“It sounded like a female voice, so it could be Holly?”
“Yep.” His arms go around my waist in a quick hug. It’s reassurance. I know that. A squeeze that says we acknowledge this is a difficult decision, but we’re making it together. He still catches himself and backs off fast with a quick, “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, Elijah,” I say. “I’m not going to mistake a squeeze on the hand or a quick hug for sudden renewed interest and the promise of more hot make-out time. Just relax, okay?”
“I—”
I touch my finger to his lips. “Hear that cry for help in the forest? It says this isn’t the time for relationship drama. Now, come on.”
I take off at a jog. He’s behind me until I slow, and then he creeps to my side. We both look and listen. At a snuffling sound, he mouths, “Bear?” I lift one shoulder in a shrug and lean in, straining to hear . . .
Crying. I hear crying. The snuffles and muffled sobs of someone in tears.
That should trigger my empathy. Instead, it puts me on a full alert. It’s too obvious a ploy to bring us running.
We know the witch is in this forest. We know she loves her tricks and traps.
I motion that we’ll approach slowly and split up. Elijah makes a face at the second half of those instructions, but he nods, acknowledging this is best. We’ll still be within sight of each other. Just not both sharing the same sight line.
I’m about to veer off when he does. He moves with only the faintest scuff of shoe on dirt, inaudible to anyone without werewolf hearing.
Move quietly, stay downwind and listen, always listen, because out here, your ears will tell you more than your eyes.
Elijah’s eyes are what help him here, though. I happen to be glancing over, checking on him, when his eyes narrow, and he stops short. I motion a question, but he’s too intent on his target to notice. He lifts a hand, asking me to wait. I catch his eye with a glare. He mouths, “Please” and “Trust me,” and I can’t argue with that. So I settle for silent grumbling as I shift to a better position where I can guard his approach.
“Tricia,” he says, his voice ringing out as he strides forward.
At that name, the hairs on my neck rise.
The last time I saw our head counselor, she’d been barreling toward the funeral pyres. I’d caught a glimpse of something red in her hands and thought it was a fire extinguisher. Yes, I knew she was a half-demon. Yes, she’d been acting oddly. But I still saw her as the person in charge, a little flighty, but competent enough. Therefore, she must be running to our rescue with a fire extinguisher.
It wasn’t a fire extinguisher. It was a can of gasoline.
Now she’s crying in the forest, and I know that what happened wasn’t her fault. She was infected. That doesn’t change the memory of seeing her and hoping and then realizing . . .
I swallow, and I don’t blame Elijah for telling me to wait. I still move forward, though. Tricia had thought Elijah was a half-demon, like her, but at the last second, he’d revealed his true race in an attempt to distract our attackers. If she’s still not herself and remembers that, she’s a threat to him, too.
“E-Elijah?” she says.
“Get up.”
“Elijah?”
“Don’t act like you’ve forgotten who I am. There was exactly one Black guy with locs at camp.”
“No, I . . . I know who you are.” A scrambling sound, as if she’s getting to her feet fast. I tense, still watching Elijah, but he’s relaxed and moving forward.
“N-no,” Tricia says, and I see her then, backing away, hands raised. “Stay back.”
“Why?” he says. “Are we too far from a convenient burning stake? Or are you just not as bold without a mob to back you up?”
“Wh-what?”
“Have you forgotten already, Tricia? Seems to me you were the one bringing the lighter fluid to the barbecue.”
“So it was real?” She swallows so hard I hear it ten feet away as I slip up behind her. “You need to stay back, Elijah. There’s some kind of spell affecting the half-demons.”
“Good thing I’m not a half-demon then, huh?” He grabs a dead sapling and snaps it off with one hand. “Werewolf. Or did you miss my coming out?”
“I . . . It’s . . .”
“All a blur?” He stops. “That’s the next part, right?”
“I wish it was a blur. I remember . . .” Another audible swallow. “The fire pits. The stakes. Everyone chanting. I . . .” Her head snaps up. “You’re a werewolf?”
“Uh, yeah, I just said that.”
“No, I mean, if you’re a werewolf, are you with Kate and Logan Danvers? Are they okay?”
“Ah, let me guess. This is the part where I produce them so you and your mob can burn us all at the stake.”
“What? No. I’m alone. Look around. Or sniff. You can do that, right? Sniff the air, the ground, whatever you need to prove I’m alone here. I woke up in the forest, and I panicked and went running through the woods.” She lifts her hands, palms out. “I’m cut up and filthy and . . . and I know that’s the least of my concerns. I remember just enough . . .” She shudders, a full body convulsion. “I remember what they were doing to the Danvers twins and someone else.”
“What they were doing?”
“We. What we were doing. I remember Kate pleading, and no one was listening, and then she saw me and . . .” Another shudder. “There was someone else, too, right? A third camper? Are they okay? That’s what I’m asking. Are they all right? If you don’t trust me, then don’t take me to them. Just let me know they’re okay, and if you don’t know, find them. Please find them.”
“We’re fine,” I say as I step out. “Or as fine as we can be under the circumstances.”
She spins. Seeing me, her mouth opens and closes. Then her face scrunches, fresh tears springing to her eyes in a full-on ugly cry that rocks through her.
I am sure I will look back later and hate the fact that I didn’t run to comfort her. Didn’t at least say something comforting. But I see her, and I see that gas can, and I might logically know it’s not her fault, but still . . .
It wasn’t demonic possession. That’s what a little voice keeps whispering. In a case of possession, the person is gone completely and cannot be held responsible for their actions. I’m not sure this is the same, and that makes me very uncomfortable right now.
I don’t drink. Sure, at sixteen, I legally can’t, but let’s be real. Teens drink. When Logan goes to parties, he comes home smelling of it. Mom and Dad only watch to judge how much he’s had, and the answer, I suspect, is “just enough that his so-called friends won’t give him shit for abstaining.” While our parents would be fine with me having wine or beer or even sampling hard liquor, I don’t because I am afraid of this. Of what happened to Tricia. A loss of control. I’m a werewolf. I can’t afford to lose control, and I’m not yet at the place where I feel confident enough to loosen my grip even a little.
So is that what I saw earlier with the half-demons? A loss of control? As if they were all drugged or drunk?
When I was with Brandon, we went to parties. He’d drink too much and get aggressive, pushing for sex. More than once, I had to throw him across the room and then pretend, the next day, that he’d imagined it. At the time, I said the aggression wasn’t his fault. Now I call bullshit. He wanted sex, and the booze inhibited the part of his brain that warned against forcing the issue. It peeled away the top layer of socially imposed morality to reveal an ugly core that didn’t truly believe coercion was wrong.
Tricia tried to burn me alive. Does that mean the infection released a deep-seated violence? A hatred of werewolves?
If it did, then it released that in every last half-demon camper. Not a single one rose above it to say this was wrong, and I am no misanthrope. I will not believe that every person is that ugly deep down. So I must believe that whatever happened, it did not release anything other than a demon’s chaos hunger. It’s the hunger that took over, not hidden violence and p
rejudice.
I work all that out in the time it takes to walk toward Tricia. And so, having decided she’s not culpable, I should give her a hug, right? Tell her it’s okay?
I should . . . and I don’t, because while my brain has absolved her, it’ll take time for the rest of me to catch up. I can, however, bring myself to say, “I’m okay,” and when she comes at me with her arms open, I stiffly allow the hug.
Behind her, Elijah tenses, his jaw setting in a way that says he also understands but also cannot forgive just yet, and I kinda love him for that. I manage a weak smile, and he returns it. Then he steps forward, his hand going to Tricia’s shoulder to tug her back from me.
“All right,” he says. “For now, you get the benefit of the doubt, but if anyone comes rushing out of this forest, I’m taking you down.” He meets her gaze. “I mean that. I don’t care that you’re a woman. I don’t care that I’m a werewolf. I will take you down without a second thought. So if there’s someone hiding in the woods, tell me now, and we can talk this out before it comes to that.”
“There’s no one. Go and sniff around. Please.”
“We will. Sit your ass right here while we do that.”
We’re moving away before she even sits.
Once we’re out of earshot, Elijah leans in to whisper. “I know we don’t have time for this shit. We’ll be quick. Then we’ll find Holly and Allan.”
I nod. He’s right that we don’t have time. Yet we can’t leave a potential threat in the forest where she can follow us with the others and trap us in that cabin.
Before we separate for a quick sniff around, he touches my elbow and leans in again. “When I said I’d take her down, I didn’t mean . . .”
“You didn’t mean you’d kill her. Just incapacitate her. But if she thinks kill, that’s fine, too.”
He smiles at me, dark eyes sparking with the same look I must have every time he implicitly understands me. He squeezes my arm, and then we separate to check whether Tricia really is alone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Logan
I tell Paige everything. When I finish, she says, “The attendees . . . You said three are . . .”
“Dead. Yes. One counselor and two campers.”
Silence. I know Paige is processing that. Three people died at a conference she created. Yes, she had nothing to do with the deaths. Yes, she wasn’t even intimately evolved enough in the camp preparations to take responsibility there. But she’ll never duck that responsibility either. She is going to feel these deaths and spend countless hours wondering what she might have done to prevent them.
I give her a moment. Then I say, “There are also . . . Well, not all the campers are accounted for, and Marchocias says she saw several run into the woods. They may need to be rescued, but I doubt she’d harm them. She just wants us all out of her forest, and the more supernaturals who die there, the more likely we’ll target her for retaliation. She doesn’t want that.”
“An attention-shy demon,” she murmurs. “Guess we got lucky there.”
“She enjoys a bit of drama, but this is all too much. She’s supposedly the progenitor of the werewolves, and that would make sense. She’ll fight, but she’d prefer to be left alone in her forest. Right now, she’s retreated to let us clean this up.”
“Okay,” Paige says, and her voice is distant as her thoughts race ahead. Kate and I can joke about the utter debacle of this first conference for supernatural teen leaders, but it was Paige’s baby. An excellent idea co-opted by less competent members of the community. A tragedy and disaster that will forever be associated with Paige even if she had little input beyond the initial concept.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“No good deed . . .” she says softly. Then she comes back stronger. “Enough of that. We have work to do. Who do we have on the ground there? Besides you guys, there’s Chloe Saunders and Derek Souza, yes? Savannah will vouch for them.”
“I do,” Savannah’s voice pops in. “I have no idea what’s happening, but if they’re there, they can be trusted one hundred percent.”
Paige comes back on. “We’re still an hour out, so please ask Chloe and Derek to stay while I coordinate this. Are any of the counselors conscious? Besides the necromancer, of course.” Another pause. “Oh! How about Tricia? The lead counselor. She seemed very capable.”
“She’s a half-demon,” I say. “She was part of the attack. I could find her and try to wake her but . . .”
“No,” Paige says firmly. “Please do not attempt to wake any of the half-demons. I hope the infection has passed, but we can’t take any chances. I’m going to call Lucas now and see whether Lucean has anyone in the area. It’s West Virginia, which makes it tricky, but someone might be within a short plane ride and—”
A split-second pause before she returns with, “And your mother is calling. Excellent. This situation cannot possibly get any better. Dare I guess you haven’t told her what happened?”
“We decided to call you first.”
“Good plan. So she has no idea that anything is wrong?”
“Er, probably not? We did miss our check-in call last night, but Mom shouldn’t freak out unless we don’t call . . . tonight,” I say, looking up at the setting sun.
Paige sighs. “All right, then. I have a freaked-out werewolf Alpha to deal with. Let me call her back.”
“No, I can—”
“I’ll do it. I’ll give her this number and tell her to call you afterward, but if she can’t get hold of you, it only means you’re out of range. Yes?”
“Yes. We’ll collect Kate and the others, get back to this spot and call both of you.”
“Perfect. Be safe.”
I hang up and glance over to see Mason propped against a tree.
“Is it morning yet?” he says. “That was the longest emergency call ever.”
“It wasn’t an emergency call. It was a call for assistance in the aftermath of an emergency. Paige was already on her way. She’s about an hour out. Now, before we collect Kate and the others, let me see whether I can call Derek—”
Mason swipes the phone from my hand.
“Hey!” I say.
“You can’t call him. Cell phones are blocked at the conference center, remember?”
“They may have found the blocker—”
“Just chill for a second, okay? Take a deep breath. Come walk in the woods with me.”
“We’ve been walking in the woods all day. We . . .”
Mason’s already striding toward the forest, waggling Chloe’s phone over his head. I shake my head and break into a jog. I’m almost to him when he bolts, running full out into the forest, and I laugh, calling, “Hey!”
Another shake of my head before I follow. As soon as I step past the clearing, I pause, head tilting.
The forest has gone silent. Dark, too, the trees stealing the last of the light.
I peer around, my night vision kicking in. I turn in a circle, calling, “I can track you by scent, remember? Hide-and-seek never quite works with me.”
When I bend to sniff the ground, an acorn bops me in the forehead. I sigh. Part of me wants to tell him we don’t have time for this game, but the other part is happy to see him goofing around. That part also reminds me that Paige is on her way, and our return to Kate and Elijah can wait five minutes.
I scan my surroundings and see exactly one tree wide enough to hide Mason. I stride toward it.
“You know, if you are going to play this, you should really make it a little tougher.”
I stop on the other side of the tree. “Three, two, one, ready or not, here I come.” I swing around the tree and—
Mason isn’t there. I stand, blinking, and then turn just as a dark shape leaps up from behind a bush.
“Nice one,” I start to say. Before I can finish, he’s in front of me, his arms going around my shoulders. There’s a split-second of alarm, instincts kicking in, my hands flying up to defend myself, but then his face is coming
down to mine, lips on mine.
My brain stutters. Surely Mason is not ambush-kissing me. But then his lips crush mine, and I realize that’s exactly what’s happening, and my alarm hardens into anger. When I try to pull away, an outraged, “Hey!” on my lips, his arms tighten, and I have to shove hard, sending him tripping backward.
His eyes chill. “Guess you aren’t actually trying to figure it out after all. That’s just something you say to sound cool.”
“Excuse me?” I say.
He turns on his heel and stalks away.
“What the hell?” I call after him.
He keeps going.
“Get back here!” I shout.
“Not interested.”
“Really?” I say as I stomp after him. “’Cause that kiss sure seemed interested, but I’d appreciate it if you made sure I’m interested before you jump . . .”
He’s moving too fast to hear me.
As I watch him, I know exactly how he expects this to go. He’ll stalk off in an indignant fury. I’ll feel bad because I know how hard it is to make a move, especially if you’re not even sure of the other person’s sexual orientation.
So I’m supposed to chase him and apologize, and he gets to be the injured party when I was the one grabbed and kissed without any chance to say whether I wanted it.
As much as I want to sort this out, I won’t do it like that. I have to get back to my sister. He can follow or not.
As I walk, I run through the last few minutes, seeing whether I missed a sign, an overture, a hint that this was coming.
Seeing whether it’s my fault he jumped me?
I’m annoyed with myself for even thinking that. I’m also propelled back to a family trip last summer. A guy who worked at the ice cream shop liked Kate. She’d been interested and sought my advice on asking him out. Before she could, he lay in wait on her jogging route and did pretty much the same thing Mason just did, swooped out and kissed her. She’d stormed home and vented her outrage.
And I’d sat there, listening and sharing her outrage while a little part of me thought, But you like kissing and But you like him. I’d agreed that he’d gone about it the wrong way, but I hadn’t really understood why she was as upset as she was.
Wolf's Curse Page 16
