by Cate Dean
Surprisingly, she let me go. Sam took over the feeling of being trapped by wrapping his arm around me, and all but carrying me inside, past Mr. Emmett—who did not look happy to see me, and didn’t even pretend otherwise.
That was the non-welcome I expected. After all, I had just learned the town royalty’s deep, dark secret. He stepped in behind us, like the rear guard.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
The inside of their enormous house looked—a lot like mine. Comfy furniture, magazines, and books scattered across the coffee table, a glass of water on a side table. You know, lived in. I had visions of servants lined up to do everything for them, with spotless, design magazine rooms, and not a dust bunny in sight. I was pleasantly surprised, and my opinion of Sam jumped a few notches.
He’d always been nice, but I figured it was because everyone expected him to be “nice.” With such a normal home life, I saw it was because he was, well—normal. Like me. Okay—not like me, but like the average kid at school, who cleaned his own room and did his own homework.
We all have our moments of being completely off base. This was mine.
I just hoped I had time to enjoy the surprise.
“Please sit, Alex. Samuel told us how courageous you were yesterday.” I could almost hear him cringe at the use of his full name. “I suppose he told you enough to pique your interest.” Perching on the chair next to the sofa, her knees almost touching mine, she searched my face. Sam had inherited her eyes—clear, grey-blue, and absolutely mesmerizing. I couldn’t look away, even though I desperately wanted to. “You must understand, Alex, there is much at stake here—for our family, for Jake. If even a whisper of what happened was to get out—”
“Dad!” Sam leaped up, standing between me and Mr. Emmett—who was coming straight at me. With a knife. I almost fell off the sofa trying to put space between us. “Jake didn’t bite her.”
Oh, God.
My gaze jumped down to my left arm. I didn’t wear a hoodie today—just a long sleeved shirt, so nothing would press against my arm. The loose sleeve accomplished its mission; my bandaged arm was hanging out for everyone to see.
“We can’t take the chance that you’re wrong—”
“I’m not.” Sam didn’t move. Instead, he stared down his dad, his voice edged with an anger I’d never heard from him. “She cut it on a can. I know—I sutured it myself.”
“How do you—”
“I’ve treated enough of Jake’s damage to know the difference. And so have you. Now lose the knife.” To my shock, Mr. Emmett stood down, setting the knife on the table next to the sofa. Sam sat, laid one hand on my cheek. “Are you okay?” I nodded, too stunned by the near violence to be affected by Sam touching me. That would come later. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t expect you to be threatened.” He glanced over at his dad.
“No worries.” My voice actually came out—and it sounded like something resembling normal. Astounding. “I understand where he’s coming from. I think.” I took in a shaky breath, and Sam lowered his hand. The air felt colder. “I’m taking a stab in the dark here—” I cut myself off, heat flaring across my cheeks. “Oh, um, no pun intended.”
Sam’s smile eased some of the embarrassment. His dad’s shout of laughter actually had me smiling.
He was still chuckling when he sat on the arm of the chair. He did not look like the wild-eyed man who came at me with a knife just a minute ago. Now he looked like a dad. He looked like my dad—normal. But I’d never put that word next to thoughts of him again, no matter how much he laughed at me.
“Alex?” Sam’s voice snapped my head around.
“Right.” I forced a smile, pulled my mind back to the conversation. “A bite from Jake is—contagious.”
“She’s a smart one, Sam.” Mr. Emmett did not sound happy. “Evelyn, get the form.”
Mrs. Emmett nodded, kissing his cheek when she stood up. “I like her, Drew.”
He snorted. I would have been alarmed, if Mrs. Emmett hadn’t laughed.
She left the room long enough for Mr. Emmett to glare at me until I wanted to crawl under the sofa. When she returned he backed off, but I knew I wouldn’t be getting support from that quarter any time soon. Maybe never.
Mrs. Emmett shooed Sam over and sat next to me. “This is a simple form, dear, stating that you will maintain strict confidentiality—”
“English, Mom,” Sam said. “Not lawyer speak.”
She let out a sigh. As the top attorney at a firm in Los Angeles, that was asking quite a bit. “This promises you won’t talk to anyone about what happened to you. Doing so will result in consequences I won’t go into, because I don’t wish to frighten you.” Smiling, she held out a pen. “Just sign at the bottom.”
I didn’t hesitate, especially with Mr. Emmett giving me the fish eye. Taking the pen, I scribbled my name next to the big red X. Before I could hand the pen back Sam pulled me to my feet and headed for the front door. “Alex needs to go, Mom.”
“Goodbye, dear. Come back soon.”
Right.
Sam all but dragged me out of the living room and to the front door. Opening one side of the enormous double doors, he practically pushed me out. “Your bike will be around the side. Don’t turn around, Alex. Just keep riding until you’re home. Promise me.”
“Okay.” He looked so—scared. I would have promised just about anything to take that away. “See you tomorrow?”
“Do my best. We might still have—family business.”
I nodded, handed him the pen, and walked along the front of the house. Sam kept his gaze on me the whole time. With a final glance, I rounded the corner, found my bike propped against the pristine blue siding. Moving slower than usual, and more than a little stiff after yesterday, I started to ease my leg over the low center bar.
“I know you.” I froze at the gravel rough voice. It was right behind me, and I was really, really afraid I recognized it.
Turning, taking my bike so I had something between us, I found Jake standing less than a foot away. Yeah—that Jake. My heart jumped so high I could feel it in my throat.
His left arm was in a sling. The arm I beaned with an iron stove leg. It had been ten years since our last face to face, and I look more like a girl and less like a boy than I used to, so I didn’t expect him to know me as me.
As the girl who attacked him yesterday—that was a whole other scenario.
I had to get out of here before he remembered why he knew me.
“I was just on my way home . . .” My voice faltered as he did the one thing I prayed he wouldn’t do. He leaned in and smelled me. Any carnivore sniffed out blood, and he would have scented mine yesterday, from the gash on my forearm, before he even saw me. I’m guessing it was what drew him out.
“You,” he sniffed again, stepping far inside my comfort zone. His confined arm brushed over my injury and I flinched. Before I could move, his good hand snatched out and caught the front of my shirt. “It was you.”
“Defending myself.” I yanked free, surprised that I could. The battle must have taken as much out of him as it had me. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, but you were out to rip me into tiny, edible pieces.”
A smile spread across his face. A lean, handsome face that looked too much like Sam. “Not intentionally.”
“Is that your sorry version of an apology?”
The smile faded. Jake let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “No, but this is. I am sorry, Alex.” I jumped at my name. “I remember you now. The little tomboy always tagging along after Sam.” He flashed a smile. “You grew up nice.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Don’t worry—I’m pretty sure Sam didn’t notice the tagging along part.” His smile faded. “I don’t have much—humanity, when I change. And it’s especially bad on my anniv—” He cut himself off, but I already knew what he was about to say.
“I accept your sorry apology.” His shout of laughter had me relaxing. “If you had torn me into
tiny, edible pieces, that would be a different story.”
He cocked his head—just like he did in the McGinty house. My muscles tensed as the move reminded me of what hid behind the friendly face.
“Still too much of a tomboy for my taste, but you have a brain in there.” Pain tightened his face, almost hiding the despair I could feel coming off him in waves. I wanted to understand, I seriously did—but he still scared the hell out of me, even in human form. Oh, God—I was thinking phrases like “in human form.” I really wanted my old, ignorant bliss back. “Use that brain, Alex, and stay away from us. Especially Sam.”
My heart skipped. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw him take off his shirt, after he chased me off.” He studied me, those dark eyes intense. “I know you saw the scars. Do you think he was only clawed?”
The shock of having it thrown out like that nearly gave me heart failure.
“I don’t—”
“Walk away, Alex. Forget what you saw yesterday and just walk—”
With a harsh gasp he doubled over, dropping to his knees.
My first instinct was to dump my bike and help. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I did.
“Jake?” I touched one hunched shoulder, felt him shake under my fingers. “Are you—”
“Get away.” He growled those two words. Literally. Too late I saw hair sprouting from his clenched fist. “Go!”
The shout spiraled to a howl. I took his advice and got out of there.
Adrenaline roared through me, soundtracked by an actual, tortured roar. Coming from right behind me. I didn’t hesitate, didn’t turn around. I grabbed my bike, running across the grass with it before I jumped on and pedaled like half of Hell was after me.
By the time I shot out of their long driveway and on to the street I could hardly catch my breath. I kept moving, took a quick glance over my shoulder. And almost crashed my bike into the nearest tree.
Sam stood in the side yard, the same walking stick he had yesterday flashing in the sun as it swung through the air. All I saw before he went down was a blur of black.
Just like yesterday, I didn’t think. I just did.
Pedaling as fast as I could I raced back down the driveway, dumping my bike at the edge of the lawn. I pulled my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket, flipped out the blade as I ran to Sam. My heart stopped at the sight of him, sprawled under a pile of black fur and claws, unconscious.
I spotted his walking stick—okay, I almost tripped over it. Throwing the knife blade first at the grass, I grabbed the stick and sprinted forward, swinging it like I was going for the final home run of a pennant game.
In a moment of serious déjà vu, I hit Jake in the same spot high on his already injured left arm. Foreleg. Crap—front left leg.
He howled like a girl monster and started going for me—until he saw the walking stick in my hands. That had him backing off—all the way around the house and out of sight.
By the time I lowered myself to the grass to check on Sam, his parents appeared, carrying some of the nastiest medieval-looking weapons I’ve ever seen.
“Samuel!” Mrs. Emmett dropped her crossbow-with-giant-silver-spiked-arrow and knelt at Sam’s head, crouching over him. Mr. Emmett kept going, the sun bouncing off his big ass sword and all the silver in his chain mail vest. Yes, I said chain mail. “Please don’t let him be—” She cut herself off, like she just remembered my presence. “Help me check him, Alex. Look for any sign of injury.”
I nodded, my heart aching so badly for her I couldn’t talk. I knew the end to the sentence she couldn’t finish. She hoped Sam hadn’t been bitten. Damn it, I was hoping the same thing.
Silently, we both ran our hands over every inch of him. Except for a bruise on his left cheek, and a nasty bump on the back of his head, he was bite free. I sat back on my heels, tears stinging my eyes as relief swept through me.
Mr. Emmett jogged back across the ridiculously huge lawn, blood dulling his chain mail. He held up one hand before Mrs. Emmett said anything. “It’s not mine.” I noticed his sword was conspicuously absent. He crouched next to Sam, laid one hand on his arm. “Any—injuries?”
He glanced over at me, gratitude fighting with suspicion on his face. Mrs. Emmett touched his wrist. “He’s fine. Alex intervened before Jake—” It was her turn to glance at me, like I was going to run through town shouting about their dark secret. I wanted nothing more than to forget it. Letting out her breath, she closed her fingers over mine. “Thank you,” she whispered, tears blurring her grey-blue eyes.
I swallowed, pulled free of her grip and stood, retrieving my knife. Gathering my courage for what I was about to say, I closed the blade and put it in my pocket. “I’m glad he’s okay, but I can’t do this. I can’t be part of this.”
“Alex—”
“I’m forgetting as we speak. As far as I’m concerned, the last two days never happened.” My heart hurt at the thought of putting aside the time I spent with Sam. After worshipping him from afar, I discovered that he was a normal, absolutely awesome guy. One I wanted to get to know better. That wasn’t going to happen now. “Tell Sam I said goodbye.”
“Alex, wait!”
I ran to my bike, ignoring Mrs. Emmett’s voice, and rode away. From Sam, and any chance we might have had.
Hey—a girl can dream. And that’s all I’m going to have now.
5
I tried to get my life back on track, starting with dance class, which I usually had at least four days a week after school. This was my first step back to normal, and I wanted it to be, well, normal. A normal day, a normal class. Maybe if I kept repeating the word it would become real.
The last couple of days forced me to skip, and I was more than a little anxious when I pulled into the parking lot of the dance studio. It was just down the coast, in a cute, bohemian beach town called Santa Luna. Someday I’d take the time to explore more than the studio and the attached theatre.
I walked inside, and joined the other students already warming up at the barre. I knew my eagle-eyed dance instructor, Madame Chloe, would immediately notice the bandage on my forearm, even with the attempt to hide it under my oversized warm up sweater. The woman never missed a thing.
Whether she said anything—or worse, put me on the sidelines right before the most important auditions of our winter performance season—had my nerves humming.
She could order me out, with no second chance. It would be the last straw for me. I'd endured this abuse for three years, because she was the best, and I would have to drive for an hour to get even close to the same level of master class.
So I hid at the back of the studio, doing my warm ups with my right side facing the door, and hoped for the best.
The tap tap of her stick warned us just before she appeared in the doorway. “Good afternoon, my beautiful dancers.” I let out a breath. She was in a good mood today. “The auditions for A Midsummer Night’s Dream are next weekend. In preparation, and to test your progress, today we will be dancing in the dark.”
Some of the students groaned. I just closed my eyes, knowing she'd see my injury now. Especially if I slammed my arm into someone during a blind pirouette.
Dancing in the dark, as Madame Chloe so charmingly called it, was her own invention. Everyone danced in the dark room, wearing a blindfold, in order to better feel their partner's space, their rhythm. I've gotten more than one black eye out of the experience, and a nasty fall when my former partner decided to do a lift without any warning.
Oh, yeah—so looking forward to this.
Madame Chloe tapped her stick on the floor. “Partners, please.” We paired up, and Madame started passing out the blindfolds. She paused next to me, her voice quiet, an unusual state for her. “I will know the reason for the bandage on your arm, Alexandrea.” I held my breath. “After class. And I will be watching closely.”
I nodded, letting out my breath when she kept moving. Ricky, my partner for the last six months, draped an arm over my
shoulders. “I'll be careful with you, my beautiful dancer.” I muffled a laugh at his spot on imitation of Madame's voice. “We'll do our pas de deux, okay?”
I nodded, relief easing my clenched muscles. Ricky was a great partner, and we had been practicing the pas de deux all summer in prep for the auditions. We seriously wanted to dance the roles of Titania and Oberon, together. Today would give Madame Chloe a preview.
Ricky helped me with my blindfold, since lifting my arm still hurt. Thankfully it wasn't my dominant arm, and most of our choreography had me leading with the right. I heard the light switch click, and the pale glow that filtered through the thick blindfold disappeared. Ricky took my hand, moved closer, so I'd know where he was.
Madame Chloe's voice rang out. “You will listen to Madame Chloe, feel my voice. Now move, and feel your partner—keep your eyes closed, let the blindfold do its work. Listen, sense, touch. Find them, dance with them, feel the music. You do not need to see to know. Now, to your partners!”
Feet shuffled, and more than one curse cut through the tense silence. We would dance without music, hearing the music of our hearts, as Madame so poetically told us. I turned, my left hand finding Ricky's waist, my feet between his.
We had practiced blind dancing a couple of times, sure that Madame would throw it at us before auditions week. I just didn't expect to have a bum arm when it happened.
I felt Ricky's curly hair brush my cheek. “Let me do the heavy lifting, chica.”
“Okay.”
He counted down from four in my ear—and lifted me, as smooth and easy as he did in rehearsals. “Going down now,” he whispered.
And that’s when it all went sideways.
My left forearm smacked against Ricky’s shoulder, right on the stitches. The pain shooting up my arm distracted me enough that I lost my balance. Ricky must have felt me tipping—the hand meant to help slapped into my already screaming arm and I hit the floor.
