"Think of anything new?" I ask my sister, sitting down beside her at the table.
"No. We might as well be back to square one," Rosie says with a small sigh. She tosses the book onto the floor and doesn't reach for another. "Silas says he's going to visit Pa Reynolds. I'll stay and research with you, though," she says. Rosie props up her legs on a stack of books in front of her, and I see that her calves are slathered in pink calamine lotion.
"What's all that for?" I ask.
Rosie shrugs. "Apparently when we were chasing Screwtape I ran through a patch of poison ivy. I think I washed it off and put the calamine on in time, though."
"I hope so," I say, peering at her flawless skin. "Poison ivy sucks. Remember when we got it when we were little?"
"No," Rosie corrects me. "You got it first, and then I got it later. I remember that you accidentally rolled around in it when we were playing, and your face got all swollen. But--you know how I got it, like... a week later?"
I nod.
"I did it on purpose. I went out and rolled around in that same patch of poison ivy."
"What are you, stupid?" I ask, laughing.
Rosie shakes her head. "Mom let you sleep in her bed. And then I had to sleep in our bedroom all by myself, and I was lonely."
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"So you rolled in poison ivy?"
"I just was so jealous of you. And I would've done anything to be like you, even something stupid..." She trails off.
Silas interrupts us by stepping out of the bathroom, wrinkled clothes sticking to his still-damp skin. He ignores me and begins rifling through his suitcase until he pulls a pair of socks from the mound of clothes. I notice he's got calamine lotion on his forearms.
"Rosie said you're visiting Pa Reynolds?" I ask. The words are a peace offering, in a way.
"Yep. I've gone only once since we've been here," Silas says, tossing his wet towel over the back of a chair. "I'll be back around eight or nine, I guess. We're hunting tonight?"
I nod. "We can leave without you if you want, though. You can always catch up to us and start hunting later." Another peace offering, but one I have to force from my lips.
Silas looks impressed, and I think I see something like guilt flicker across his eyes. He glances at Rosie, then back at me with an apologetic smile. "That sounds good, Lett."
Silas slides his shoes on and rustles his fingers in his hair, gives Rosie and me a quick wave, and leaves. He's still mad, at least a little. It's always taken Silas a while to cool down. But I need him, I need Rosie. I don't want to be alone. I hesitate, then hurry after him. He's on the second flight of the stairwell when I reach the door.
"I can go with you, if you want?" I offer.
Silas looks up at me, and a sad sort of smile tugs at his lips. "It's okay. We can go another time together."
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"Okay," I answer, but he doesn't move. I look down. "You are coming back, right?"
Silas looks surprised. "Just because you're a pain in the ass doesn't mean I'd abandon you," he says. "Besides, Lett--where else do I have to go?"
I exhale. "Right." Silas continues down the staircase and I turn to go back inside. He needs us, and I need them.
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rosie
Scarlett is at city hall because, as it turns out, figuring out who in an entire region is turning a multiple of seven is pretty complex. Silas and I are supposed to be reading the newspapers, which are still headlining the murder spree, looking for the tiniest clue as to the wolves' plans.
But that really just isn't happening.
"We're supposed to be researching," I say through laughter. Silas grins and runs his fingers up my side again, dissolving me into another fit of giggles. The notepad that I'd been writing on topples to the floor beside the couch. He wraps his arm around me and urges me closer to him. Our lips find each other's and I'm curled in his lap, hands around his shoulders. The smells of oak and forest fill my lungs, as though he's breathing them into me as we kiss. I push closer
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against him until he circles his arms around me and hugs me to his chest. It feels natural, right, as if the change in our relationship was as simple as sliding into new clothes.
We pull away, both flushed, grinning like crazy people. "Okay. Now we focus. Werewolf birthdays," Silas says with fake intensity.
We turn back to our mostly empty notepads for a moment, but Silas's hand creeps over and pokes me in the side again, and I dissolve in hysterics. Our day of research is pretty hopeless. In fact, the last four days of research have been hopeless.
The light in the storm of Fenris researching and empty-handed hunting attempts? Silas. My heart still jumps out of my chest when we're alone together, but at least now I know that if I put my arms around him, the world won't end and he'll put his arms around me too. It gives me the same sense of normalcy, the same rightness, that taking lessons at the community center does, only magnified a thousand times.
It's been almost four weeks. Four weeks of taking community center courses, four weeks of the Potential's moon phase, four weeks away from Ellison. Almost a whole month in love with Silas.
"You could sign up for more," Silas says when I tell him today is the last day of classes.
I shake my head. "No... I can't keep lying to Scarlett. Either I tell her I'm taking them, or I quit."
"I'm sort of relieved to hear that, actually," Silas says,
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running his fingers through my hair. "Scarlett somehow makes me feel guilty without even knowing about..." He pauses and runs a hand down my cheek. "Classes. So which will you do? Tell her or quit?"
I sigh. "I don't know. I probably shouldn't do either until the Potential hunt is over."
"Fair." Silas nods. "Or we could just... you know, find the Potential."
"Yeah, good luck," I murmur. I sigh and stand. "I should go take my class. If you wait until too late in the day, there aren't any good ones left."
"Want some company for the walk?" Silas offers, kissing my hand before releasing it. I grin and blush--he can still make me blush.
"You can... I mean, is that... are you offering to be nice, like before, or are you offering as... as..."
"Your boyfriend?" he finishes, raising an eyebrow. I turn so red that even my hands are mottled. Silas smiles.
I sigh. "Don't laugh. I'm just... this is new for me. You've done all this before."
Silas reaches forward quickly, then pulls me against him, his arms hard with muscle from wielding the ax. "Rosie," he says accusingly. "Believe me when I say, I have never done all this before."
"Oh," I muster, the only sound that my mouth seems capable of forming. Silas grins and pulls me down on top of him. Our legs tangle and I rest my head in the crook of his neck, kissing his skin lightly as I try to get even closer to
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him, though it seems impossible. He runs his fingers along my side, then moves to kiss my forehead tenderly.
"Maybe the class can wait after all," I mumble as I stretch upward to kiss him on the lips. My hand creeps up the front of his T-shirt, running along the lines of the muscles underneath.
"I promise," he murmurs in a tone so velvety that it makes me shiver, "there are plenty more chances for us to... well, to do this," he finishes, though I know there's more to "this" than my hand pressed against his chest and his lips on mine. I lie against him while he strokes my hair.
"As long as you promise," I whisper, grinning. Silas laughs quietly and kisses me again, then nods. I finally pull myself away and hurry to get dressed for class.
Tango lessons.
It's the only class available that doesn't sound totally lame, such as Real Estate Investing or Artificial Flower Arrangement. There's a painting course, but after the madness that was the drawing class, I'm done with art for a while. Mostly couples have shown up for the tango class, and I watch the way they act with each other as we wait together in the hallway outside the dance studio. They le
t their fingers rest on each other's arms, kiss cheeks, and smile softly. I wonder if I look the way these girls do when Silas puts his arms around me.
A man brushes past us, swishing his hips and sliding
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around the ladies departing a yoga course. We file into the room, the couples holding hands, the scattered rest of us lingering shyly in the back. For all his praise of doing things that are "non-hunting-centric," Silas would never be up for this, so I'll have to find another partner today.
"All right, ladies and gents, I'm Timothy," the swishy man says, sashaying to the front of the room and taking off his jacket to reveal a bright orange dress shirt. "Remember: stay on your toes, let your hips move, ladies, and above all--this is a dance of love! Passion! Sex!" The room giggles and Timothy wiggles his eyebrows up and down. "Right, then. Let's see--those of you without a partner, raise your hands." The back of the room obeys. "Perfect. Mmm, let's see..."
Timothy glides toward us, hips weaving back and forth, and begins pulling people together, apparently by height. He gets to me and tugs on my biceps to move me.
"Ooh, strong girly," he says when he feels the muscles beneath my T-shirt. I blush and allow him to tug me over to someone in the corner of the room. The guy is facing the back of the classroom, inspecting a poster that displays various dance positions. When Timothy taps his shoulder to turn him around, the guy's long ponytail swings across his face. His eyes are deep and dark, and his nose is sharp and pointed. He's astonishingly beautiful, like something carved from stone and polished to perfection.
"Annnnnnd... that's it!" Timothy says as the guy and I regard each other.
"What's your name?" I ask.
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"My name? Um... Robert," he says, voice songlike. He pauses before saying the name, as if he's having trouble remembering it. He licks his lips and gives me a weighty look that makes me shiver.
"Chests closer than hips, embrace, keep your musicality, people!" Timothy says, holding up his arms to an invisible partner. "Ladies, one hand on his shoulder. Gents, one hand on her rib cage, just above the waist." The class shuffles as everyone moves into the position awkwardly. I try not to put my entire hand on Robert's shoulder, but he clamps his hand onto my ribs to the point that it hurts a little. I try to wiggle away without being too obvious. "And your other hands come together, like this." Timothy moves to the nearest couple and clamps their hands together, then lifts their arms to shoulder level.
I raise my right hand and wait for Robert to take it. When he does, his sleeve slips back from his wrist.
And I see it. A simple tattoo of a coin, overlapped by an arrow. He's a Fenris. He's a Fenris and I'm dancing with him. They're literally everywhere in Atlanta.
"You like the tattoo?" Robert says with humor in his voice. I feel his nails grow a little on the hand that's by my ribs. Still, he keeps the transformation under control. Focus, Rosie, focus. No need to panic. Dear god, I didn't bring my knives. Scarlett always tells me to keep them with me at all times, but I didn't bring them.
"It's interesting," I say, damning myself when I hear a slight tremble in my voice. Robert smiles darkly. Does he
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know who I am? Did the Arrow pack tell him when they took him from Coin?
As Timothy cues up the music, my mind races back to all the hand-to-hand combat skills that Scarlett and I learned in tae kwon do classes back in Ellison. He's just one Fenris. He hasn't even been a Fenris that long, given the look of that tattoo.
"And ladies, forward with the right; men, back with the left. Feel the beat!"
No. I can take him. I'm a hunter. He's just a wolf. A strong wolf, but a wolf.
We step forward, moving together in awkward, forced rhythm as Timothy claps and directs everyone's feet. Timothy commands us to snap our heads away from each other, and I hear Robert inhale, relishing the scent of my skin, of my fear.
"We're supposed to be closer," he whispers in my ear and forcibly yanks me toward him. He grins. "Sorry, but I'm the youngest of seven boys. I have a need for a lady's touch."
Focus. Be the bait. The music swirls, high-pitched violins and the low, groaning sound of cellos plucked in a dark, violent rhythm.
And I smile, the flirtiest, sexiest type of smile I can muster, batting my eyelashes for good measure. Robert looks delighted in the most horrible way, and his hold on my waist tightens. I release my hips, let them roll with each step. I flip my hair over my shoulder and lean back to reveal my throat when Timothy teaches a low, lunging step. He won't hurt
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me here--he can't risk it. When we rise, I roll my shoulders back. Robert's nails grow longer; his teeth have sharpened to tiny points and yellowed. And his eyes--god, his eyes--they've darkened so much that I can't believe he isn't a full-fledged wolf by now. Our hands snap toward the sky, slam down on my waist, spinning out, in, knee to the ground. I'll have bruises on my sides and wrists, I can tell. I dig my hand into his shoulder. He'll have bruises as well, if I have anything to say about it. Until I kill him, at least.
"Back step, side step, feel the rhythm, people, don't be afraid of the sexiness!" Timothy cries over the music, but I barely hear him, as if I'm drowning in the sound of violins and fear. The room whirls around me as we spin, as Robert's hand tightens on my spine. He's resisting the change, despite the fact that his hair has grown, clumped together like a wolf's fur is. He clenches his jaw. Come on, you want me, you want to devour me. If I can make it through the class, I can get him to follow me out, I can fight him. I can do this. I'm a hunter. We dip again, spin in circles. The song quickens, violins struggling desperately to keep up with the tempo, cellos being wildly plucked as though the music moves along the musician's very life. Our feet stomp, snap, flick, heads turn, turn back, he grabs my wrist and he snarls, the sound almost lost in the string instruments as Timothy increases the volume. Stomp, turn, twist, head pop.
I cry out and leap away, surprised when I suddenly feel claws in my skin. I push Robert back, shocked. We're in front of so many people. I look down at my waist in the mirrors
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that surround the room and see four dots of blood expanding through the fabric of my shirt. Other dancers gasp. Timothy raises his eyebrows and runs to turn the music off. I stare at Robert in amazement.
And then he leaps for me.
He doesn't change, but there's nothing human about the look in his eyes. He slams into me, throwing me backward. My head bounces off the wooden dance floor like a doll's and my vision goes blinding red for a moment. The other dancers scream. A few men bolt toward me, but I've got this. I brace my feet under him and kick backward with all my strength. He flies over my head, crashing into one of the mirrors. It shatters, a rain of glass that reflects me and the other horrified dancers a million times before scattering over Robert's body. I dizzily try to stand but fail; he hit me harder than I thought. I rub the back of my head tenderly.
He doesn't move. More screams. What am I doing? I have to get up, fight him. No, he hit the wall as a human. He wasn't strong enough to take that kind of blow. Several people help me off the ground while Timothy ushers us out of the room. I can't just leave him there. I should sneak back in and kill him. Fragments of conversation whirl past my ears as one of the center volunteers brushes past me and locks the door to the dance studio. My head throbs, and someone lifts me up to sit on the registration counter.
"We'll get you cleaned up--"
"Ambulance is on its way--"
"Don't you worry, honey, he's locked in there--"
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"Her side is still bleeding."
"I'm fine, " I finally say. I lift up my shirt a little to inspect the wounds. "I won't even need stitches."
"Honey, how can you possibly know that?" a volunteer asks, shaking her head. I jump up as she presses an ice pack against my head.
"Trust me. I've had a lot of stitches." I glance back at the studio door. I can't possibly get back in there now. Several people are standi
ng in front of it, and there's practically a mob around me. Damn. Another one will get away. "Scarlett is going to kill me," I mumble.
"Don't you worry about whoever Scarlett is, sweetheart. I was right, though, you are a tough girly," Timothy tells me. His voice is shaking a little, as are his hands. "Oh, good! The cops are here!"
Outside, an ambulance and two police cars pull up. The EMTs rush in, and despite the protests from the center volunteers and the other dancers, I convince them that I don't need help. They just hand me a few more ice packs and move on to the dance studio. I tense my legs, ready to fight the Fenris, anticipating he'll be waiting just on the other side of the door. But no. When the EMTs emerge with the stretcher, he's attached to it. Blood is streaming down his face, and bits of glass peek out from his skin and hair--hair that is still mangy and somewhat furlike, though I doubt anyone else will notice. His eyes creak open as he passes me. Timothy hisses at him in a very catlike way, and the wolf's eyes close again.
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People are surrounding the police officers, eager to explain what happened. I try to leave, but Timothy insists that I stay and explain. Just as I'm giving the officer a very vanilla version of the story--"He just attacked me; I kicked him"--a Lexus screeches into the parking lot. A man in a business suit leaps out, straightening his tie as he bolts through the community center doors.
"Officer! I'm Robert Culler Senior. There was an incident involving my son?" he says, holding out his hand to the police officer taking my statement.
"Yes, Mr. Culler. Perhaps we can talk to you in just a moment? Your son is on the way to Grady hospital--"
"Of course," Mr. Culler says. He looks at me carefully, then tilts his head for me to follow him away from the crowd. "Did my crazy-ass son hurt you? I can write you a check," he says quietly, yanking a checkbook out of his pocket. "What's your name?"
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