by Tamar Sloan
“Hey.” I realize my voice has taken on a breathless-Tara quality.
Feeling a little stunned, my eyes slide down to my book.
“It’s pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?” I look back up, my eyes connecting with his. “This feeling.”
And I don’t look away. “Yeah. It is.”
So he feels it too. Although these feelings don’t have him running scared.
He pulls in his stool, closer than we’ve been before, and I breathe in his sandalwood scent. Feel his warmth reach out to me with compelling fingers. Noah is a delight for all the senses.
Mr. Dougherty stands up at the front and silence descends on the class. I feel Noah’s hand move closer beside me; I reach out and we clasp beneath the bench. The warmth that is almost familiar now, sparks and spreads. From the corner of my eye, I see Noah’s lips tip up. My whole body smiles in response.
“Today is the last day you will be able to work on your oral presentation. I have posted a schedule on the notice board. Make sure you use this time productively.” Books shuffle and stools scrape as students walk over to the notice board, and a low hum begins around the class.
“I’ll go check it out.” Noah releases my hand and heads to the front of the class. I clasp my hand, my palm tingling.
I watch as Noah scans the sheet, his finger running down, the muscles of his back bunching. Two students join him, a dark-skinned, dark-haired boy and the red-haired girl that sits beside him. They chat, and I see the boy glance over at me. I duck my head back to my books, but continue to watch from lowered lashes. I see Noah nod, and the boy holds his fist up, teeth flashing. Noah shakes his head, but when the boy’s fist remains high, he returns the fist pump. The girl slaps the boy on the arm. Noah laughs, and turns to come back. I pretend to be writing something in my book.
“We’re third on the list.”
Urgh. “Yay.”
“It’ll be fine, I’ll do the talking. You just stand there and look beautiful.”
My response dies on my lips. He called me beautiful? Noah busies himself getting out his laptop and powering it up, unaware he’s said anything of significance. He thinks I’m beautiful? Stunned pleasure creeps up my cheeks.
“So, I think this is pretty much done…?” He turns to me, eyebrows up in question.
“You think I’m…” I blush the brightest so far, and quickly return to my books. I’ve managed to simultaneously show too much, and look like I’m fishing for compliments.
A finger hooks under my chin, pulling me back. “How can you not know?” There’s a tinge of something in Noah’s voice. Wonder?
He scans my face, and heat seems to follow his gaze. Across my eyes, cheeks, nose, lips, chin. Before returning to my eyes. “All I can say is,” he pauses for a moment, holding me in breathless limbo, “wow.”
Oh. Heat stains my stunned face, for once a pleasant, warm feeling.
“Okay?” He looks at me closely, like this is important.
“Okay,” I say quietly. This guy sure knows how to get his point across.
I struggle to find my equilibrium. “We should probably go over it, just to make sure.”
Noah looks at me for a second longer, before turning back to the desk. He tilts the laptop to face the two of us. “I do have a couple of questions.”
“Oh?”
“What’s your favorite dessert?” Huh? I look at him quizzically. He shrugs. ”It’s time to get to know Eden St. James.”
I shift a little in my seat. “Cheesecake. It should be a sixth food group.”
“Favorite fruit?”
“Tomato.”
“Drink?”
I roll my eyes; there’s a definite trend here. “Lunch is next, huh?”
Noah rubs his stomach sheepishly. He looks thoughtful for a second. “Okay then, what superpower would you most like to have?”
I tap my pencil on my lip, considering. “To be able to speak to unicorns. You?”
Noah grins. “To fly like a penguin.”
He rubs his finger along his bottom lip. “Are you addicted to anything?”
“Cheesecake. You?”
“No.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Have you ever lied?”
Innocent blue eyes blink at me. “Never.” I snort. His family guards one of the biggest secrets of all.
He turns a little more toward me. “Do you believe in vampires?”
“No,” I respond automatically. Noah’s eyebrows rise a little. Oh, until yesterday I didn’t think any supernatural beings existed. Today that world no longer remains. “Do they….?”
Noah wiggles his brows, and they brush his blond locks.
“Very well, students. I shall see you next period.” And with impeccable timing, the bell goes.
We pack up and follow the stream of students. I follow Noah, and his hand reaches behind. I slip my hand into his. I could get used to this.
As we walk toward the cafeteria, Bianca comes toward us. Her eyes flicker down and back up. I think I see her jaw tighten, but I can’t be sure.
Bianca stretches a smile across her face. “Hi, Noah. Eden.”
“Hey, Bianca.” Noah’s hand tightens around mine.
“Hi.” I step a little closer to Noah. He turns a blinding smile down to me, and as I tend to do, I lose myself in his gorgeous features. When I look back up, Bianca is gone. I can just imagine the hair flounce this would have brought on.
We head to the cafeteria, where Tara and Mitch are already seated. I pull out my jelly sandwich. When I look up, Noah is watching me.
“No peanut butter today?”
Does he notice everything? “All out.” I shrug. “But I brought cookies.”
I pass around a brown paper bag full of chocolate chip cookies. I know, from previous experience, they are phenomenal. Tara pulls up her shoulders, closing her eyes as she savors hers. I don’t think Mitch chews his. I pretend not to notice the crumbs sprinkling across Noah’s lower lip.
“Tell your Mom these are sensational.”
I don’t bother to correct Mitch. Most mothers would bake cookies for their kids.
Tara taps the table to get everyone’s attention. “So peeps, Eden and I have spoken, and it’s study sesh take two at hers on Wednesday.”
“I’m up for that.” Mitch leans back in his chair.
I look to see what Noah thinks of the idea. He’s grinning widely. “Sounds like a great idea.”
So lunch passes, as it always has. I listen to the three of them joke and talk, ribbing each other about childhood moments, discussing upcoming events and assignments. I laugh, and occasionally contribute. But everything is different. Now I know I’m sitting at a table with three Werewolves. The life they lead is far from normal. And, beside me, my hand is tightly clasped by one of them. One that I fought so hard to avoid. One that I’m now recklessly opening to.
At the end of lunch, Noah once again walks me to my class, hands joined. I’m quite liking this new world. Time moves slowly in English, and I spend most of it looking at the clock rather than at the novel in front of me. I realize there’s a fine line between nervousness and anticipation.
At the end of last period, I find Noah standing at the door, waiting. Definitely liking this new world. We walk out to the parking lot and stop in front of my mother’s car. I don’t want this day to end.
Noah turns to stand in front of me, our held hands between us.
“See you tomorrow.” I have that breathless tone again.
His hand comes up to gently, slowly brush across my cheek. His gaze follows its path. Heat blazes from that soft graze, igniting behind my ear, down my spine.
He steps away, taking two backward steps. “Looking forward to it.” He turns and heads to his truck.
To all intents and purposes, an ordinary day.
But so, so much better.
16
Noah
I indicate left off the highway, fingers drumming on the steering wheel in time to the Black Eyed Peas a
s they tell me tonight’s going to be a good night. Mitch leans his elbow on the door, head tilted in boredom, roaming on his cell phone. He’s not loving the Phelan rule— He Who Drives Picks the Tunes. Although admittedly, the decree doesn’t work for either of us when Dad’s driving.
The phone beeps in his palm and Mitch scans the lit screen. “Tara’s going to be ten minutes late.”
“Wonder what her dad needed now.”
Mitch’s mouth turns down a smidgen. “It must suck to be the eldest.”
“Tell me about it.”
Mitch snorts and a napkin hits me on the cheek, before fluttering down to my thigh. I flick it back at him.
But Mitch is already looking out his window, staring at the real estate that is progressively getting newer and bigger.
He turns to me. “Does this mean you’re gonna be Alpha?
It had occurred to me. Sixteen years of preparation. “It’s possible,” I say slowly, cautiously. “We need to talk to Dad.”
We exchange a glance, the memory of a few nights ago when I told Dad, passing between us. His disbelief. Then he registered the slow, pained movements that made me look like I’m eighty. He comprehended Mitch’s huge grin. He recognized the metallic scent only a Were can sense, that only happens after a shift. I remember his ear-splitting whoop that had Stash leap up in guard mode. His spine-snapping hug.
And imprinted in my memory is the sight of my mother, holding Mitch with one hand, the other covering her smiling lips as tears ran down to meet it.
“Thank goodness.” Mitch’s voice rushes out.
“You never wanted it.”
“Not even a little. Not the role, or everything that goes with it.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Well, you never did complete those application forms.”
“I was waiting for a miracle.”
Well, I found one.
A large, timber sign indicates the turn off to Clear Creek Inn. A road takes us up through the pines, meandering beside a river. We turn a bend and find ourselves driving up to a sprawling building, an elegant ‘Clear Creek Inn Reception’ sign on the front.
Mitch lets out a low whistle. “This place is something.”
I silently agree. If you have a shiny gold credit card, this is the place to be.
A huge, timbered entryway is supported by four massive posts, each one rising from a small, evergreen garden bed. Antlered chandeliers highlight the raked ceilings. All around are matching gardens, lush lawns, and well-dressed people. Behind it is another building with ‘Luxury Spa’ written in curved writing, while its identical twin on the other side says ‘Big Game Hunting’ in bold stamp.
I point it out to Mitch. “His and hers.”
He looks at the ‘His’ section. “Mr. Channon would be in heaven.”
“Eden said to head around the back.”
We follow the gravel road as it snakes through more landscaped lawns, the gurgling river never far away. Rows of log cabins look out over its crystal cascade. The last of the cabins ends as we pass a ‘No Admittance’ sign. Another cabin comes into view, a little larger than the others, but with the same pimped-up gardens. A white Saab is parked out the front.
I feel my chest expand with anticipation. I’ve watched Mitch go through these feelings over the past two years. And now I see why they are so compelling. Why people go to great lengths to experience them. To never let them go.
The last few days with Eden have been amazing. Who knew that the simple act of putting her hand in mine would have my whole body igniting? That those smiles that are becoming more and more common are directly connected to my happy bone. That her fragile trust would have my heart doing victory laps. I can’t get enough of it.
“You’re thinking of Eden again, aren’t you?”
I flush a little, keeping my eyes on the road. Stupid twin bond.
“And it’s not the twin bond. You just get this look on your face…” Mitch goes wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
I shove his shoulder. “Zip it. You and Tara weren’t much better.”
We park the car behind the Saab and grab our bags. A gardener, his old, faded body looking odd in pristine coveralls, comes up the path, pushing a wheelbarrow full of pots. He pauses when he sees us at the front door.
I knock, the hammering of my heart doing its own battering within my chest. The door opens, and she stands there. My thirsty gaze takes in the mahogany hair, tilted green eyes, those smiling lips. How can this girl not know she’s drop-dead gorgeous? Runway model beautiful.
She glances to her right. “Hi, Mitch.”
Then turns to me. “Hi, Noah.” Her tone holds something else, a hitch that pulls at something deep and primitive within me. I think I forget to respond.
Mitch clears his throat, shifting slightly to his left. “Tara said she’d be ten minutes late.”
Eden turns her head; her eyes take a split second to follow. “That’s fine.”
Another throat-clearing rumbles over to us. Eden steps farther out and sees the gardener standing near the front fence, his wheelbarrow resting besides him. She smiles and waves.
“Hi, Stan.”
He nods, his gaze scanning the two of us top to toe, and back. If he were a cop, he’d be patting us down.
“Tell Jenny the cookies were great. These guys demolished them.”
The cookies came from the gardener?
Stan nods again. “Will do, Eden.”
His stooped shoulders lift the wheelbarrow and move on.
Eden glances at us apologetically. “He doesn’t say much.”
I don’t think she realizes how much he did say.
Another wave of grumbling comes from the path, and I turn, thinking Stan has changed his mind. A mammoth German shepherd comes pounding up the path. He stops in front of us, his tail high, body tense. I wouldn’t say he’s threatening, but he isn’t happy to see us standing between him and Eden. He sniffs the air, registering that we’re not normal visitors. His head drops, erect ears pointing straight at us. He’s unsure of how to proceed, aware of our dominant status, but wanting to get to Eden. I step aside, giving him space to dart through.
The dog instantly sits by Eden’s side, his shoulder resting against her thigh. Tension is apparent in his taut frame. Eden’s hand comes down to rest on his head. He looks up, and she smiles down at him. And the dog relaxes, without Eden having said a word.
“Sorry, I think it’s because you guys are…” She looks down the path to see if Stan is still around.
Mitch shrugs. “We get it all the time.”
Well, I haven’t. I’ve never been a threat to dogs before. I crouch down, holding my hand out.
“His name is Caesar.”
“Hey, Caesar.” He glances at Eden, and appears to gain her permission because he steps forward. He sniffs my hand and I slowly reach out to pat him. Caesar watches me as I rub his head, then slide my hand down behind his ear. His tail drops to level with his shoulders. Not a wag, but for this proud, protective dog, it’s a start.
Eden has a soft smile on her lips. Her evergreen eyes meet mine, and the smile grows. I wish I could capture it. For the first time, I get an inkling of my mother’s photo-taking obsession.
“Come on in, guys.”
Eden and Caesar lead us into a large open-plan living area, featuring the same raked ceilings from the main entrance. The place is decked out. Complete with leather lounges, large fireplace, and paintings of the mountain range which are artfully highlighted by angled lights. It’s homey in an expensive kind of way. Actually, the place screams ‘we don’t want to flaunt our money, but secretly want you to know we’re loaded’.
Eden looks to me; I think she’s trying to judge my reaction. I keep my face deliberately neutral. I’m not sure if I should be intimidated or not.
Mitch lets out another of his low whistles.
Eden looks around, like she’s taking it in for the first time. “I love the color scheme. Actually looks like a home.”
Mitch snorts. “What did you live in before, a glass penthouse?”
Eden grins. “Not the last place.” She walks over toward one of the leather lounges, and Caesar leaps onto it, effectively vetoing my sitting next to her. “I figured we could study in the lounge. There’s plenty of room.”
In front of her is a giant flat-screen TV. The thing looks like an adolescent movie screen. Give it a couple of years and it will be all grown up.
Mitch walks over to stand in front of it. “What size is this sucker?”
Eden rolls her eyes. “I have no idea.” She sits down on the sofa next to Caesar. “Did you want a ruler?”
Mitch snorts. “I should have brought my tape measure.”
I take the single sofa seat, pretending I’m not disappointed. I’d imagined something a little different. I duck my head, getting my books out of my bag. Get yourself together, Phelan.
Another knock sounds at the door, and Eden gets up to let Tara in. Once in the lounge room, Tara does a small circle. I’m surprised she hasn’t whistled like my brother.
“Holy shibblets, Eden, this place is something!”
Eden rolls her eyes. “We don’t own it, you know.”
Tara walks over to the drive-in-sized TV. She twirls to face us. “Do you know what I’m seeing?”
“Uh-oh.”
Tara continues as if I haven’t spoken. “Movie night!”
Mitch groans, saying two words that would scare even the most besotted guy. “Chick flick.”
But apparently I’m more besotted than most. Because the idea of sitting here with Eden, lights dimmed, curled on that sofa, has me wiping damp palms on my jeans.
Eden looks contemplative, her hand rubbing that spot behind her ear. “That sounds nice.” Her thoughtful eyes reach over to mine, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. I hope so.
Tara and Mitch settle themselves on an adjacent two-seater. I glance at the taken seat besides Eden, wishing I could do the same. Eden is biting her lip beside Caesar.
Tara passes her the popcorn packet. “I believe you ordered butter-flavored?”
“Thanks.” She heads across the lounge to the kitchen. “I’ll get everyone a drink.”
