It hit me then, that
Lucas
would be the one tormented forever. He would be the one without his match. Once I died, I would be released from the pain of losing him.
But my Lucas . . . how could I ever do that to him?
“Go,” Yvette said suddenly.
I jerked out of my thoughts, surprised by the harshness of her voice.
“I must call Nolan,” she said, clearing her throat.
I left the darkened kitchen, giving one last glance at Yvette’s hunched form, her eyes faraway and dripping with silent tears. As I stood in the doorway, I had the surreal, terrifying sensation that I was watching myself twenty years from now, crying alone in a kitchen. Knowing with unerring certainty that one day, I would lose my match to death. And he would lose me.
I went out into the living room. It was all I could do to keep myself from rushing over to Lucas and having him bite me right there, I felt so bad for him. But deep inside, I still knew it wasn’t what I wanted. The whole thing was confusing and terrible. Becoming a werewolf just to keep my boyfriend happy wasn’t a good reason to do it. But the thought of how sad he’d be when I died ...
A sudden thought washed over me like a bucket of ice water as I stood watching Lucas stare vacantly out the large window of the living room.
What if I was giving myself a little too much credit, here? What if Lucas
wouldn’t
be all that broken up when I died? Sure, if the tables were turned and I had to live for eternity without my other half, I’d turn into a walking pity party. But would Lucas? He was the one who always said that relationships weren’t meant to last for eternity. Maybe he’d be sad for a bit and then get over it; move on with some newer, younger chick.
The thought should have made me feel better, but only made me angry and jealous of this made-up young chick (whom I pictured looking very much like Heidi Klum). I visualized myself in sixty years lying in a hospital bed, too old and sick to even feed myself. And there was Lucas. Still as gorgeous as ever, flirting with Doctor Barbie right in front of me because I was too blind and too deaf to notice.
I glowered at his back, knowing somewhere inside that I was being ridiculous and petty, but I was unable to stop the fantasy from playing itself out. There I was, dying, and Lucas already had his next girlfriend lined up.
Bastard.
“Are you trying to use the Force?” Derek asked, slight amusement in his tone.
I started out of my inner Lucas hate-fest and shot Derek a sardonic look. Lucas turned and glanced at me. Though he appeared curious about my furious glaring, I could tell he was still seething over Derek biting me. He made no move toward me, nor did he beckon me over, so I thumped my butt against the back of the couch and proceeded to silently hate him for no reason.
Yvette came back into the living room minutes later, looking once more her calm, composed self.
“Nolan is agreeable,” she said. “He will have the supply sent to Derek’s dorm room once a week.” She turned to Derek. “Keep it refrigerated, not frozen.”
Derek nodded, looking repulsed.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked, returning to her seat by the fire.
“We need to sleep here for the night,” Lucas said. “We can’t make it back before dawn.”
“You are always welcome here.” Yvette bowed her head and picked up her book. “Goodnight to you.”
Derek stood and we all left the room. Lucas trudged to the door that led to the basement, flung it open and pointed.
“You sleep down there,” he told Derek.
Derek ignored him and turned to me, coming closer than was really necessary. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. His fingers brushed over the bandaged wound on my throat.
I nodded, glancing nervously to Lucas. “It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow night and we’ll talk.”
Derek looked as though he wanted to say something, but just kissed my forehead and ran full speed toward the front door.
“Derek!” I yelled after him. Lucas ran behind him, and I reached the doorway just in time to see Derek’s form vibrate violently and shift into the slender white wolf. He flitted into the woods, a ghost in the trees.
Lucas stood in the front yard, trembling with the change. I ran past him, yelling for Derek. I didn’t want him to leave like this. Not without talking about what had happened. What if he went back to the vampires?
“Faith,” Lucas called out. “Let him go!”
But I was still irrationally angry with Lucas so I ran into the woods, following Derek’s snowy paw prints.
“Derek!” I yelled again, coming to a stop. It had gotten dark extremely fast within the trees and I wasn’t stupid. I knew what lurked inside the woods as night. I cursed, slamming my hand against the bark of an evergreen. My palm burned, the pain bringing me back to reality. Derek wasn’t going to listen to me—especially not now that he was a wolf. And maybe running would do him some good—help him gain control over his blood crave.
I turned to leave, when I began to feel a hum in the back of my head. Someone’s vibe. I looked around, hoping it was Lucas, or even Derek. But there was nobody—just the slowly shifting branches of the trees and the mysterious creatures lurking within them. My heart began to pound, even though there was nothing to be afraid of.
I took a step back, my foot crunching loudly through the snowy, silent night.
Another step, my hand came away from the tree. The hum became louder. Someone was out there with me. I began to breathe heavily, making it difficult to hear. The opalescent moon above me peaked from behind a murky cloud, illuminating the woods in patchy, white light.
That’s when I saw it: a dark form crouched behind a tree, not five feet away from me. Two glowing eyes peered out of the darkness, a low bubbling sound swallowed the silence.
My entire body ignited, becoming both numb and hypersensitive. I could only stare. Nothing seemed to work. No legs to carry me away, no voice to call for Lucas . . . only eyes to watch the beast as it killed me.
17
THE STALKER
I
knew it was a werewolf, knew it with every ounce of brain function I had left. It slowly stepped into the bluish light, its heather-gray body slim and powerful—eyes deadly alert and unblinking. Its glistening nostrils flared as it sniffed the air, staring straight at me.
I knew it was identifying me. But why hadn’t it attacked yet?
Slowly, I began to function again. Ears began to hear, breath began to heave. I had to get out of there before the werewolf decided it was snack time. Werewolves weren’t supposed to attack humans, but that look in its eye and the taint in its vibe . . .
hunger
.
Another brainwave—my power! Immediately, I ignited the connection and felt the animal’s emotions swath my brain: malice, hatred. This werewolf, whoever it was, meant me harm.
No
, I said with my mind.
Stay where you are.
I could feel a slight resistance, much as I had when I’d forced Lucas to let Derek go in California. But I swatted away the reluctance and forced in my will.
Stay. Don’t attack.
The werewolf lowered its head, submitting to me.
I turned and ran. The fear and lack of eye contact splintered the connection, and it died within seconds. I broke through the tree line, ready to scream for Lucas when I realized it wasn’t following me. I stopped in the snowy lawn, shivering and staring into the rustling trees. No snarling, no paws breaking the snow.
It had worked.
I ran the rest of the way into the mansion and slammed the door shut behind me. What had that been about? It could have been a coincidental run in with a werewolf, sure. Or maybe a curious family member? A runt out hunting? Any of these options made sense, since I was at a house stocked with werewolves. But something about the way the heather-gray wolf had stared at me made me think it hadn’t been a coincidence. Its vibe, too, had been saturated with ill will toward me.
Me
, in particular. I had ticked off a lot of pack members during the whole Derek ordeal in December, but I didn’t think anyone actually wanted me
dead
. There had been a purpose in that meeting. I just didn’t know what it was—or
who
it was.
But there was one person who might. I had to tell Lucas about this. I came away from the door and realized that he had left the living room. Yvette, too, had retired for the night. I frowned, thinking that it was pretty jerky of Lucas to just leave me on my own in the woods—especially in light of what had just happened.
I assumed he had gone to his room so I went upstairs and found his door closed when I got there. I didn’t bother knocking and went in.
Lucas stood leaning against the windowsill, his back to me. He glanced briefly at me from over his shoulder, and his furious vibe was so oppressive I felt like someone had stuffed a damp washcloth into my lungs. I couldn’t breathe.
I forced myself to go to the window and stand across from him, folding my arms across my chest. I felt a palpable rift between us, and I hated it. I needed to seal it and make my way back into Lucas’s arms. But I didn’t know how. My mind was a blur with everything that had just happened. Derek’s bite, Yvette’s talk, the heather-gray wolf.
We stood that way for a long while as I felt Lucas’s vibe begin to smooth like ripples fading in a pool of water.
At last, he turned toward me and placed his fingers under my chin. He tilted my head to the side, sweeping my hair back behind my shoulders. His fingers slowly peeled back the bandage as he bent and touched his tongue to the wound on my throat.
I jerked away, a little disgusted, but then I felt the skin around the cut tighten and pinch and I realized he’d closed the wound for me.
Without saying a word, this was his apology. Silently, I wound my hand in his.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” I said.
“Only small things,” he said huskily. “I would have left it, but I didn’t want to see it on you anymore.”
I let him draw me closer. His lips traveled up my throat to my jaw, searing along my cheek toward my lips. He paused before them, inches away. I longed for him with everything inside me and started to rise onto my toes to close the distance between our lips when Lucas pulled back.
“I can’t do this,” he breathed.
“What are you talking about?”
“You smell like him.”
My stomach plunged to the floor, vision spinning.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped.
For everything. God, I kissed Derek tonight....
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I know it’s not your fault that he bit you, it’s just ... I’m just not good at this stuff. I don’t like to share.”
“What? Like I’m a
bone
? Like I’m property?” I pinned him with my most withering glare and, surprisingly, it worked. He looked just about as ashamed as it was possible to get. And, good. He should feel that way. I didn’t belong to him or to Derek or anyone. I was my own person and I could choose to do what I liked.
“You have to accept that Derek is a part of my life,” I said. “He’s my
friend
. And, believe it or not, I had friends before I met you. I had Heather and Pete—well, Pete sort of—but anyway. That’s not the point. I used to do track. I used to see movies with people other than you. Not that I don’t like seeing movies with you . . .” I tugged my fingers through my hair, frustrated that I couldn’t voice what was bugging me. “You can’t pitch a little baby fit every time I go see Derek,” I said. “He’s in my life. You have to deal.”
He looked irritated by the baby-fit thing, but he blew out a long breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m a controlling jerk.”
“Only because you care,” I said, and it was true. He didn’t think of me as a bone or as his property. He was just a big jealous idiot.
He cursed. “I’m trying, okay? You gotta understand, Faith, I’ve been alone for centuries. I don’t deal with humans on a regular basis. With werewolves, when you got a problem, you just fight it out. That’s how I function. I shut down emotionally and save it for the moon. But I can’t do that with you, obviously, and honestly I’m struggling, all right? I mean, I’ve had human girlfriends sometimes, yeah, but I never let anybody in. Not really. Not since before I was infected.”
I blinked, taken aback that he was talking about his human life, since he almost never did so. In my head, I could see what I saw on New Year’s Eve—his sister screaming for him as she was killed just out of his reach, the countless fights he’d drawn in the building windows, the deaths he’d caused, the pain he endured every month for over three hundred years. And all those months we’d spent together as he tried to keep from killing me.
Then Lucas went on, his voice like a calming lullaby in my ear. “My family and Vincent were probably the only people in existence that understood me,” he murmured. “They were the only people I ever let in. And they’re all dead now. Ever since Vincent killed Reece, I’ve been closed off. Not because I want it that way, but because that’s how it’s gotta be. To keep people safe. I’m not used to being open. Being honest about what I’m really feeling. Am I gonna screw it up sometimes? Yeah. But, believe me Faith, it’s not some territorial you’re-mine-not-his dog shit. It’s because I love you and I don’t want you to get hurt.”