by Tamar Sloan
Adam glances pointedly at Noah. “Bed and rest, young man.”
Beth starts collecting the soiled bandages. “I’ll put these in the bin.”
“I’ll go wash up.”
Adam and Beth disappear, neither choosing to do their tasks in the kitchen.
I look at Noah, at his mummy-wrapped chest. I want to be near him.
“Come here.”
I move forward, taking the seat beside him. He grasps my hand in his.
“I’d say thanks, but you’d probably—”
“Poke you in the ribs. The sore side.”
A rueful smile tips up his lips. “In that case, can I have your number?
“My number?”
“Yeah. Mom won’t be letting me go to school tomorrow.”
“Oh.” School without Noah. “Sure.”
Noah looks around for something to write with. He rustles through his father’s first aid kit, finding a marker. I rattle off the first few digits, and my eyebrows raise when I see where he’s writing. Black numbers scrawl across his dad’s handiwork. I finish the last few, and there’s my number, across Noah’s bandages. Across his chest.
“I’d better get going. You need to rest.”
Noah scrunches up his nose, but doesn’t object.
I start to rise, but Noah’s hand tugs me down. I stay in my seat, eyes turning to Noah. And I’m instantly trapped. Cerulean intensity wraps around me. His hand comes up to graze my cheek. Just like he always does when we part. This time I tilt into his fingertips, moving my head softly from side to side, absorbing more of the heat, our eyes locked the whole time.
“I guess I’m the chauffeur?” Mitch is standing in the doorway, the car keys bouncing up and down in his hand. He spends extra seconds scanning Noah’s face. Noah uses the time to give him a your-timing-is-impeccable look, and Mitch’s shoulders relax.
Oh, yes. I don’t have a car. I stand, the room feeling cool against my cheek. “If you don’t mind?”
“No probs. It’s about time I introduced you to the Phelan car rule.”
A groan filters up from the chair beside me. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
I don’t think I like the glint in Mitch’s eye.
Once in the car Mitch fiddles with some CDs. “So, a ricochet bullet, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t see anything?”
“No.” My eyes had been totally consumed by one thing. “I wish I could tell you more.”
“That’s okay, it was worth a try. It was just unlucky.” I wonder if he realizes he just echoed his father.
The drive to the reserve parking lot is blissfully short. Mitch’s music feels like it has irreversibly damaged my eardrums. And he didn’t even have it up loud. As we arrive, he leans forward, wrists resting on the steering wheel.
“Eden.” My hand pauses on the door handle. Please don’t let him thank me. “Although we live alongside humans, they’ve never been someone we can trust. Certainly not someone we could hold a powerful connection with.”
“Oh.” I blush, remembering Mitch’s behavior in Noah’s room that day. I feel like such a fool.
“Like you and Noah do.” He smiles, his handsome face softening. “You’ve certainly broadened my horizons.”
My second ‘oh’ is completely different. It’s softer, higher, more drawn out. Still accompanied by a blush.
His smile turns a little mischievous. “Anyway, I’m glad you liked my music.”
I smile too, opening my door. “Well, then we’re even. Your music has certainly been an educational experience.”
Mitch waits until I’m in my car and I follow him out to the highway. I flash my lights when we eventually go our separate ways.
I’m almost home when my phone bings. I smile, knowing who it is.
Thanks.
The smile vanishes. Sitting in the driveway I type a response.
Grrrr.
In a split second I have my reply.
That’s my line.
And my smile is born again.
20
Noah
Stuck at home.
Tara and Eden are studying at hers, and I’m stuck at home.
Stupid cut.
Stupid inflated Werewolf body temperature that means I can’t go to hospital and get stitches.
Stupid rapid Were healing that isn’t healing fast enough.
I tried everything to convince Mom. Reasoning had proved fruitless. Begging and pleading had been met with humor. Pointing out I was the future Alpha of the pack had been meet with an unimpressed eyebrow raise. And a query about whether I wanted to stomp my foot.
I was very, very tempted.
So here I am, stuck at home. Pretending to study.
I look at the stack of textbooks beside me on the bed. At my brother on the other side of them. He’s watching the screen of his laptop with keen intensity, headphones in. I know he’s watching something on YouTube. As if to confirm my hunch, Mitch chuckles, his shoulders shaking the bed.
Just because he managed to get an apprenticeship yesterday, with the local builder, Sam, who runs a well-respected company. Mitch was pretty nervous about approaching him, then acted like the day he was twelve and got his first power tool when Sam agreed to take him on. When he told us, I rejoiced alongside Mom and Dad. I wince just thinking about the back-thumping hug I had given him, completely forgetting about the six-inch gash down my side. My mother had noticed, just giving her more ammo for the you-aren’t-going argument.
Now I’m not feeling so charitable. Because unlike him, I really do need to study.
Without Eden. I smile my own smile. The boredom only broken by our texts.
My mom just made me a sandwich, egg and lettuce.
Sounds harmless enough.
The egg objected to being boiled so long. It’s retaliating.
Well, you should see Mitch’s face. He just bit into a cafeteria rissole.
I’d grimaced, having been there myself, but not feeling much sympathy. Is his lunch beating him up from the inside?
He said don’t bust a butterfly clip.
Tell him not to worry—I know an excellent nurse.
Silence, then another text. This one from Mitch.
Eden’s blushing again.
Then yesterday.
Missing you.
I’m in chem!
I’m in bed. Betcha this is more boring.
Doubt it. I’m so bored, I could eat my textbook. The one I spilled copper sulphate on.
I’m so bored I could have a snoring contest with Stash.
I’m so bored I could hang out with my mom.
Ok. You win.
A slight pause, and I think she’s done. Before my favorite one lights up the screen.
Missing you too.
At least I got to go to school today, with a note to get out of gym. Today I’d brought Eden a haloumi salad. She continues to look surprised, and delighted. I pointed out you learn to cook young in my mother’s household. She’d exchanged it for some of Stan’s awesome cookies. One of the many rhythms we’ve established. The smiles, the looks. The trading of food.
A knock sounds downstairs, and my father’s heavy footsteps can be heard heading to the front door. Kurt Channon’s voice carries up the stairs. Mitch and I look at each other. What’s he doing here?
Mitch scrambles off the bed, while I gingerly throw my legs over and stand. As we head downstairs, we see Kurt talking to my parents in the lounge.
“What a wonderful surprise, Kurt. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you, Beth. We don’t plan on staying long.”
We? Then I see Tara behind his wide form. Mitch has also seen her, judging by the way his face lights up. But I thought she was studying at Eden’s?
“Come in then. Make yourself comfortable.”
Mitch steps toward her, then stops. Kurt has stepped to the side as he heads for a lounge chair, and Tara’s tear-streaked face comes into
view. Mitch resumes his movement toward her but Tara shakes her head, eyes widening. He steps back, a frown on his face.
Kurt takes the two-seater across from my parents, Tara sitting beside him, her hunched form dwarfed by her father. That leaves Mitch and me to drag over two dining chairs. Mitch places his near Tara, but not too close. She doesn’t look at either of us.
What is going on?
My father is thinking along the same lines. “How can we help you, Kurt?”
Kurt straightens in his seat. “Adam, our families have been friends and neighbors for generations. As Alphas we’ve always recognized the importance of maintaining our alliance.”
“Indeed, valued friends and allies.”
“As our packs have grown in numbers and strength, we’ve become aware that it would be advantageous for a match to be made between our packs.”
My father frowns. Where is Kurt going with this?
“When your family’s…development didn’t go according to plan, the Channons were there to support you.”
“Yes, you were.”
“And when Tara and Mitch’s friendship developed, I was happy to support your enthusiasm.”
Dad strokes his chin. “My understanding is that both families were happy with the match.”
Kurt crosses his arms, not bothering to acknowledge my father’s statement. “But now Mitch will no longer be Alpha.”
“I’m not sure why that’s an issue, Kurt.”
Kurt stands, his brows sinking low. “Tara will not bond with a Beta.”
“Noah will take his rightful place as the Alpha heir, Kurt.” From the corner of my eye, I see Tara shrink in her chair.
“As he should.” Kurt fills his chest, expanding himself in the room. “And for this reason, Noah will be the one to bond with Tara.”
Mitch shoots to his feet. “No!” Echoing the word screaming through my mind.
Kurt rounds on him. “I’d be mindful of who you are speaking to, beta.” He spits the last word out.
“But Tara and I are to bond at the end of the year!”
Kurt turns back to my father. “It is the firstborns that will bond.”
“What does it matter, Kurt? If Tara bonds with Mitch, the packs will have their alliance.” This comes from Mom, her tone placating, the voice of reason.
Kurt shakes his head. “It’s my duty to safeguard Tara’s birthright.”
Dad remains in his seat, and Mom grasps his hand.
“I feel it’s important that we settle this quickly. On the next full moon.”
Bond with Tara? At the next full moon? He can’t be serious.
I look to Tara, seeing the misery etched in her stooped shoulders, raw eyes, wet cheeks. What about his daughter’s heart?
I break my silence. “This isn’t right, Kurt.” It’s the first time I’ve used his Christian name. And I do it deliberately.
He tilts his head, hazel eyes hard. “For you? Or for your pack?”
“Tara is your pack.”
Kurt’s eyes narrow; his nostrils flare.
My father stands, his big body cleaving through the tension. “I appreciate your perspective, Kurt.” Kurt’s shoulders relax a little. “You have given us a lot to think about.”
Kurt heads for the door, the silent Tara by his side. “I know you’ll make the right decision, Adam.”
We all stand and watch as Dad shakes Kurt’s hand as he leaves. Surely he can’t agree with him.
“Surely you can’t agree with him.” The words burst from Mitch like a detonating explosive.
“It’s not that simple, Mitch.”
Mitch glares at my father, chest heaving. My father holds Mitch’s look, as solid and steady as Grandpa Douglas in the midst of a hurricane. Mitch storms up the stairs, the slamming door echoing his rage throughout the house.
Dad flinches.
And I know.
I know that Dad’s stooped shoulders hold a great weight. The weight of his sons’ hearts. In hands that have always protected them. And the weight of his pack. In his obligation to our age-old neighbors.
And I know he’s considering Kurt’s request. His demand to uphold Tara’s birthright, our pack’s alliance.
I sit, the weight of its implications collapsing my legs beneath me, my head sinking into my hands.
Eden.
My heart constricts so much it hurts.
One question slams through my mind.
What have I done?
21
Eden
I pause, my hand frozen in midair. Stomping echoes from the upstairs area of the Phelan house, reverberating footsteps setting up a heavy rhythm.
Maybe now’s not a good time. The white chocolate cheesecake in my other hand wobbles uncertainly. When Tara cancelled our study session, I thought I’d surprise Noah. With midterms coming up, I thought we could review the sheet Mr. Dougherty gave us today.
A cool breeze ruffles my hair, making my shiver.
A dark, heavy mass has wormed deep in my belly, different from my usual anxiety. Now I’m being silly. I’ve spent so much time and energy trying to overcome the useless emotion—venturing out so much further and discovering all the wonderful things outside its walls.
Like Noah. And his warm glances. Heated touches. His enduring patience.
My hand comes up, rapping on the door.
It opens much quicker than I expected, like there was someone waiting on the other side. Noah stands in the doorway.
“Wow, you even know when I’m coming?” I joke. But the smile falls from my lips when I see his expression: his face pale, lips faded, his blue eyes missing their usual light.
“What’s wrong? Has your cut reopened?”
Noah shakes his head. “Come outside.” He steps out, closing off the warmth and light that had been spilling out.
I look down at the cheesecake in my hand, but its smooth surface has no answers. I put it on the wooden seat, along with my backpack full of school books.
Noah heads to Grandfather Douglas, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
The dark, heavy mass grows, snaking through my insides. I struggle to identify it, and where it’s coming from. All I know is its presence, along with Noah’s behavior, is deeply unsettling.
Underneath the tree that has witnessed countless moments, Noah turns to me. The afternoon light caresses his unsmiling face.
“What’s going on, Noah?”
He pulls his hands out of his pockets. Then shoves them back in, his shoulders hunching. I’ve never seen Noah speechless before.
And I know it’s bad. Really bad.
“Tell me.” Although the statement is a direction, it comes out in a whisper.
Noah sucks in a deep breath. “Kurt just left.”
I wait, knowing there’s a punch line.
“He’s demanded that Tara bond with the Alpha heir, as is her firstborn birthright.”
And it slams into me with the force of a well-aimed wrecking ball.
I take a step back. “What?”
“He wants me to bond with Tara. To maintain the alliance between the packs.”
“But…” All of a sudden I’m cold, bone chilling, achingly cold.
My arms wrap around me as I scramble for refuge, protection.
And find nothing.
I’m the one person you can trust to keep you safe.
The words, once said beneath a different canopy, whisper through the branches above us. Through the space between us. Over my chilled skin.
Noah takes a step toward me, hand stretched out. Eyes pleading. I take a step back, both hands coming up. “Please…don’t.”
I don’t want to feel his heat. His touch. His warmth and heat against this chilling cold would be overwhelming. Much too painful.
Belatedly, I recognize the feelings that had accompanied me to this tree, realizing they were not my own. Grief. Sorrow. Regret. They multiply as they find their mates within me, cold, jagged weights that are freezing me from the inside out.
“I won’t do it, Eden. It’s not right.”
Fragments of thought are falling through my mind. Tara. Mitch. Kurt. Adam. My eyes scan the ground, like the answers are amongst the pine needles before me.
They come up to meet his. Shocked green locks with agonized blue. “You may not have a choice.”
Noah’s lips part, but no sound escapes into the chilled air.
I take another stiff step backward. “I have to go.”
“Eden…”
My name on his lips hurts. I have to get out of here. Before the tears start. Before I shatter along with everything else.
“There’s nothing more to say.” I continue to back away. We never stood a chance. A part of me always knew. I’m still not ready for the hail of pain lancing through me, making my eyes sting.
Because Camelot has been razed to the ground. All that surrounds me is rubble, debris, and crushed dreams. I’m alone and in the open. Exposed and defenseless.
“Please, talk to me. We can’t just walk away.”
“I have to go.” Because I’m too late. One betraying tear slices down my cheek, the pain overflowing. I brush it away.
“Eden.” Noah’s voice is tortured, choked.
I turn and run.
In the car, I reverse blindly, then head down the drive. I don’t look in the rear vision mirror. The parting image of Noah, standing beneath the Douglas-fir, shoulders low, eyes haunted, is more than I can handle right now.
And the tears begin. Once the dam has broken, it’s like a fury of pain has been unleashed. They flow down my cheeks, down my jaw, down my neck. Because these aren’t little trickling streams that dry out shortly after their birth. These are gushing rivers of anguish that flow down my face, pooling in my neck.
They blur the road in front of me like torrential rain on a windowpane, making the world disfigured and twisted. I swipe at them and they soak my hands, making the steering wheel slick. Although I desperately want to get back, I slow down. The drive home takes a lifetime.
I pull into our driveway and head inside. Caesar greets me at the door, leaping and barking. I lean down to pat him and he’s instantly quiet, sensing the change. He knows the drill. We go straight to my room, where I pull back the cover and crawl into bed. Caesar stretches his big, warm body next to mine. I curl up and bury my face in the brown fur of his neck. And cry.
