by Nancy Holder
But Kate had noticed that the bag had been tampered with and accused him of stealing something from her—what, she hadn’t been exactly sure—and she had ordered him to prove his innocence by taking everything out of his pockets. But just in the nick of time, Allison had confessed that she’d gone into Kate’s bag to get a condom.
For me. To be with me. To have sex.
With me.
Despite his jitters, couldn’t hide his delighted, goofy smile. What would have happened if Allison hadn’t taken it? What if he’d had to empty his pockets, and Kate had seen the bullet? Was it possible to be completely freaked out and happy at the exact same time?
Yes. And he was living proof of that.
“I just wanted to make sure everything’s going okay,” her aunt was saying on the phone.
“Things are fine,” Allison replied, staring at Scott. He could hear her heartbeat. It was in overdrive. She put her finger to her lips, begging him to be silent, and he was a little bit insulted. Obviously he understood that Aunt Kate should not know she was with him. Then he reminded himself that Allison was nervous, and he gave her an encouraging smile.
Oh, yeah, things are great, Scott thought. We’re stuck in the preserve without Allison’s car keys.
“You don’t need anything from the house? Don’t need me to swing by?” Kate pressed.
Allison looked as if she was going to faint. “Nope,” she said. “I’m all set.”
“Hey, Allison,” Lydia said on the other line. “My mom wants our help setting the table. If you don’t mind.”
“No problem. Be right there,” Allison said.
“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to your mother,” Kate said. “Hey, what—”
“Allison,” said another voice. Scott freaked. Oh, God, it was Allison’s father. Involuntarily, he shrank back into the shadows, as if her father could see right through the phone. Allison was wigging out, too. Scott could hear her heart thundering.
“Have a nice time with your friend, honey,” Mr. Argent said.
“Thank you, Dad,” Allison replied.
There was a click as the call was disconnected. Then Lydia called back.
“Is she for real?” she cried. “What is up with your aunt?”
“I’m sorry,” Allison murmured. She was speaking to Lydia, but looking straight at Scott. Why was she apologizing? It was his fault that she’d been grounded. He’d talked her into skipping school.
“She’s . . . overprotective. She hasn’t seen me in a year and I think she still pictures me as a little girl, you know?”
Because last year you were only sixteen instead of seventeen, Scott thought. Hardly a little girl.
“I could see your father acting that way,” Lydia replied. “Well, anyway, I think we can rest a little easier. Your family has checked up on you, and your dad obviously trusts you, so it’s all good.”
“Yeah,” Allison said, and it was obvious to Scott that not being honest with her father bothered her. Scott still didn’t know if Allison was aware of the world of werewolves and hunters. It hadn’t exactly come up in conversation.
Then Scott had a thought, not his favorite, and he couldn’t share it. But if Jackson was on his way out of the preserve, maybe he, Scott, could track him and ask him for help. To look for the keys, to take Allison home, something.
The idea of asking Jackson for a favor made him wince. Jackson would make sure he got payback, and if he knew that Allison and Scott had both snuck out to be together, he’d be able to get them in trouble if he felt like it.
But then he’d get in trouble, too. At least we didn’t go to that cheap motel.
Or, wait. We did.
Everything was getting too complicated.
He realized Allison was still on the phone with Lydia, and resumed his eavesdropping.
“I have a sort of a problem,” Allison said to Lydia. “I can’t find my car keys.”
After a beat, Lydia said, “You’re kidding, right?”
“I think I dropped them . . . someplace,” Allison confessed. She brightened. “What about a locksmith?”
“They’ll have to check with the person the car is registered to,” Lydia said. “I know this from personal experience. Not that I’ve ever lost my keys, but I have a friend who did.”
Allison sagged and bit her lower lip as she looked at Scott. “Then we have to find them.”
Back to square one. Scott tried to smile reassuringly as Allison disconnected. Then she slid her arms around him. She leaned her head against his chest and gazed up at him.
“This isn’t the most romantic Friday night.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I’m having a great time,” he said, kissing her.
• • •
Where the hell are we? Jackson thought. They had been trekking through the preserve like two people on a frickin’ safari or something. Jackson could smell smoke so strong he kept expecting to run into Gramm’s campfire again. Then he realized it was Friday night and people were partying. This wasn’t his kind of deal. He was damn lucky there was no lacrosse game tonight, or he would be in serious trouble with Coach. Now that his “adventure” was almost over, he couldn’t believe that he’d blown off Lydia like this. He was just totally overcranked lately.
“I don’t mean to, um, doubt you,” Jackson said to Cassie, “but this is taking awhile, and I need to get home.”
She turned around, facing him, and stretched her arms out to the sides. She moved her head from side to side, stretching her neck muscles, and said, “I’ll bet you sleep in a nice, big bed.”
He smiled. He was flattered, even though he was used to girls coming onto him. He drove a Porsche, wore Hugo Boss. He worked out, and he wasn’t bad looking.
“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
“We move around a lot,” she said. “Sometimes I even sleep in our car. Hopefully soon I can . . . fly away.” She mimicked the baby bird. “Wasn’t that too funny, how that thing came right at you?”
He chuckled. “If you ever tell anyone I freaked out over a bird . . .” Then he remembered that she wasn’t from here, and didn’t know anyone he knew. It was fortunate that she knew her way around the preserve.
“Make you a deal,” she said. “I don’t tell anyone about that, and you don’t tell anyone about . . . me.”
He frowned, puzzled. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“No, I mean, don’t tell anyone that you saw me. Because . . . I could get in trouble.”
“Trouble?” He blinked. “Just for talking to a guy?”
She walked up to him. He could smell her perfume. They were almost the same height. She gazed in his eyes hard, as if she were trying to tell him something. And then she kissed him.
Her lips were soft, and it was an okay kiss, but there was Lydia, and getting out of there. So he didn’t diss her by pulling back, but he didn’t go for it, either. He knew how to end a kiss without making it seem like he was ending it, and that was what he did.
“That was so nice,” she murmured with a blushy little smile. “I haven’t ever had a boyfriend. We’re always on the ru—go.”
She’d been about to say something else. He didn’t know what, but he wasn’t going to ask. Flirting was nice and all . . . in the right time and place.
Then she started to kiss him again, and he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Her face fell, and he wanted to shake her. It was beginning to dawn on him that she might not know the way to the parking lot after all. That she might be messing with him.
“Okay, okay,” she said tiredly. She gestured for him to follow her. She pointed. “There’s the Porsche,” she said. “Sweet ride.”
And there about twenty yards below the little hill they stood on was the small parking lot, with his freshly detailed Porsche parked across two spaces, so that no one could ding it.
Finally, he thought, as he pulled out his keys with a sigh of relief. He turned to thank her.
But she wasn’t there.<
br />
“Hey,” he said. “Cassie?”
There was no answer. He looked around, peering into the trees and the shadows surrounding him. It was as if she’d never been beside him. As if she were a ghost.
“Thank you,” he called, shaking his head. She was just the most recent in a long list of very weird things that had happened since yesterday morning.
He was halfway to the Porsche when someone stepped from a row of bushes bordering the lot, so that he was between Jackson and his car. The figure was cloaked in darkness, but Jackson made out the silhouette of Hunter Gramm. Jackson faltered when he saw him, but ignored him and headed for the left, to avoid him. Warily, he slid his glance toward the guy, who was watching him.
“Jackson,” Gramm said, walking toward him. Jackson still couldn’t make out his features. “Hold on. I’m sorry you got spooked. I really do have information for you.”
“We’re done,” Jackson said, without stopping. “You don’t know anything about me or my birth family. You’re just some scam artist.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Reception. Thank God.
“Is that your phone?” Hunter Gramm said.
Jackson jutted out his chin. “Yeah, why?”
Then at last Gramm stepped from the shadows beneath the parking lot light, and Jackson saw that he was wearing a black ski mask.
“Toss it over there,” he said. “Now.”
And that he was holding a gun.
• • •
“What’s that smoke?” Derek asked as he peered through the windshield of Stiles’s Jeep. In the distance, two black plumes rose into the dark sky. He leaned his head out of the window and inhaled the smell. Timber wood.
“I told you not to do that,” Stiles grumped. Then he said, “Oh. No tongue lolling, sorry. It’s just smoke. You can build fires in the preserve.” He made a face. “You’re not big on smoke. I get that.”
“You don’t know anything about me, so shut up,” Derek said.
“Kinda do,” Stiles replied. “Wish I didn’t,” he said under his breath.
“Just drive,” Derek said.
Stiles fell silent and did as Derek said. As they neared the preserve, Stiles looked queasily at Derek and said, “Don’t bite me if I tell you bad news.” Derek looked over at him, waiting for him to go on. “I’ve lost Scott’s signal.”
Derek growled. Stiles held the phone out to him. “We could try yours. Download the app and—”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” Derek informed him. He hadn’t imagined needing one. The reception at his house was practically nil, and he could pretty easily find Scott when he needed him. And aside from the Alpha, Scott McCall was the only person in Beacon Hills he needed to communicate with.
Actually, I don’t need to communicate with the Alpha. I just need to kill him.
And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone tracking him with a cell phone.
Stiles muttered to himself. Derek kept his eye on the twin plumes of smoke.
Which were quickly joined by a third.
“Is that normal?” Derek asked Stiles. “So many fires?”
“I don’t know, but I’m guessing yes,” Stiles said. “I’m not usually in a group that does stuff like that on Friday nights. Before Scott had a girlfriend, we did, like, multiplayer games, hung out, watched movies.”
Derek snorted.
“Yeah, well, Mr. Werewolf guy, I don’t exactly picture you attending homecoming, either.”
I almost did, Derek thought as he clenched his jaw and glared at Stiles. “Drive faster.”
Bad vibes were running through Derek as thoroughly as the volts from Kate’s cattle prod. If someone had asked him to explain what was bothering him, he wouldn’t have been able to explain his reasons point by point. But he was a werewolf, and he had animal instincts, and his gut was telling him that there was something wrong.
Stiles was taking the curves on squealing tires. Still, if Derek shifted, he could run faster. As he was considering it, Stiles made a sharp turn and barreled onto a narrow road. Derek realized with a start that it was the back road to his house—a private road. But it had somehow been mapped and put into data banks. That made him feel violated. The world was shrinking. When the code had been created, hunters had ridden horses and used crossbows. Now they drove around in Hummers and used submachine guns. And broke the code without blinking twice.
But they will pay for that.
Stiles drove on the Hale road for a while, then pulled over. He looked at Derek, then punched a number on his phone. He nodded.
“I’ve got the signal back. Scott’s ringing,” he said. “And . . . ringing.” He moved his head left, right. Trying to get good reception, Derek understood. He wanted to grab the phone and talk to Scott himself, but he let the idiot do it.
“Maybe his phone’s dead,” Stiles said.
“Then I’ll scent him out. My nose doesn’t die,” Derek grumbled.
“What if you have a cold?” Stiles asked him, and Derek realized he wasn’t trying to be sarcastic. He was genuinely curious. Derek didn’t care. Stiles could stay curious.
Derek got out of the Jeep; then he raised his head and inhaled. So much smoke. He hated the smell. Clenching his fists inside the pockets of his black leather jacket, he started to walk. Behind him, Stiles clambered out and caught up with him.
“Why are you so worried about Scott?” Stiles demanded as he put on a hoodie. “Oh, I know, the Alpha and all, but—”
Derek had had it. He grabbed Stiles by the front of his sweatshirt and slammed him against a tree trunk. Stiles grunted hard, and Derek got into his face.
“Yes, ‘the Alpha and all,’” he said through clenched teeth. “Are you really this stupid? You’ve seen what the Alpha is capable of. You know that mountain lion had nothing to do with what’s going on.”
“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Stiles said. His face was ashen. He held up his hands. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but, well, it’s like you’re PMSing, dude. I mean, you’re even crankier than usual. Which, even you have to admit, is off the charts on a good day.”
“I don’t know why I don’t just kill you,” Derek said, letting his enhanced vision take over, so that Stiles would see his eyes.
“And I sincerely hope you’ll keep asking yourself the big questions,” Stiles said. “Seriously, man, I’m not the enemy, okay?”
You’re too weak to be my enemy, Derek thought. But Stiles could easily become an enemy. One word spoken to the wrong person, and the sheriff’s son could destroy him. Derek knew exactly how that could go down.
Derek let go of him and kept walking. The smoke was blanketing the other forest smells, and he couldn’t help but feel that it was deliberate. Then the moonlight shone down on a car, and his heart nearly stopped. He recognized that car. It belonged to Allison Argent.
But the scent that was covering it belonged to the Alpha.
CHAPTER TEN
Once the sun had gone down, the temperature had plummeted, too. Allison had retrieved a heavier jacket from her car. But she was still shivering as the two of them retraced their steps through the forest. Their breaths were like huge ghosts floating around them. Scott hoped they would run into one of the campfires so she could warm up. Or they could just make their own, if it looked as if they were going to be stuck looking for a while.
He walked in front of her, alert, cautious. Even though she was working hard to keep up, he could tell she was getting tired. He didn’t know what to do.
“Scott.” She tugged on his wrist, and he turned quickly. She waggled his hand and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I need to take a break,” she said. “I’m so cold.”
He put his arms around her and molded her against his chest. Shutting his eyes against the tide of pleasure that washed over him, he nestled her head beneath his chin. Her knitted cap was scratchy as she settled trustingly against him, and he ran his fingers through the strands of her hair. What was the worst that could happen if they j
ust gave up? Maybe Lydia would lie for them, say that she and Allison had driven to the preserve to study, or pick up Jackson, or something. Sure, the Argents would be angry with her, but not half as angry if they knew that she’d lied to them so she could be with Scott.
Sighing, he was about to broach the subject when she leaned her head back and kissed his jawline. She cupped her hand around the side of his face, bringing his mouth toward hers. She kissed him long and slow, and he had the presence of mind to check his fingernails. So far.
So very, very good.
• • •
Stiles was gasping for breath by the time Derek finally stopped charging through the underbrush. He remembered when Scott had suffered from his terrible asthma attacks—that was all gone now, thanks to the Bite—and his own hideous panic attacks when his mom had died. Not being able to catch your breath really sucked.
But at least he could pant to death in the presence of warmth. Derek had halted at the base of a banked campfire. There was no fire, but the embers were still glowing, and as Stiles sprawled beside it, heaving, Derek sniffed at it for a while, grunted, and added some twigs to make the flames jump to life.
“So?” Stiles finally managed to gasp out. “Was the Alpha here?”
“I can’t tell.” Derek sounded as if he was embarrassed and angry in equal measures, which Stiles would have found ironic if he hadn’t been too busy wheezing. “But he was definitely at Allison’s car.”
Stiles closed his eyes against a bombardment of panic. He tried to remind himself that the Alpha had bitten Scott because he needed him. An Alpha derived strength from his pack members. So he wouldn’t kill Scott. Allison was another subject. Her father was a werewolf hunter. What if the Alpha attacked her out of revenge?
“I’m going to look for Scott,” Derek said.
“Hang on. I’ll go with—” Stiles couldn’t finish his sentence. He lay gasping. Then he raised a hand. “—you,” he said at last.
But Derek was already gone.
“Or I’ll just lie here and pass out,” Stiles muttered.
• • •
“Lydia, there’s someone to see you,” Lydia’s mother told her with a soft rap on her door.
