Bitterroot, Part 2

by Heather Hildenbrand

  In a bold move, I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and breathed his musk in deeply. In answer, his fingertips traced down the furrow of my spine and I shivered.

  “I think I’ll live,” I managed.

  “You should be more careful,” he said, his breath tickling my ear.

  My lips twitched and the tension lightened. “You're the one who punched me in the back.”

  Owen took me by the shoulders, forcing me to look up at him. When we stood this close, I should have been able to see all of his imperfections: the pores of his skin, places that he had missed shaving under his chin, too much hair around his eyebrows. The usual flaws that teenage boys—human boys—carried with them everywhere they went.

  But Owen had no flaws. His skin was smooth perfection, like ivory. The dark pools of his eyes captured me, holding my heart suspended in their endless depths.

  “I would never hurt you, Charlie,” he said. My name was silk on his lips.

  I found my hands creeping underneath the front of his shirt, seeking out a gap of skin. I needed to feel him. My brain wasn't part of the decision—and any doubts I might have had were utterly silenced when my fingertips made contact with his ribs.

  “I know,” I said. “I trust you.”

  His thumb ran along the line of my jaw then caught the back of my head, cupping it closer. His brow creased as he studied me. “What's wrong?” he asked. “I smell that pack on you, like you’ve been rolling around with them. I smell death on you.”

  “Death?” I blinked, impressed he could glean all of that from something that happened forty-eight hours ago.

  “Did something happen between you and your pack?” he demanded.

  I blinked at the sudden ferocity behind his tone. Was he that sure my pack hated me? Was it that obvious?

  “No, not the pack.” I bowed my head against his chest again, and he rested his chin atop my head. “I trained with the other werewolves. We had … school. A hunting lesson,” I said, grimacing.

  “And?” he prompted.

  “And it went badly,” I said. “I don't want to talk about it.”

  He relaxed a little against me and pulled me in close, the friendly embrace turning deeper. “You're doubting yourself again. You think that you won't be able to lead.”

  How was it possible that Owen already knew me so well, better than anyone else in the world? Better even than my half-sister—the girl shared DNA with me.

  “We've practiced a thousand times, but nothing has changed,” I said. “The first test is coming. A test of strength, according to my reading. I’ll never be ready.”

  “You underestimate yourself. Your lack of confidence is limiting you,” he said.

  “What does that even mean?” I huffed and went on before he could answer, “You know what? Forget it. I don't want to think about it anymore. I want to relax today.”

  “I can help you relax,” Owen said, pulling away from me.

  I was cold without him, and disappointed. Once again, right before we took that turn into more-than-friends territory, someone pulled back. But he didn't put much space between us. He caught my hand and pulled me through the trees. “Walk with me,” he whispered.

  The nightmare of hunting deer with Regan seemed a million miles away when I walked through the forest with Owen. It didn’t matter that we were too deep inside his territory to hear birds chirping or for cheery sunlight to penetrate. Here, Owen was the sun. I didn’t need to ask him if he knew the way. I had no fear that he would take care of me.

  “Your parents aren’t close by, are they?” I asked after a while.

  After the slightest pause, he said, “No, they are on a different errand today.”

  I tugged on his hand to get his attention. “What sort of errand?” I asked.

  He looked away, his eyes flitting to the treetops before finally returning to me again. I knew I was prying, but he’d told me so little about himself. I was falling for him—I couldn’t deny that anymore—and I couldn’t let myself keep feeling like this for a guy I knew so little about.

  “Are they hunting?” I pressed.

  “Charlie,” he began.

  “You can tell me. I mean, we don’t have to pretend you aren’t … what you are,” I said.

  Owen’s mouth tipped in a half-smile. “How very diplomatic of you. But I don’t ask you to tell me about your hunting escapades or how many of your pack members have boasted to you for killing vampires.” I opened my mouth but he pressed his finger to my lips, shushing me. “I am enjoying your lack of prejudice against me. Let’s leave it for next time, shall we?”

  I wanted to point out that lack of prejudice and lack of knowledge were not the same, but his touch distracted me. I found myself nodding an agreement and earned a soft smile before he changed directions. “Come. We’re relaxing, remember?”

  He took my hand again and the two of us entered a clearing. It was bare of grass, and the earth was dry and crumbly here—a lot drier than the rest of the forest. Owen skirted wide around the center. I wasn’t sure why. In the middle, growing in almost a perfect circle, were dainty pink and white flowers with slender petals.

  I broke free of him, caught up in such unexpected beauty here in the depths of the woods.

  “How pretty,” I breathed.

  I only got three steps before Owen grabbed my arm again, stopping me with cold fingers. “Careful,” he said. “That’s bitterroot.”

  “What?”

  “Bitterroot?” he said again, as if I should recognize the name. When I just stared at him blankly, he shook his head. “I had almost forgotten how little you know about this world. You can look at it, but be careful not to touch, kitten. I know they’re attractive, but that’s no catnip.”

  I jammed my hands into my pockets as I approached the flowers. They were growing really well in the dry ground with tall, broad stems and climbing leafy vines that covered the dirt at my feet. I glimpsed a wooden stake on the other side of the circle—the kind of marker gardeners used. These flowers were being cultivated deliberately.

  “Who would grow a garden all the way out here?” I asked.

  Owen’s features were pinched. “It could be either of our people. My family, or your pack. Nobody has laid claim to it for political reasons.” His hand tightened on my arm. “Bitterroot is a deadly poison to werewolves.”

  My mouth suddenly felt dry. I licked my lips. “Deadly poison?”

  “The werewolves have no cure once the plant is ingested.” He pulled me away from the flowers, and this time, I didn’t try to fight him.

  I glanced around the forest. We were on the boundaries between our territories, so there was no way to tell who was cultivating bitterroot. But I wanted to be as far away from it as possible.

  When we reached the edge of the clearing again, I stepped back to face him. “Did you show me this on purpose, Owen?”

  Owen’s expression was knowing. Guilty. “What do you—?”

  “Don’t lie to me,” I warned. “You think someone from the pack is growing this?” A new thought, more horrific than the last, had me widening my eyes.

  “I don’t know for sure,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing.

  “Then why did you show me this? I mean, it could be your people, knowing how deadly it is to us,” I said, my voice rising as I spoke.

  I paced away from him and ran a hand over my ponytail, my thoughts racing.

  “It could be,” he agreed, though I could tell he didn’t believe that. Neither did I. Not really. And that worried me. The pack hadn’t exactly been welcoming, but I didn’t think they were killers, either … Did I? Owen clearly did. Was his opinion rubbing off? Was I actually becoming a traitor to my people?

  “But you still showed it to me,” I pressed.

  His eyes flashed with something fierce and then, as quickly as it had come, it died again and he was the picture of calm. “Charlie, I want you to see your world as it is. Not as they mean for you to see. There are many thin
gs you don’t know about this world. Mine and yours. I don’t want you blindsided by any of them.”

  I stared across the dirt at the pale, earnest expression he wore and I knew, without a single shred of proof, that he meant every word. That he was possibly the only one protecting me or trying to keep me safe in all this. I sighed. “Thank you, Owen. For always being honest,” I said.

  He nodded, his mouth solemn and down-turned. “I won’t lie to you,” he promised. “I can’t always share everything, but if you ask me outright, I won’t be dishonest. I’ve experienced enough of that to know … you deserve better,” he said.

  I looked back at the patch of flowers, innocuous enough in the still morning and filtered light beaming down on them. Either way, seeing such a deadly plant growing out here was a chilling reminder of our families’ animosity, and I didn’t want to think about what it would mean to know which side had planted it.

  And because of that, or maybe in spite of it, I kept my vampire sighting from the woods two days ago to myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Owen … It was like he’d said, I just didn’t know enough about this world. And for the rest of today, I didn’t want to. Besides, he’d already made it clear there was plenty he didn’t share with me.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said finally.

  We continued to walk along the ridge that marked the border between our territories, until we reached a place that the trees broke open and, at last, warming sunlight filtered in from above. The stream turned to a waterfall here, cascading over the rocks in a misty white foam that sprayed onto the rocks a hundred feet below.

  Owen stopped, hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

  "Careful near the edge," he said in a low voice. "The rocks are loose here."

  I was in no more danger on those rocks than he was, but I just liked being against him, so I wasn't about to argue. I held tight to him and looked at the forest below. The lands surrounding Paradise looked so serene from above. It was hard to believe that it was the site of a centuries-old war between our kinds, and that so much blood had been spilled there.

  Down below, a flock of birds erupted from the trees, wheeling into the sky. I watched them rise, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Owen watching me.

  “Is this relaxing?” he asked.

  With the way that my heart drummed against my ribcage, there was no way that I could possibly be truly relaxed. My nerves were singing. My skin was alight with sensation everywhere that his arm rested against me. I had a feeling, vampire senses being what they were, Owen knew it, too.

  My tongue darted out to lick my lips, and Owen's eyes dropped to my mouth.

  “I'm relaxed,” I said hoarsely. What a freaking liar.

  His fingers came up and traced a chilled line from my temple to my jaw. “Whatever you face with your pack, Charlie, it means nothing. It's merely another stumbling block on your path to victory,” he said.

  “I'm glad you think so.”

  “Believe in yourself, Charlie,” Owen said. “I do.”

  He was leaning toward me, or maybe I was leaning toward him. I wasn't sure which one. Maybe the air between us just kind of vanished.

  His lips dropped to mine, and we kissed.

  It was a soft, tentative gesture, almost inquisitive. As if Owen was silently asking, is this okay? And it was. It really was.

  But when I tried to step closer to him, my foot slipped on one of those stupid loose rocks. I guess he had been right to warn me.

  I fell with a gasp, landing hard on my butt.

  My grip on Owen had been too strong, because I managed to drag him down with me. We tumbled onto the grass beside the stream. It was damp and muddy, and there was a rock digging into my back, but I didn't really care. Owen had caught himself with arms braced on either side of my head. A soft laugh spilled from his lips.

  “You may not be the most graceful alpha the pack has ever known …”

  “Oh, shut it,” I said, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him down to kiss me again.

  My own forwardness shocked me. I had never been all that into guys before, and definitely never been the one to make advances. But now I hooked my arm around the back of his neck, forcing him against me—as if I had to fight to keep him here.

  Owen melted into me, deepening the kiss, and my fingers clenched tight in his hair.

  The falls roared and sent a shower of spray over us. I was going to be soaked. But, frankly, the sky could have opened up and dumped a rainstorm on us at that moment, and I wouldn't have cared.

  When Owen pushed himself up on his elbows again, his lips glistened.

  “Wow,” I said, gasping for breath. There was something sensitive and almost heavy about the way he watched me now. An anxious sort of fear built between my ribs. “What?” I asked, both terrified and impatient to hear the answer. Whatever it was, it would change things. That much I knew.

  Owen reached up and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear and, for once, his touch felt hot on my skin. He bent low, murmuring softly, “Impossible as it seems, I think I'm falling in love with you, Charlotte Vuk.”

  I suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe.

  Love? Was that this all-consuming feeling, like a fire burning over my veins? Was that the excitement I felt at seeing him, smelling him? I had never been in love before, but the word felt right. It settled over my heart with total certainty.

  But my moment of hesitation had been a moment too long. Owen's smile softened to something almost sad before he tucked it away. He pulled me to my feet, dusted the dirt off of his slacks, and plucked a blade of grass out of my hair. He was suddenly every inch the noble gentleman, even though I definitely wouldn't have stopped him if he'd tried to kiss me again.

  “Let's get you home,” he said.

  And with that, the spell was broken. I hoped I could find a way to put it together again when I figured out how to tell him I was falling in love with him, too.

  Chapter Nine

  Regan

  I smoothed my slacks for the fifth time and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Sunday brunch with Dad was normal. Being summoned for it in his office along with Charlie and Sheridan and Thill—that was not. If Dad thought it was weird, he hadn’t shown it last night when he’d told me to be here by ten. Which meant quarter ‘til in alpha speak.

  But rather than go in early, I waited on the porch, shifting my weight, looking out for Charlie. She came up the path a few minutes before our scheduled meeting time, her footsteps slow. She was dressed in slacks and a simple blouse, too, but the expression she wore with it made it clear she was as thrilled as me to be here.

  “Am I late?” she asked, climbing the steps even slower when she spotted me.

  “No, I thought we’d go in together,” I said.

  Charlie stopped on the veranda to face me. “Why?” she asked and the bluntness threw me off. This wasn’t the polite, placating Charlie I’d met a few weeks ago.

  I sighed. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “Look, I’m sorry about our fight last week,” I began.

  “Two weeks,” Charlie said.

  “What?”

  “It’s been almost two weeks since our fight. Both of them,” she said and I stalled to do the math. Heat rose to my face when I realized she was right. I’d been a crappy sister lately. But since that day, the pressure from Dad and the rest of them had only built. I’d spent every spare moment with Carter. After our kiss, it had been beyond awkward to try and work out together, but I’d put it aside. I needed to find a way to win without killing Charlie. It’s all I thought about anymore.

  I was terrified I’d lose her.

  “Two weeks,” I echoed, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry for that. I’ve been distant and pre-occupied and … that’s no excuse,” I said when Charlie only rolled her eyes.

  “Can we do this later?” Charlie asked dully. “I don’t want to keep Dad waiting.”

  “Yeah.” I pretended it
didn’t matter and even rolled my shoulders back to cast off the rejection. “We’ll talk later,” I said, but it didn’t matter.

  Charlie was already walking inside. I barely caught the door before it closed behind her.

  Inside, the main area had been set up for a breakfast meeting. The table and chairs we normally used for pack meetings had been set at one end with pastries, danishes, and fruits of all kinds. Coffee and juice were laid out and Dad, Sheridan, and Thill were already seated at the head of the table.

  “There you are,” Sheridan said when she spotted us—as if we’d been hours late instead of right on time. Her blonde hair shone even without proper lighting and, as usual, the first word that came to mind when I saw her was slippery. “We’ve been waiting,” she added.

  “Have a seat,” Dad said, looking at Charlie as he patted the chair next to him.

  I veered off and hid a scowl, taking the seat across from her—next to Sheridan. I immediately went for the coffee, pouring myself a mug and then dumping an armload of creamer before meeting anyone’s gaze.

  “Easy there, Regan. Too much dairy isn’t good for your skin,” Sheridan said and I glared at her. I caught sight of Thill on her other side. He looked up from his tea long enough to glance at me. Our eyes met and there was so much unsaid in his aged gaze framed in wrinkles, but it was impossible to tell if it was in my favor, or Sheridan’s. Probably hers. She was his granddaughter after all.

  My dad cleared his throat, cutting off my reply. Probably for the best. I would have undoubtedly gotten myself into trouble. “We’ve asked you girls here today to discuss the upcoming challenge for alpha,” Dad said.

  Charlie stopped buttering her pastry roll and set her knife down. Her hands went to her lap and I could see the tension in her as she looked over at him. I sipped my coffee if only to spite Sheridan but it felt like bricks in my stomach.

  “I’d been giving you both time to acclimate, to the idea of this contest and to the pack now that your family dynamic has changed,” Dad said and I almost flinched the way he made it sound like he wasn’t a part of the family. I hadn’t seen him make any effort with Charlie, though, so maybe it was accurate.