At the sound of his name coming out of her mouth, he went still all over. He was like a statue, unmoving, staring at her wide eyes.
“Ryder?” she said.
He whined.
She beckoned. “Let’s go. I’m going to get you out of here.”
He didn’t move.
She began to back up, stepping into the woods. She went a few steps, so that the underbrush went in front of her face, and that she could barely make him out.
When he couldn’t see her, he let out another whine. It almost sounded panicked. And then he picked his way through the woods until he was next to her.
“Good,” she said. “Let’s go.” She turned her back and began walking.
He came along beside her, but he moved low to the ground in a kind of crouching crawl. His hands touched the forest floor along with his legs.
She stopped. “Ryder, can you stand up?”
He stopped too, but he only gave her a puzzled look. He didn’t do anything.
She gestured to herself, to the way she was holding her body upright. “Stand up.” She pointed at him. “You stand up.”
He gazed at her blankly.
She went around behind him and hauled him up—her arms under his armpits.
He struggled.
“Shh,” she said. “I’m helping.”
His struggles slowed.
“That’s right. I want you to stand up.” He’d done it before. When he’d jumped on her the first time, he’d been standing. She managed to pull him to a standing position. She held him there. “See? This is how we stand, Ryder. This is how people stand. You’re a person. Not a wolf.” Slowly, she let go of him, letting him stand upright there.
He held the pose, and she was able to see how very attractive a man he was. Standing there with his shoulders squared, he looked formidable and beautiful. Her breath caught in her throat. He was like a demigod—too perfect to be real.
And then his shoulders slumped.
And he lowered himself back into his crouch with a yip.
She laughed a little to herself. “He’s real, because he’s not perfect. He doesn’t even know who he is.” She sighed. “Come on, then, Ryder. Let’s go.”
The two took off through the woods, and she didn’t attempt to make him stand up again. For all she knew, it was hopeless.
* * *
Ryder loped along through the woods. He couldn’t think in words anymore. Inside his head, there were images and emotions, but he had nothing to call them. They swept through him like currents. He was aware of them, but he did not know how to tame them.
He liked the new soft woman who had appeared the day before in his tent. She was the only thing he’d liked in a long time. He had watched the moon wax and wane in the sky. If he could have counted it, he would have, but he couldn’t. He only knew that he had been this way for a long time.
The wrong way.
His body had changed, and he felt uncomfortable. He was like the others. The men.
And he knew those others. They were pack, somehow. He felt that. But he didn’t quite understand how they could be pack. They weren’t wolves. They were men. But he was a man too. And he knew that it all made sense, that somewhere in the reaches of his mind, there were things that put it all together, but… he couldn’t find the answers. He didn’t even know how to look.
Sometimes, he felt as if the memories were just on the tip of his tongue. That he was going to open his mouth, and all the human words that he used to know were going to come pouring out.
But that never happened.
Still.
Being with the soft woman, he felt nearer to that part of himself than he ever had.
He didn’t know why the woman was different. He’d seen other women, lots of them, in the moons since he had put on the man skin. Some of them had been pack—related to him—and, of course, he didn’t find those women attractive. But there had been other women as well, women at the carnival. Hordes of them who’d gone through, young and old, most in scant clothing. He’d seen half-uncovered bosoms, freckled and bouncing. He’d seen tight and smooth tan legs, bare all the way to the place where the skin met white shorts. He’d known from his own body’s reaction that these female bodies were appealing to him. Like all creatures, humans mated. That was the desire it stirred within him, the desire to mate.
But when he saw the soft woman—
No, it wasn’t when he had seen her. It was when she had spoken. Something in her voice, lilting and quiet, but still firm. There was strength in that voice. Alpha strength. And he knew that if he sought a mate, she would need to be able to handle herself, to be an equal to him as they ruled over their pack.
So it was the voice that drew him to her, the voice that made him truly look at her.
And when he saw her, he saw soft curves, an ample bosom and a round bottom. At first he thought that she had a different skin on her legs, because her legs were another color. But then he realized it was clothing of some kind, clothing that clung tightly to her hips and legs. He liked that. He liked being able to see her.
This woman. This was the one he wanted for a mate.
But…
He couldn’t have her, and he knew it. His body understood the physical logistics of mating with the woman, but that wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t remember how to be a man, and if he were to really be this woman’s mate, he would have to do that. And he didn’t know how.
He walked with her through the forest, and he felt peaceful just being close to her. The woods were home to him. He knew the sounds of the small animals and birds. He knew the smells and sights. But when he was a wolf, he could have navigated this forest much more easily. Now, he was a stranger, even though he didn’t want to be.
Everything about his life was uncomfortable and unnatural. He knew that the only way to feel true peace was to find his human side again. The soft woman had wanted him to stand and walk like the men did. He had wanted to do it, for her, for himself. But it had felt… wrong. He was more comfortable close to the ground. Standing up that way had made him panicked. He was too exposed, his soft belly stretched out for anyone to hurt, his head high, a perfect target. No, it was safer closer to the ground, and he had to return here.
But now, as he skulked beside the soft woman, he didn’t feel quite right this way either. He wasn’t actually a wolf, and he couldn’t walk like one. He was frustrated, because he felt that he was being pushed into a terrifying new world whether he wanted it or not. All his comforts and familiarities were turning against him. Something was forcing him to confront his human self.
It had all started with the soft woman.
But he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her. She was too lovely and wonderful. He wanted to be closer to her. If it meant that he had to face terror, he would do it.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was late in the afternoon before Calla realized that she hadn’t brought anything along to eat. She hadn’t even checked the camp to see what food was there, but she’d known that there was a cooler. And she didn’t think that Jasper would have left his brother alone without any food. Jasper did seem cruel, but he didn’t want his brother to starve.
Perhaps she’d thought that they’d find a house before they got hungry, and that they’d both be out of the woods and home by dinner.
But truthfully, she thought that she’d simply been scatterbrained. She’d been so concerned with escaping that she hadn’t thought about anything else. She wasn’t very good at this, was she?
“Well,” she said aloud, “it’s not like I’ve been kidnapped before. Maybe it’s the kind of thing that you get better at with practice.”
Not that she wanted practice. She just wanted to get home.
Ryder looked up at her, another quizzical expression on his face.
She sighed. “Oh, I wish that you understood anything I was saying.”
He cocked his head to one side.
She sighed again. She was starting to get hungry
. They’d been walking for hours, so the camp was far in the distance behind them. They couldn’t go all the way back there to get food. They were out of luck. They had to go forward and hope that they found help somehow. And food.
But for now, Calla was exhausted. Realizing she’d been stupid enough to forget food had taken her last bit of energy from her. She sank down onto the ground. Now she was at the same level as Ryder. “We’ll take a break for a little bit,” she told him.
He settled back on his haunches.
She surveyed him. Damn it, why was she still finding him attractive? Hadn’t she promised herself that she’d only see him as a man who needed help from now on?
It was his own fault for being so nicely put together. Even his hands and fingers were strong and tanned and fine. And he carried himself in a certain manner that was very appealing. True, he looked wild and uncivilized, but he also seemed quite sure of himself. Not cocky or arrogant, but a simple understanding of his own strength. If he didn’t think he was a wolf, then she would have wanted a man exactly like him.
She considered Chad out here in the woods. That would be a disaster. Chad wasn’t an outdoorsy type. He was much more comfortable indoors. He was competitive, but he wasn’t athletic. She couldn’t think of a single time that she and Chad had been outside together without having their feet firmly planted on concrete or pavement.
But she did remember the way Chad had reacted when a black snake had gotten into their house.
They didn’t live in a country house by any stretch of the imagination, but they did have a yard, and it did butt up against a strip of forest—one of the few left in the area. Mostly, however, they didn’t see many animals or much wildlife. The neighbor next door had bird feeders and baths in her back yard, and she attracted all kinds of birds, some of which spilled over into their yard, but there wasn’t much more than that.
Calla herself didn’t especially like snakes, but she knew that black snakes were fairly docile and that they weren’t poisonous. And she’d had a little bit of experience with snakes—pet snakes, that is. She was certified to teach students from fifth grade to twelfth, so she’d had to divide her student teaching between middle school and high school. In her middle school position, she’d had to carry on the host teacher’s glorified show-and-tell exercise, because it had been established before she arrived and students were looking forward to it. But Calla had thought the entire idea too juvenile, even though the seventh graders had loved it. That was one of the reasons Calla had decided to teach high school. Middle schoolers were too young for her taste.
At any rate, she had to keep up this show-and-tell exercise. (It hadn’t actually been called “Show and Tell.” The teacher had another name for it, but Calla couldn’t remember that now. Then the students were required to write about the activity afterward, so it was really all about writing according to the host teacher.) One of the boys had brought in a pet snake. She didn’t know what kind it had been, but it had been fairly calm. It certainly hadn’t hissed or bitten anyone.
The students had wanted her to hold the snake. They’d gotten very, very excited about the prospect.
She remembered the sounds of all of those seventh graders, clapping their hands and chanting, “Hold the snake. Hold the snake.”
She tried to quiet them, but they wouldn’t be quieted. That was the most frightening thing about teaching, she realized. The moments in which she knew that any control she had over the students was an illusion. It was even more terrifying to see them organized like this, all saying the same thing and clapping in the same rhythm.
When they began to stomp their feet as well, she relented, because she was frightened of what the teacher below her might think.
So, she held the snake. She was surprised to find it cold and smooth. The scales were like polished sea shells. Holding the snake, she found that she wasn’t frightened of it at all. It was only an animal. She felt powerful, having faced down her natural aversion to the thing and conquered it.
It didn’t mean that she went out and got a pet snake of her own, but it did mean that she found snakes more interesting. She even watched a few shows on the Discovery Channel about people catching venomous snakes, and she learned that they couldn’t open their mouths if they were pinched shut. She also watched the way those men approached the snakes from behind with their hooks and tongs. She found it somewhat fascinating.
But she still wasn’t at all pleased by snakes, especially not in her house, and when she found the black snake, she screamed.
The snake was curled up in the corner of the kitchen in a patch of sunlight, which she knew made sense because snakes were cold blooded and liked the warmth. She couldn’t tell how big it was, because it was all curled up, but it was pretty thick, over an inch in diameter. It was much bigger than the pet snake she’d held all those years ago when she was student teaching.
It didn’t register her scream but stayed right there in the light, unmoving.
Chad raced into the kitchen at the sound, however. “What?” he said, breathless.
She pointed.
“Oh,” said Chad, his voice high-pitched. He backed out of the kitchen. “It’s a snake.” He sounded like a frightened little boy.
She peered at the snake. “It’s a black snake. I don’t think it will hurt us.”
“You screamed.”
“I was startled.”
“Well… well…” His voice was a squeak. “I don’t know how we’re going to get it out. Maybe we should call someone. An exterminator, or… or…”
Calla knew she shouldn’t fault him for his fear. They were married at that point, and she was meant to help him. If he was vulnerable, he was allowed to show that to her. Didn’t women always wish men would share their fears?
But she couldn’t help it. She hated him in that moment. She hated him for being weak and scared and pitiful. She didn’t want a man who was frightened of black snakes. She wanted a man who would rescue her.
And then she scolded herself for that, because wasn’t that thought setting the women’s movement back to the 1950s?
It was the thought of feminism that made up her mind. She took a deep breath. She was a woman, and she needed a man just as much as fish needed bicycles. She could take care of this snake on her own.
She kept a pair of gardening gloves in the junk drawer, and she got them out, just in case the snake did decide to strike her. She knew that a black snake bite wouldn’t kill her. It would only be a tiny wound. However, she didn’t think it sounded pleasant either. Hence, the gloves.
“What are you doing?” came Chad’s tremulous voice.
“Getting rid of the snake.” She put on the gloves.
“Oh, no, Calla, I don’t think you should do that. We need to call an expert.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
And he looked away. She could see that he was ashamed of himself for not being braver about the snake. That made her hate him even more.
She stalked over to the snake, making sure to approach behind its head.
When she picked it up, she got its head firmly between her gloved thumb and forefinger, pinching its mouth closed. She caught the rest of the body firmly in one hand. The snake wriggled a bit, but it wasn’t able to get free.
Calla marched the snake outside, hurried through the lawn, and threw it down in the grass.
The snake slithered away immediately, disappearing under the green growth.
When she got back to the house, Chad was standing at the window where he’d been watching her. He was clutching his elbows. “What if it comes back?” he’d said, his eyes wide.
She found that she couldn’t speak to him. She despised him then.
Later, the hatred faded, but she always remembered it, and she was frightened of it. She was frightened it would come back, that she wouldn’t be able to feel anything for Chad but that hatred.
Now, as she looked back on it, she realized she should have gotten out of the marriage right then an
d there. It was going nowhere, and she had known when she looked into his pinched and pathetic face that she didn’t really love or respect him.
It wasn’t because he was afraid of snakes either. That was a symptom, not a cause. If she’d loved him, then she would have felt a surge of protection towards him when he was afraid. She would have wanted to soothe and take care of him. When she loved someone, she wanted to fix that person’s imperfections.
No, the fact that his imperfection made her hate him should have shown her that she didn’t love him in the first place.
And now she was looking at Ryder, who was far more imperfect than Chad had ever been. But yet, she still found herself captured by Ryder’s gaze. She couldn’t help but peer at him, take in his body and his expression. He was so attractive, but there was something else to her feelings for him. Because she did feel protective towards Ryder. His weaknesses made her tender, not resentful. How could it be that this man that she barely knew had roused deeper and sweeter emotions within her than the husband she’d been with for years?
It didn’t make sense.
The fact that it was senseless should have frightened her, but she wasn’t afraid. Not of Ryder. Not anymore.
His dark eyes found hers, and they gazed into each other. She looked into the depths of his eyes, and she could see the animal there, but also the man. There was something expressive and kind about him, as well as something dangerous and savage. The mingling of all that made her feel lightheaded. Made her pulse quicken and her limbs tremble.
She couldn’t deny that she was deeply affected by this man on a physical level.
Maybe it was his primitiveness that called out to something wild inside her as well. Maybe there was a level of primal desire between the two of them. She recalled the way his kiss had felt. But that hadn’t been a savage kiss at all. It had been sweet and good, like sugared fruit.
She parted her lips. She oughtn’t be thinking about this.
Ryder’s gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips.
She could feel him looking at her there, almost as if her lips began to burn. She licked them, but it didn’t take the sensation away.
Midnight Moonlight Page 6
