Thorne Bay

by Jeanine Croft

  “Marry Nicole.” I nodded my horrified understanding, stepping away from the window to join him on the bed again. He winced only slightly as I curled onto his lap like a kitten. Trailing a finger along his bandaged arm, I asked, “I thought you’d heal faster.” I remembered the wounds in his palm that day the bear had appeared at the helipad. I recalled how quickly the skin had fused together, so swiftly that I’d questioned what I’d seen. Even the wounds from his fight with Nicole had mostly healed by the next day.

  “Werewolf bites take a while to heal,” he explained. “Those from an adolescent take even longer—juvie venom is the worst.”

  I lifted my face to his and raked my eyes over the scratches at his cheeks, neck, and jawline. “When will you be better?”

  “Soon,” he promised.

  My hand came to rest over the bandage at his forearm. “Have I scarred you forever?”

  “No.” One corner of his mouth lifted roguishly. “You’ve marked me forever.” He pulled my hands to his lips for a kiss then placed them on his heart. “And I’ll wear those marks proudly.” Tristan lowered his head to kiss me softly, his lips lightly skimming across mine and then across my jaw to my ear. “I nearly made the same mistake my father did. I nearly let you go.”

  His words had sent a shiver through my body that surged into my heart and made it tremble excitedly. What was he saying? Was I his life-mate? “You nearly let me go because I was only human?”

  “No, because you don’t deserve this life. It can be a cruel and unforgiving one. Being a werewolf isn’t for snowflakes.”

  Yeah, I’d definitely had my fair share of that cruelty already. I turned my head slightly so that our lips were aligned again and then I fused our mouths hungrily, eager for him to touch me like he had the last morning I’d been human. Eager to forget the werewolf politics and my abysmally fragile future.

  At first, Tristan seemed just as eager as I was, his hands slowly edging up my shirt and along my bare ribs. When his thumb brushed the underside of my breast I felt my whole body jolt with the power of my reaction to him, but he instantly dropped his hands and gently pushed me away from him. “Will you stay here, Ev? With me?” The amber flecks in his green eyes seemed to pulse keenly. “With Dean’s pack?”

  Instantly, my libido ebbed. As of this morning, I’d promised my mom I’d come home. But nowhere felt like home now, least of all this pack. I was now as directionless as I’d been when I left Florida. The scant few times I’d felt anchored was in Tristan’s arms, but he seemed as unsure of his place in the world as I was, despite his reluctance to admit as much. Finally, I shook my head. “I have to go home. I have to see my mother.”

  “No, it’s too dangerous. You still can’t fully control—”

  “So I’m a prisoner here?” For the second time in an hour, I felt my hackles rise.

  “Don’t put words in my mouth.” His eyes darkened to yellow. “Public transport is too dangerous while you’re still this unstable. You’re better off waiting a few months.”

  Unstable?! “No! If I’m not a prisoner here, and Dean’s not gonna kill me, then I’m going. He’s not my keeper, nor is Aidan.” I met his glare with my own. “By your own admission, you’re not my alpha. I’m leaving. I belong at home.” The last part wasn’t necessarily true because I belonged nowhere, but I needed to see my mother and I needed to clear my head for just a few days; I needed to escape this new status quo that had been forced on me.

  “So this is goodbye, is that it?” His lips compressed almost bitterly.

  “Yes, this is goodbye,” I answered through that insidious lump wedged in my throat. For now.

  “Will you come back?” He shifted his eyes to the window, becoming distant.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Those eerie green eyes instantly fixed to mine again, leaden with disappointment and disapprobation. I waited for him to argue or plead or convince me to stay, but he only sat there contemplatively, his gaze watchful and piercing. When, after long moments, he still hadn’t spoken I finally got up and edged away from the bed towards the door.

  When my hand fastened around the knob, however, he finally broke that awful silence. “Tomorrow, Evan. I’ll take you to Ketchikan tomorrow.”

  Swallowing the hard lump down, I gave a curt nod. “Tomorrow.” Then I left him, closing the door softly behind me.

  36

  Goodbye

  How different everything was now. How changed I was. The Evan that had left Ketchikan all those months ago, laughing and blushing like a maniac, had undergone chrysalis and emerged as something else entirely. Something worse than a moth.

  I’d still never gotten my Sex on the Beach, and by the look of the broody lines marring Tristan’s brow this morning (not to mention the scabs and bruises) I likely never would. Unlike my initial flight to Thorne Bay, my return to Ketchikan was stilted by noisy silence, the radio chatter and the steady whine of the turbine did nothing to drown out the unbearable taciturnity that stretched between the occupants in the cabin.

  Tristan and his brother were sitting up front. I was in the aft port side seat behind Tristan, shooting despondent glances at the back of his head every so often, but he never looked back, though I knew he was aware of my scrutiny. The whales throwing spume and saltwater into the air, over Clarence Strait, briefly distracted me and I found myself smiling for the first time that morning. Dean banked the helicopter gently left and brought us around for a steep approach over the runway (which, oddly, appeared situated higher than the tower). In diametric opposition to my gloomy spirits the sun was out for once. I would miss the beauty of this verdant wilderness, and the freshness of the air. I would miss Melissa, Alison, and even Owen’s unfiltered jokes. Most of all, I would desperately miss Tristan.

  Once the helicopter was parked, and the blades had come to a halt, we were hastily deposited at the terminal entrance by the guy that had marshaled us into our parking spot. Even the poor marshaler had sensed the tension and had made no effort to hide his relief as he sped away from us.

  Dean shook his head, none too pleased, for maybe the fiftieth time since he’d been told of my plans. “You shouldn’t be traveling on public transport,” he muttered as we passed through the sliding glass doors. “All we need is for you to lose your temper or something.”

  The woman at the front desk, who’d blanched to see his scowl, stammered a greeting. Taciturn, Dean continuing past her towards my departure terminal.

  “Maybe you should control your temper,” I retorted. For my cheek, I received a black look from Dean and an amused snort from Tristan. Well, if Dean murdered me before I boarded my flight, at least I’d gotten some reaction out of Tristan today. That was almost worth courting death.

  Dean leveled a particularly grave look at his brother. “This is a bad idea.”

  “She’s not our prisoner, Dean.” Pale eyes raked over me momentarily. “I can’t force her to stay.”

  “I can.”

  “Drop it.”

  The alpha’s scowl settled over me. “Nothing good is gonna come of you running away, Evan.”

  “Oh, you’re talking to me now?” It had rankled when he’d talked about me, over me, as though I’d been invisible up till now.

  “Stay.”

  I resented the command. “I’m not your dog, Dean.”

  He halted suddenly, turning on me. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble. Take it from me, there are no second chances. Not in our world. Not for rogues, and especially not for rogue mutts.”

  “I just want to see my mother.”

  “So you’ll be back before your cycle peaks?” He asked dubiously.

  “I didn’t say that…”

  “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” The corner of his upper lip lifted off his canines in disgust. “Or worse, kill someone else.”

  “Put a cork in it, Dean.” Tristan glared pointedly at his brother. “Just let her go.”

  Whatever the meaning behind those brief silent look
s, it must have mollified Dean somewhat because he gave a clipped nod and took up his marching again. He seemed to have timed my arrival perfectly, for the sake of his own impatience, no doubt, because the moment we reached my gate my zone number was already being called out and most of the passengers had disappeared onto the airstairs. There was literally no time for any drawn-out goodbyes. Not that Dean expected or wanted one for himself.

  “Keep your shit together, girl. Call us if you need anything.” With that said, Dean gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder and then told Tristan he’d wait back at the helicopter.

  Now that I was alone with Tristan, and under a time crunch, I had no idea what to say. I shifted from one foot to the other, biting my lip nervously as he handed me my backpack.

  My Alaskan departure had been such a rushed and impromptu decision that I’d not even returned to Bear Lodge for the rest of my stuff. I’d made some lame excuse to Alison and Melissa, something about my grandfather being admitted to hospital (which he shortly would be doing, but I’d omitted the part about it being for non-life-threatening hip surgery) and that I needed to rush home. Melissa had promised to pack my stuff up for me and send it down to Palm Beach if I decided not to come back.

  As if reading my mind, Tristan caught my chin and lifted it gently so that I had no choice but to meet his heated regard. “I’m giving you time, Ev. This isn’t goodbye,” he said quietly. “You need us. You need a pack.”

  “Right now all I need is to be with people that love me.” I’d been treated like nothing but a second-class citizen since I’d been infected. Beseechingly, I stared up at him, hoping for him to give me a reason to stay.

  “Last call for Alaskan Airways flight sixty to Seattle,” came the stern voice of the attendant at the departure gate.

  I tore my gaze from Tristan’s to see a woman eyeballing me severely from the ticket scanner. Everyone else had already filed onto the plane. Except for me.

  Pushing myself onto the tips of my toes I hurriedly pressed my cold lips to Tristan’s, willing the tears away. “Bye,” I whispered, as his arms tightened around me. Then I pushed away from him and, swinging my bag up onto my shoulder, beelined it for the gate. As with my mother all those months ago, I couldn’t look back. But I felt him watching me.

  Almost as soon as I’d stowed my bag under the seat in front of me, and strapped myself in, we were underway, taxiing out to the runway. I barely heard the safety brief and watched with glazed and unseeing eyes as the flight attendants went through their rehearsed little spiel about lifejackets and oxygen masks.

  Snuffling, I pulled my phone out and opened the last photo I’d taken: it was a selfie captured the last morning I’d been human. I’d snapped it right after Tristan and I had eaten breakfast. I’d plagued him for one (he hated selfies) because my mom had been pestering me to do it—eager for a glimpse of the man she’d heard so much about. I was glad now that she had. It was the only photo I had of Tristan without his flight helmet on, let alone of he and I together. God, he was so beautiful. So attentive, and kind, and genuine. Yet unable or unwilling to tell me he loved me. Maybe he didn’t? I’d felt loved, though, ever since he’d kissed me in the kitchen. Was it really so important to hear it if I felt it?

  As the Boeing 737 hurtled into the sky, I realized that I’d left my heart back on the ground. With Tristan.

  “You two are a beautiful couple,” said the nosy old lady beside me.

  I turned to see her peering over at my picture. Embarrassed to have been caught crying over a benign little photo of a happy couple I hardly recognized anymore, I turned the phone off, finally, and shoved it back into my pocket. “Thanks,” I murmured, annoyed at her intrusiveness.

  “Don’t worry, dear. I saw the way he looked at you at the gate. You’ll see him again.” Though she’d posed it as a statement, there was a questioning lift to her wrinkled brow, as though she wanted me to confirm this for her.

  “Maybe.” If I had learned one thing these last few weeks it was that life was anything but certain.

  “Maybe?” Her smile fell. “Well, that’s a shame if you don’t.” She pushed her spectacles higher up her nose and then settled back against the seat with her book. “I’m sure you both know what you’re doing.”

  I turned my head towards the window, lifting my shoulders absently. Glad someone’s sure. I definitely wasn’t.

  * * *

  “Hope you got your things together. Hope you are quite prepared to die.”

  Mom maneuvered the black Pathfinder into the only available parking spot beside a sleek white Mercedes, Creedence Clearwater Revival filling the unnatural silence between us. Poor Mom, she didn’t know what to make of me anymore. I’d been home almost three weeks already and she was still walking on eggshells around me, averse to saying the wrong thing in case I burst into tears or snapped at her. I’d done both the former and the latter almost every day since coming home. My mood swings were out of control, and they only got worse the more the moon filled up each night.

  “Looks like we’re in for nasty weather. One eye is taken for an eye.”

  She slipped the gear into park but left the car idling in the hospital parking lot as she turned to consider me thoughtfully.

  “Well don’t go around tonight, well it’s bound to take your life. There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

  I reached forward abruptly and jammed my finger into the power button, instantly cutting Fogerty off mid-chorus. “I hate that song.”

  She seemed startled by my sudden churlish reaction to poor John, who’d always been one of her favorites. “But you’ve always liked Creedence—”

  “Not anymore.” It reminded me of Nicole for some reason.

  “Ev” — she bit the corner of her mouth — “you seem so…different.” And she clearly didn’t appreciate the changes.

  Nor did I. “You have no idea,” I replied, opening the car door (and effectively obviating the heart to heart she was trying to instigate), finding the interior unbearably stifling despite that the humidity was all outside.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about—”

  “Maybe later, Mom.” I was getting good at brushing her off. Maybe I’d been infected with some of Nicole’s shitty attitude too? I shuddered. Perish the thought.

  I never imagined that I’d crave the distraction of my grandfather’s irascibility at the dinner table, but I had. Since he’d been in the hospital, I’d had to constantly fend off my mother’s discerning comments and level looks. My grandmother, bless her, was as oblivious as ever and never gave me a moment’s unease. The woman was a saint to have tolerated my grandfather all these years. Either that or she just had ridiculously low standards.

  I hurried through the automatic doors, knowing Gramps would monopolize the conversation with his complaints, and thereby distract my mother. I tensed as soon as the blast of air-conditioning hit my face. The antiseptic smell was too reminiscent of that awful dilapidated asylum in Red Devil. The smell of Pine-sol, as opposed to pine trees, was giving me the mouth sweats. As we entered the hospital room where my grandfather was convalescing, I tried to breathe through my mouth to keep from vomiting, but I could taste the air.

  “Hi, Gramps.” I leaned down to kiss his wizened cheek, catching a faint whiff of mothballs.

  “You’re late,” he said to Mom.

  We’d visited him every day that he’d been hospitalized, and every day he’d griped about our lateness no matter what time we came. As per usual, neither Mom nor I offered an excuse. None would have satisfied him anyway. My grandmother only smiled congenially as I moved to kiss her hello.

  The nurse, meanwhile, had stepped in and was attending one of the other bedridden occupants. I caught my grandfather glaring suspiciously at her. Then he gave her a few testy replies when she stopped by to check on him as well. She was, surprisingly, unconcerned by his curtness. Ostensibly, she was as used to his brand of charisma as I was.

  Before she’d even moved out of earshot, he t
urned to me and, in a loud whisper, said, “That nurse is a lesbian.”

  “Dad!” Mom muttered sternly, grimacing. “That’s really none of your business.”

  I rolled my eyes and shot the nurse an apologetic smile. She, however, appeared mildly amused and left the room with the same air of brisk capability that she’d entered with.

  “So she’s a lesbian because she doesn’t take your shit?” I snorted.

  He shifted his rheumy eyes from the door, where the nurse had disappeared, and beheld me with the same narrowed suspicion. “You’re different,” he said bluntly. “Don’t tell me you’re a lesbian too?”

  God, he was an intolerant bastard. I looked pointedly at my mother, holding my hand out for the car keys. “No, I’m a werewolf.”

  Ignoring my retort completely, he watched as Mom dropped the keys in my waiting hand. “You’re leaving?”

  “She managed to pick up a few shifts at The Turtle,” Mom answered him. “Just like old times.”

  That sounded depressing. I’d been moldering in my room (just like old times) ever since I got back from Thorne Bay. Finally, unable to stand the silence a second longer (unwilling to spend another tormenting moment staring hopefully at my phone, waiting for Tristan to call), I’d called in at the cafe to see if they needed any help. Luckily, it being the start of snowbird season and all, they’d jumped at the chance to have me back again, however temporarily.

  Gramps shook his head smugly. “Guess nothing’s changed after all.” He sat back against his pillows, my gran rushing over to fluff them dutifully for him. It had been a premeditated cut, implying that I was reverting back to my past useless ways. Retrograding to the lost and pathetic little Evan of before. “You’re still the same.”

  “I wish,” I answered. Not even five minutes into my visit and I’d already had enough of him. I was ready to bug out, despite that I’d be early for my shift. “Later, Mom. Gran.” With the keys jangling in my fist, I made quick my escape, knowing Mom would grab a ride home with my gran. As guilty as I felt about leaving my mom to listen to my grandfather’s complaints about the other patients in the room all being “commies”, I was far too relieved to be on my own again to give it more than a passing thought.