The stream turned to a waterfall here, cascading over the rocks in a misty white foam that sprayed onto the rocks a hundred feet below.

Owen stopped, hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

"Careful near the edge," he said in a low voice. "The rocks are loose here."

I was in no more danger on those rocks than he was, but I just liked being against him, so I wasn't about to argue. I held tight to him and looked at the forest below. The lands surrounding Paradise looked so serene from above. It was hard to believe that it was the site of a centuries-old war between our kinds, and that so much blood had been spilled there.

Down below, a flock of birds erupted from the trees, wheeling into the sky. I watched them rise, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Owen watching me.

“Is this relaxing?” he asked.

With the way that my heart drummed against my ribcage, there was no way that I could possibly be truly relaxed. My nerves were singing. My skin was alight with sensation everywhere that his arm rested against me. I had a feeling, vampire senses being what they were, Owen knew it, too.

My tongue darted out to lick my lips, and Owen's eyes dropped to my mouth.

“I'm relaxed,” I said hoarsely. What a freaking liar.

His fingers came up and traced a chilled line from my temple to my jaw. “Whatever you face with your pack, Charlie, it means nothing. It's merely another stumbling block on your path to victory,” he said.

“I'm glad you think so.”

“Believe in yourself, Charlie,” Owen said. “I do.”

He was leaning toward me, or maybe I was leaning toward him. I wasn't sure which one. Maybe the air between us just kind of vanished.

His lips dropped to mine, and we kissed.

It was a soft, tentative gesture, almost inquisitive. As if Owen was silently asking, is this okay? And it was. It really was.

But when I tried to step closer to him, my foot slipped on one of those stupid loose rocks. I guess he had been right to warn me.

I fell with a gasp, landing hard on my butt.

My grip on Owen had been too strong, because I managed to drag him down with me. We tumbled onto the grass beside the stream. It was damp and muddy, and there was a rock digging into my back, but I didn't really care. Owen had caught himself with arms braced on either side of my head. A soft laugh spilled from his lips.

“You may not be the most graceful alpha the pack has ever known …”

“Oh, shut it,” I said, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him down to kiss me again.

My own forwardness shocked me. I had never been all that into guys before, and definitely never been the one to make advances. But now I hooked my arm around the back of his neck, forcing him against me—as if I had to fight to keep him here.

Owen melted into me, deepening the kiss, and my fingers clenched tight in his hair.

The falls roared and sent a shower of spray over us. I was going to be soaked. But, frankly, the sky could have opened up and dumped a rainstorm on us at that moment, and I wouldn't have cared.

When Owen pushed himself up on his elbows again, his lips glistened.

“Wow,” I said, gasping for breath. There was something sensitive and almost heavy about the way he watched me now. An anxious sort of fear built between my ribs. “What?” I asked, both terrified and impatient to hear the answer. Whatever it was, it would change things. That much I knew.

Owen reached up and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear and, for once, his touch felt hot on my skin. He bent low, murmuring softly, “Impossible as it seems, I think I'm falling in love with you, Charlotte Vuk.”

I suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe.

Love? Was that this all-consuming feeling, like a fire burning over my veins? Was that the excitement I felt at seeing him, smelling him? I had never been in love before, but the word felt right. It settled over my heart with total certainty.

But my moment of hesitation had been a moment too long. Owen's smile softened to something almost sad before he tucked it away. He pulled me to my feet, dusted the dirt off of his slacks, and plucked a blade of grass out of my hair. He was suddenly every inch the noble gentleman, even though I definitely wouldn't have stopped him if he'd tried to kiss me again.

“Let's get you home,” he said.

And with that, the spell was broken. I hoped I could find a way to put it together again when I figured out how to tell him I was falling in love with him, too.