by H G Lynch
No, you aren’t, she’d said slowly, her thin brows pulled down slightly. But I think you don’t really care whether people believe that or not. Do you? It wasn’t even really a question. She’d already known the answer. That had made him feel all out of sorts, because she was right. It was strange to think that Tilly, an outsider, understood him better than his own half-brothers— his own blood. His own kind.
A rustle in the trees behind him snapped Spencer out of his thoughts. He tensed, lifting his chin to sniff the air, and then relaxed. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was. A small smile touched his mouth as he said, “Evening, Tilly.” His voice held his usual quiet manner, despite the sudden perking of his wolf inside him at the familiar scent on the air.
There was another rustle, and then Tilly stepped out from the trees, moving past him to the stream. She hesitated on the edge of the water, and the hairs on the back of Spencer’s neck prickled with the instinct that something was wrong. He frowned. He thought Tilly might step forward into the stream. She swayed slightly toward it, her toes curling over the edge of the grass. She was barefoot, dressed in just a long t-shirt that came down to her mid-thighs. Her pale hair was loose around her face, bits of leaves caught in the silky strands, and her ankles were covered in scratches. Spencer got to his feet and moved toward her, his heart beating an uneven rhythm. It wasn’t quite fear, but anxiety at least. Something was wrong; he could feel it.
“Tilly?” he said softly, moving toward her cautiously.
She didn’t turn her head, didn’t even twitch at the sound of his voice. She just stood there, swaying, as if to some distant music that he couldn’t hear. His wolf was uneasy, bristling, but he held it back. He reached out and touched Tilly’s arm, but she didn’t react. He shuddered at how unresponsive she was, as if he were invisible to her. Then he saw her eyes were closed and realised he was invisible to her, because she wasn’t even awake. That sent sharp, hot spikes up his spine and he jerked back, a sound halfway between a growl and a whine escaping his lips as the hairs on his arms stood straight. There was something unnatural about a person walking around insensible to what they were doing.
Spencer had heard somewhere that you were never supposed to wake a sleepwalker, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. With his teeth bared almost absently, he crept back to the swaying girl and waved a hand in front of her face. She didn’t flinch. Behind her closed lids, her eyes were darting rapidly back and forth. It creeped him out, and he didn’t know what to do. It was like staring at a zombie. No, not a zombie. In the moonlight, Tilly was all pale hair and milky skin, too pretty and ethereal to be a zombie. She was more like a ghost, lost as she wandered the darkened woods.
Then, just as suddenly as she’d come, Tilly turned and started to walk back into the trees. Her movements were slow and strange, almost clumsy. She walked straight through a patch of thorny brambles, scratching her slender legs, and Spencer blinked in surprise before chasing after her. She didn’t notice him as he followed her through the darkness, making sure she didn’t trip over anything or walk through more thorns. Unlike when she was awake, she was eerily quiet moving through the woods.
With a strange thickness in his throat, Spencer followed Tilly all the way back to her cabin, and watched from the bottom of the steps as she climbed up them onto the porch. She reached for the door handle, turned it, and the door swung open. Tapping his fingers against his thigh nervously, Spencer debated whether he should follow her in and make sure she didn’t try to make an omelette while she was at it. He thought that would likely end badly. But to go in uninvited, while she was unconscious of her actions, felt somehow wrong, even if it was for a good reason.
The front door of the cabin closed while he was standing there uncertainly, and he settled for slipping around to the window. He peered inside, feeling just a little guilty about it, and saw Tilly walk unfalteringly from the living room, past the kitchen, and down a hallway. Frowning, he moved to her bedroom window in time to see her coming in, closing the door mechanically behind her, and getting into bed. She folded the covers over herself with sluggish fingers, and rolled over to face the window.
There were still bits of leaves in her hair. A line formed between her brows, her lids fluttering, and her lips parted slightly. Through the glass, Spencer heard her whimper, and he gritted his teeth, his fingernails sinking into the chipped paint of the windowsill.
Inside the cabin, Tilly was still again, and he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. She was soundly asleep again, really asleep, and Spencer sighed a little in relief. Leaning his forehead against the wall of the cabin, next to the window, he felt the moon stroking the nape of his neck with cold fingers. His muscles twitched with the Change pushing at him, and he cursed Frank for his ‘No Changing Without Permission’ order. He wanted to break it, wanted to feel the night in his wolf form, but to break it would be to put himself further outside the pack. At that moment, the pack was exactly where he needed to be, because that was where Tilly was most of the time—in the thick of the pack, with Dominic.
If there was ever a reason for him to force himself out of his pattern of solitariness, it was to keep an eye on Tilly. He was the only one who knew her secret and about the witches who were hunting her, just as they had hired the men to hunt him and his pack. So he was the only one who could protect her, and more than that, he wanted to be the only one to protect her. He wasn’t sure if that was his wolf or his jealousy over Dominic speaking, but either way, starting the next day, he was going to stay by Tilly’s side as much as possible.
He sat down with his back against the cabin wall, and looked up at the moon. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that Tilly wasn’t his to protect—couldn’t be his. It didn’t matter. If she was anyone’s to protect, she would be his, no matter what the pack, Frank or Dominic had to say about it.
** Tilly **
For the second morning in a row, I woke up with dirt in my bed and leaves between my toes. I spent half an hour scrubbing twigs from my hair, and then changed the sheets on my bed, ignoring the sick feeling deep in my stomach. If I pretended as if I wasn’t freaked out by it, maybe it would stop…and maybe it wouldn’t, but at least I didn’t have to think about it.
I was halfway through eating a bowl of Coco Puffs cereal while frying up bacon and tomato, when I heard a knock at the door, quiet and hesitant. I smiled to myself. I’d been expecting company for breakfast, but when I opened the door with my tablespoon in my hand, the company I received wasn’t who I’d expected. Instead of green eyes and curls, I was met with blue eyes and sleek black hair. I blinked.
“Spencer?” I winced at the slightly insulting, disbelieving tone to my voice.
Spencer just smiled wryly, as if he’d been expecting that kind of reception. It was just that I couldn’t imagine a reason for him to be on my porch.
He exchanged his wry smile for a mocking one, and said, “You’re going to catch midges.”
It took me a second to work out what he meant, and snapped my mouth shut, scowling at him. “Sorry. I’m just in shock because it turns out you can walk in daylight after all.” I pulled open the door a little further, indicating for him to come in. He hesitated, his mouth working, and then came inside slowly as if he was expecting someone to jump out from behind the door and brain him with a lamp.
Glancing around the cabin warily, he said, “I’m a werewolf, not a vampire.”
I watched him moving around and noted that his hands were casually folded behind his back, but they were not so casually in fists. I wondered if it was because the cabin was unfamiliar territory, marked with my scent instead of his, or because of something else. When he turned back to face me with an eyebrow slightly raised, I shrugged.
“I thought you might be both.” I slid back to the kitchen, where the bacon was spitting angrily under the grill and my cereal was getting soggy. I dropped my spoon back into the bowl of chocolaty milk and stirred it around a little, while Spencer leaned against the
breakfast bar, but I suddenly wasn’t all that hungry. Something about having Spencer in my cabin made me nervous. I told myself it was because he was a predator, a deadly wild animal inside that skin— more deadly and wild, I was certain, than Dominic ever was.
“You saw me in daylight yesterday afternoon,” he pointed out.
His eyes narrowed when I turned and dumped the rest of my cereal down the sink, but he didn’t say anything about it, or ask why I was cooking enough bacon to feed a small army—or in that case, a growing teenage werewolf. I hoped Dominic didn’t take it the wrong way when he arrived and saw Spencer was there.
I shrugged again, prodding at the hissing bacon with a fork. It spat at my hand, hot grease stinging my wrist, and I snatched my hand back. “Evil bacon,” I muttered, and then glanced at Spencer.
He was trying not to grin.
“It was cloudy yesterday,” I returned.
He just shrugged fluidly. The bacon bit me again, and I grumbled a curse. Spencer snorted, and I glared at him.
“You’re the very picture of homeliness, Tilly. Dominic must be very lucky.” He rolled his eyes.
I glared harder, but felt heat touch my cheeks. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips. Unfortunately, I was still holding the fork I’d been prodding the bacon with and somehow managed to stab myself in the leg. “Ouch!” I lifted the fork and glared at it, before slamming it down on the countertop.
Spencer’s shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh. Then there was another knock at the door and I sighed, relaxing a little. Spencer stopped laughing abruptly and lifted his head in a way that, even in human form, looked lupine. I could just imagine his ears pricked toward the door like a dog’s, but the look on his face said his tail wasn’t wagging.
I patted him on the head as I walked past, and he shot me a piercing glower. I smiled back blandly.
“Down, boy. It’s only Dominic.” I had my hand on the door handle when I thought I heard him say something like, “That’s what I was afraid of.” I guessed I’d misheard.
I pulled the door open, grinning, and Dominic beamed at me for just a second before his expression went south. He lifted his chin slightly, and I knew he was sniffing the air, either for the bacon, or for the other wolf in my company. He had pretty much the same expression Spencer had, so I supposed it wasn’t the bacon he was smelling. I blew out my cheeks noisily and Dominic’s eyes returned to me, narrowed.
“You have company,” he said tightly, as if Spencer were an intruder I hadn’t noticed was in my cabin.
I nodded. “Camping rule number four: the smell of food will always attract animals. Apparently, that includes the ones who are also hungry teenage boys. Come on in and kill this bacon for me. It keeps spitting at me.” I ignored the shadow on Dom’s face and moved back into the kitchen, letting him choose whether he wanted to come in.
He came in and closed the door behind him. Spencer turned around, his face perfectly blank, and I glanced up from spearing strips of bacon onto plates to see that Dominic was wearing his usual cheery grin again. They exchanged a nod by way of greeting. I rolled my eyes.
I shoved a plate of bacon and grilled tomato in front of each of them, but Dominic didn’t sit down at the breakfast bar. Instead, he moved around it and popped up onto the kitchen counter, balancing his plate on his legs. I scowled at him.
“Has nobody ever told you not to sit on the kitchen counter?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest.
Dominic grinned at me. “Nope. You forget, we’re animals, Tilly. Rules of etiquette are different for us. We play with our food, we run around outside without a jacket on, we sit on kitchen counters.”
He flourished a hand over himself to indicate his position on the worktop next to the sink, and I sighed, shaking my head in despair.
“Someone should teach you some manners,” I said, crossing to the sink to turn on the taps. I squirted some washing-up liquid into the basin, covering my cereal bowl, a glass, and various pieces of cutlery in slimy green stuff that started to froth up with the water.
Dominic leaned over, and murmured, “And are you going to teach me some manners, Tilly?”
His voice was low, but I knew Spencer could hear it. I ducked my head, biting my lip. I whirled the taps until the water stopped; the basin was full of hot, bubbly water.
I took Dominic’s already empty plate and said, “If I were to teach you manners, I’d use a dog whistle and bacon bits. I bet I could even teach you to sit where you’re supposed to sit.” I pointed to the breakfast bar where Spencer was sitting, snickering, but when he noticed me looking at him, his expression turned as fiercely blank as ever. I wondered what was going through his head. What was going through my head was a replay of the last time Dominic had been in the kitchen with me. I shoved the memory away before my face could flame.
With a good natured huff, Dominic slid off the countertop and shooed me out of the way of the sink, handing me a dishtowel.
I glared at him. “Hey!”
He smirked at me. “Hey, yourself.”
“I can wash the dishes myself. I don’t have a bandage this time!” I lifted up my arm to show him. I’d taken off the bandage that morning, because it had somehow gotten dirt on it, and the scrape I’d gotten when my wolf—when Spencer—had knocked me out of the way of Olivia’s shot was almost healed anyway. There was just a patch of rough pink skin where the scrape had been.
Dominic just handed me a wet, soapy plate. I stared at it, then at him, and then turned to Spencer. He was scowling at the prongs of his fork as if he was trying to bend them with the power of his mind. I whistled sharply to get his attention. He glanced at me from under his dark brows, glaring, clearly not impressed by the whistle. I held up the dishtowel and threw it at him. He snagged it out of the air, and stared at it as if he had no idea what it was for. I laughed.
“You two can do the washing up,” I said.
Spencer’s expression darkened again, and Dominic looked at me over his shoulder, frowning.
“Where are you going?” he asked as I grabbed my trainers from near the front door. I sat down on the floor to lace them on, glanced up to see Spencer scrubbing a bubbly plate with the dishtowel, an expression of intense concentration—or intense annoyance—on his face. Dominic just looked like a wounded puppy.
I shook my head. “I promised Sarah I’d help her with something.”
“What kind of something?”
I shrugged. “Girl stuff.”
At that, the boys exchanged a glance and shuddered simultaneously. I grinned. With a rueful sigh, Dom turned back to the soapy water and handed Spencer another plate, muttering, “Girl stuff. The universal secret for scaring the hell out of guys.”
I snorted. “That’s right; we invented girl stuff exactly for that purpose. Now both of you be good until I get back. No chewing the furniture.”
Spencer flipped me off as I went out the door.
** Spencer **
Once Tilly left, an awkward silence fell thick around the cabin. The only sounds were the splashing of the water as Dominic scrubbed dishes, the squeak of the dishtowel on a wet glass, and the boys’ soft breathing. Spencer wanted to leave. He couldn’t see a reason to keep hanging about since the only reason he’d bothered to come out of seclusion that morning was for Tilly, and she was no longer there. Except, he sensed that Dominic had something to say, and Spencer was curious to hear whatever that might be.
It took a long time for Minnie to work up the courage to ask what he wanted to ask, and he didn’t look at Spencer as he asked it. He kept his eyes on the fork he was thoroughly washing. He cleared his throat, and Spencer glanced at him, waiting for him to be done drowning the fork.
“So, um…were you…I mean, did you…” Dominic stopped, his hands stilling on the piece of cutlery, and bit his lip. He stared into the soapy bubbles as if they held the answer to his unasked question.
Spencer snatched the fork from him. “Did I what?” he asked
casually, though he knew exactly what Dominic wanted to know. He just wanted to make Dominic say it. It was a little bit cruel, but Spencer wasn’t feeling too kindly toward his half-brother right then.
He wondered what Minnie and Tilly would have been doing if he hadn’t shown up on her doorstep first. He got the idea that there would have been a lot more going on with those soap bubbles than just washing dishes. It was clear from their banter over the sink that Dominic had been round for breakfast with Tilly before, possibly more than once.
Here in a morning, leaving late in the evening. Oh, yes, I wonder what could possibly be going on with that, Spencer thought sarcastically, ashamed to admit he was a little bitter about it. He had no right to be jealous or bitter, except that he’d been the one to save Tilly’s life—twice. He was also the one who was keeping her precious secret from the whole pack, including her curly headed BFF. None of that should have mattered though, because technically, neither of them could have Tilly. It was forbidden, but it didn’t seem like Dominic was remembering that part, or maybe he just didn’t care.
Dominic shifted uncomfortably, reaching into the sudsy basin and scrubbing at something under the water. He lifted one hand out of the water toward his hair, probably to tug on one of his curls, but then he realised his hand was wet and bubbly, and lowered it back into the water.
“Did you, you know, spend the night here?” he asked abruptly, his voice hard. It was clear from the thin press of his lips that the idea made Minnie very unhappy.
With a tiny, mirthless smile, Spencer slung the dishtowel over his shoulder and crossed his arms, leaning his hip against the cupboard under the counter. “Would it annoy you if I said yes?” he replied evenly.
Dominic glanced at him then, sharp green eyes under soft chestnut curls, and Spencer caught the glint of the wolf in his gaze. Oh yes, it would annoy him greatly if Spencer said he’d spent the night there.
