by Quinn Loftis
“Rafe decided to sneak into my tent and go through my stuff,” Nick said.
I looked at the older hybrid. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him as a human. His yellow eyes, normally gentle and clear, were wide in contained pain. He was missing fur in several places on his shoulders and face. What was left smoked faintly. The smell was worse standing this close.
“Is this true?” I asked.
Rafe stared up at me where he lay flat on the dirt before Nick. Behind the pain in his eyes was defiance. “He took my watch. It’s the one thing I have from before. I want it back.”
“You went into his tent because he went into yours?” I asked. Rafe nodded. “Nick?”
He scowled and averted his eyes. I followed their track to the ground and found a pile of shredded fabric underneath Nick’s paws. And half buried in a pile of pine needles, a lighter.
I bent down and picked up the lighter, making sure Nick watched me pocket it. Then I marched over and got in his face. “Apologize to him.”
He blew a short breath out of his nostrils. It hit my face and I almost gagged. Werewolf Nick was in desperate need of some mouthwash. “For what?” he spat. “I didn’t do anyth—”
“Give him back the watch and apologize,” I said, cutting him off.
“Is everything …?” Cambria walked up behind me but stopped short when she saw Rafe. “Holy cow. Are you all right? What happened?” Before anyone could answer, she clapped a hand over her nose. “You really stink.”
I shot her a look. She shrugged. “Well, he does.”
“Should’ve stayed out of my tent,” Nick muttered.
My hands tightened into fists at Nick’s nasty attitude. I had to will my shape to stay solidly human. I badly wanted to shift, but I’d already ruined two outfits this week.
Rafe made some noise of protest and Nick growled.
“Nick, calm your ass,” Cambria snapped.
“He went through my tent,” Nick said.
“Stop stealing from people and they’ll stay out of your tent,” I said, my voice rising as my patience thinned.
“This is bullshit. He had it coming.” The way Nick spat out the words, his lips pulled back from his teeth, made it hard not to bite him—without even shifting first.
My wolf rose to the surface. Nick was pushing me. My wolf wanted to push back. “Bullshit, huh?” I said. “He came for his property and you burned him.”
“Punishment.”
“Who are you to give punishment? Or pass judgment?”
He didn’t answer.
“Come here,” I said. I held up the lighter.
“No way. You’re not using that thing on me,” Nick said, backing away.
He didn’t get more than two steps before he bumped into something and lurched forward. He turned to see what he’d hit and came face to face with another wolf.
This one didn’t have the yellow eyes of the hybrids but brown orbs that shimmered with caramel flecks in the light. He had russet fur and broad shoulders. Even on four paws, he stood almost a foot taller than Nick, and he glared at Nick with a ferocity I hadn’t seen in weeks. “Do what she says,” Wes growled.
Nick hesitated, which surprised me more than anything. Did he really think he could beat Wes? But then he seemed to come to his senses and hung his head as he shuffled forward.
“Do it,” Nick said, obviously assuming I was going to hurt him somehow, which was ridiculous. I wasn’t a masochist.
I waited, drawing out the suspense as long as possible while Wes moved in behind Nick. Cambria scooted left and nodded at me. Ready, she mouthed.
I bent down so Nick and I were eye to eye and wiggled the lighter in my hand. “See this?” I dropped it on the ground in front of me and brought my heel down on it, drawing on my wolf for strength until it finally cracked and broke.
Nick winced.
“This is over,” I said, straightening. “I am alpha. Not you. Stop trying to force your own authority or you’ll regret it.”
Nick raised his head. The fiery temper was gone but there was something else. A thirst for something I couldn’t understand. Revenge?
“And give back his watch,” I added.
Nick went to his tent, stuck his nose inside, and came away with something silver in his mouth. He dropped it in front of Rafe and looked back at me. “Are we done here?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m taking a walk. Watch my tent.”
“We’ll do that,” Wes said before I could respond. Probably a good thing. I’d only come back with something sarcastic and I knew Nick wasn’t far from wanting to stay and make this into something bigger. Something he shouldn’t.
I let him go.
When he was gone, I knelt beside Rafe. “May I?” I asked, gesturing to the singed spots on his fur.
“Go ahead.”
The burnt hair was coarse underneath my fingertips, interrupted by the strangely smooth patches of exposed flesh. “Cambria, can you take him to the house so Fee can look at these?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“I don’t need all that,” Rafe protested. “I’ll heal fine in my own time.”
“I know that, but Fee’s special tea will help the process along.”
Rafe made a face, his snout lifting until his front teeth showed. “That tea of hers is an atrocity. I’m sure I’ll heal without it.”
I caught the laughter before it escaped. “It is an … acquired taste,” I agreed. “But I need you feeling better. I need us feeling better,” I added with a pointed look.
He sighed. “Fine. I’ll drink the tea.”
“Thank you.” I patted his head before I could help myself but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’ll check on you later,” I called as he followed Cambria back through the maze of camp.
“Check on me too,” Cambria called.
I cast a long look into the trees in the direction Nick had gone. If I expanded my senses, I could hear his footsteps as he moved farther away from camp. His voice in my head wasn’t as pronounced as I was used to. It felt muted. I strained to listen.
His mood was … gray. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but it wasn’t the first time I’d sensed it from him.
“You all right?” Wes asked.
“Hmm?” I turned my attention away and found Wes studying me. “I’m fine.”
I began making my way back toward my tent before he could argue. I didn’t want to have this conversation here. Or anywhere, really.
“I’ll meet you there in five,” Wes said, bounding into the trees. Probably in search of shorts so he could reappear on two legs.
“Hey, Tara, is Rafe going to be okay?” Emma, a blond hybrid around my age who preferred her human form when her body would cooperate, stood before me with watery eyes and a trembling lip.
“He’s going to be fine,” I assured her. “He went up to the house to have some of Fee’s tea so he’ll get better even faster.” Emma grimaced.
I began walking again but she stopped me. “Is there anything I can do for you—or George, or anybody?” she asked. “I want to help.”
“Um, well. You could try to make some of these tents more stable,” I suggested. “Some look ready to keel over in the next big wind.” I suspected those were the ones whose owners couldn’t shift to their human form. Something that happened more and more often as the animal in them took over. No fingers and thumbs made bolting a tent down pretty hard.
“No problem. Janie and I will get right on it.”
“Thanks,” I said as she hurried off in search of her sister.
I picked my way back through camp, fielding questions and containing squabbles. Nothing like what’d happened with Nick. More like what came from living in close quarters with the same people day in and day out.
Wes was waiting for me when I finally made it back. He pulled me in for a hug and I pretended not to have a pounding headache as I listened telepathically to the rest of the pack try to figure out what’d happened. Or
whether Nick had lost his mind.
Please don’t ask me to explain any of that because I have no idea.
“He’s getting worse,” Wes said when I pulled away.
“Yeah.”
“What’s his problem? Can you read him?”
I shook my head. “Not with this. It’s … I don’t know what it is. But it’s not him.”
Wes frowned but said nothing. I needed to change the subject. To move on—back to normal …ish.
“So what are your plans for the day?” I asked, making a special effort to lighten my tone. “Are you and Jack still heading out?”
“That’s the plan. Jack’s in the weapons room doing a reorganize. Figured I had some time.”
“He must be stressed if he’s doing that.”
Wes nodded. “The packs are getting nervous about this thing with CHAS. It’s rubbing off on him.”
“You know we won’t be able to find anything in there for days once he’s done.”
“I know. Fee started baking when she saw what he was up to.”
“Great. So I’ll stay away until at least tomorrow.”
“Probably best. What are you going to do this afternoon?” he asked.
I rubbed absently at my temples. “Get cleaned up and head over to the hospital.”
He didn’t answer right away. His arms tightened around me. “Well … be careful,” he said finally.
Obviously, we still weren’t going to talk about it.
“I will,” I promised. I kissed his nose before stepping away. “You too. I’ll see you when you get back.”
“I’ll call you tonight.”
The strain between us, though unspoken, tugged at me. At my tent’s entrance, I turned back. “Wes, the bond …” I paused, searching for the right words.
“What about it?”
“It wasn’t something I chose. You are.”
Coming August 6 2013
Please enjoy the following excerpt of INESCAPABLE, by Amy Bartol
INESCAPABLE
THE PREMONITION SERIES BY AMY A. BARTOL
CHAPTER 1
MOVING DAY
As I drive past the placid façade of Crestwood College’s stately clock tower, I realize that this is the building they refer to as Central Hall. It’s the trademark of the school, and they stamp its image on everything they use to represent them. My acceptance letter had been embossed with its seal. The scent of autumn drifts through my open window along with the deep, echoing bell from the clock as it tolls out the hour. The loud, desolate sound sends a chill over my skin. It is funny to me how something as harmless as a clock tower can be winsome and sinister at the same time.
In the car behind me, my Uncle Jim gives me a couple of short honks of his horn. As I gaze at him in my rearview mirror, I see him gesturing for me to turn left at the next stop sign. His paranoia that I will miss the street to my dorm makes me smile, so I turn on my signal to relieve his anxiety. Crestwood’s campus has only a few streets; if I miss the turn, it won’t be fatal. If I manage to get lost here, then I don’t deserve the academic scholarship they gave me, I think to myself, using my mirror to refresh my lip-gloss.
I ride slowly under the tunneling oak trees that line the pavement. I had always thought that I would go to a larger school—one in a major city, like New York or Chicago, but when Crestwood offered me a full ride with no strings attached, I couldn’t pass up such an amazing opportunity. I mean, who needs a sprawling city if you’re totally broke all the time? And Crestwood is consistently ranked as one of the top private schools in the country for academics. Plus, this way I get to stay in Michigan so I can visit Uncle Jim more often. He’ll only be a few hours away—and he needs me. I’m his only family, just as he is mine.
Unease creeps over me as my dormitory comes into view. I don’t know a single person at Yeats Hall, or even Crestwood for that matter. I had met a few coeds on my brief tour of the school last year, but I had been just a prospective student then, so none of us really bothered to make friends. A fresh wave of panic hits me, or maybe it’s remorse for all the familiar things I’m leaving behind. Don’t stress, I tell myself while taking a deep breath. This place will be the making of you. Everything will be fine.
I park in a spot under a shady elm tree and cut the engine, waiting for my uncle to slip into the spot next to mine. Pulling up next to me, he parks his truck and leaves it idling. With his stereo blaring Baba O’Reily, he is head-banging and playing air guitar to the raging bass.
Normally, something like this would horrify me, especially since he is drawing frowns from the other parents hauling boxes and desk lamps out of their cars, but not today. Today, I’m trying to take a mental snapshot of this moment because it’s so quintessential Uncle Jim.
We had basically raised each other, he and I. When my mom died soon after I was born, he stepped up and assumed guardianship of me. It couldn’t have been easy; he’d been a kid himself at the time, only twenty years old.
As my eyes rove over him, lip-syncing with his mouth curling in a rocker-like scowl, I smile, knowing he is doing it for me. He is trying to make me laugh so that I won’t be nervous.
As I climb out of my old Jeep, I pretend not to notice when small pieces of the rusted door flake off as I close it. “You rock a mean air guitar,” I say after he cuts his engine and grins at me through the truck’s open window.
“I know—missed my calling. I was born to rock,” he replies with hubris, climbing out and joining me.
“Undoubtedly,” I agree. He slips his arm around my shoulder, trapping my long, auburn hair beneath it as he gives me a quick squeeze before letting it drop.
“You ready to check in?” he asks me as he runs his hands through his dark-brown hair, which immediately falls back over his forehead again.
“Yeah,” I nod, handing him a comb from my purse.
He smiles, taking the comb from me. “You know what I like most about you, Evie?” he asks me.
My eyebrow arches. “Umm, I’m not sweaty?” I ask.
His grin deepens, reaching his gray eyes as he shakes his head. “Well, that, and the fact that you think of everything. It makes me worry less about you because I know that you’ll cover every angle before you attack a problem,” he answers.
I give him a furtive glance as I retort, “You know what I like most about you?”
“My musicality?” he asks with a straight face.
I grin because we both know he is completely tone-deaf. “Well, that,” I agree, “and the fact that you always manage to say just the right thing.”
“You liked that?” he asks me while we walk up the sloping sidewalk to the entrance of my new residence. “Good, because I practiced it in the car all the way here.”
“It sounded very parental,” I compliment him as he holds the door for me to enter.
“That’s what I was going for,” he acknowledges, approaching the wide mahogany table in the lobby.
“Evie Claremont,” I say to the perky brunette seated in a wing-backed chair behind the table.
She scans the roster before looking up and asking, “Genevieve Claremont?”
“That’s me,” I breathe nervously, “but everyone just calls me Evie.”
She glances from me to my uncle, and her smile becomes toothy. My Uncle Jim and I both pretend not to notice when she begins flirting with him: me because I'm uncomfortable and him because he's not into females my age. Anyway, I’m used to it—it happens often; I think that every one of my female friends was in love with my uncle at one point or another.
As she begins outlining all of the upcoming dorm activities for him, I take the time to gaze around at the old building. I know that it was once a home to a wealthy Crestwood family, but they had donated it to the school around the turn of the previous century. The interior is elegant, with ice blue, silken wall-coverings, crown molding, rich deep-brown wainscoting, and leaded-glass windows.
Uncle Jim nudges me before handing me my new keys and motioning wit
h his chin toward the stairs.
“She was friendly,” I tease him as we climb up to the second floor.
He nods his head and feigns ignorance, muttering, “Very nice.”
Locating my room, we open it, and I set my purse down on the low table by the door as I enter. The room comes fully furnished with a single bed, a desk, a dresser, a bedside table, and a small lamp. A bathroom-style sink and a closet are the only other appointments to it.
“Home,” Uncle Jim says with a sanguine glance at me. He must be reading the dark excursion my mind is taking because he adds hurriedly, “Don’t worry; when we get your stuff in here, it won’t feel as strange.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, flashing him a faux grin.
“C’mon,” he says, putting his arm around me and tugging me to the door. “Let’s go get your stuff.”
We get to work unloading my swag from his truck. After bringing a few boxes up several flights of stairs, I stay in my room and begin unpacking them. “Where do you want me to put this box?” my Uncle Jim asks me, breathing heavily and staggering through the doorway.
Narrowing my eyes, I murmur, “Umm, let me think,” while looking for available space on the floor. “What’s in it?” I ask, sifting through the box in front of me.
He grunts before saying, “Judging by the weight, I’d say it has to be either your ex-boyfriend’s dead remains or…books.” Pressing the front of the box against the wall, he tries to keep from dropping it.
“Ah, it must be books—all of my exes are buried in the backyard at home, so pleasant dreams when you get there tonight,” I reply with a smirk, putting my alarm clock on the nightstand near my bed. “You can just set it down by the desk, thanks.” Shuffling across the room, he heaves the box down with a loud thump.
“I was wondering what happened to the last one. The one that took you to the movies…” he replies. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his Ramones t-shirt. Poor Dee Dee Ramone on the front of it looks a little soaked.
Giving him an ironic smile I shrug, “His name was Greg, and like I said…backyard.”
“Good, I never liked him,” he says with the same kind of smile. “Do you want help unpacking these?” he asks, indicating the boxes strewn around the room.
