Wolf's Bane

by Kelley Armstrong

  “Bible camp, which did not involve the pagan sacrifice of hot dogs and marshmallows to the god of fire.” He snatches the last s’more as I reach for it.

  “I take it you like them?” I say.

  “I’m still deciding. More testing is required.” He crunches half of the s’more in one bite. “I will admit I was disappointed by the lack of marshmallow-roasting at Bible camp. And the overabundance of prayer, which is all well and good but could be done just as easily by actually getting out into the forest and admiring the Creator’s creations. The staff did not agree. There’s poison ivy out there, you know. And mosquitoes. Better to lock yourself in the cabin and pray really, really hard for the whole horrible experience to end.”

  “Sounds like those counselors would have gotten along well with these ones.”

  “No shit, huh? In the middle of all this wilderness, and we barely step outdoors. Why not just hold the conference between a McD’s and a Starbucks. Which is what I told my mom after that first Bible camp. I’d rather be in the city than stuck in a cabin, staring out at forest I’m not allowed to explore like I can at home.”

  “You said you live in the countryside?”

  “Yes, ma’am, tiny town about an hour outside Austin.”

  “Is it just you and your mom?”

  He nods and puts my s’more stacks into the toaster oven. “She was forty when she met my dad. By that time, she figured she wasn’t having kids. She was okay with that. Mom always went her own way. Grew up in the kind of town where there isn’t a local vet because folks can barely afford medical care for their kids. Everyone wanted her to become a doctor, but her passion was animals. She didn’t want to leave her family, though. So she commutes to a clinic in suburban Austin. It wasn’t exactly the kind of life that encouraged dating. She liked it, though, and if it meant no husband and kids, that was fine.”

  “Then she met your father.”

  Elijah opens the oven before it dings. “Met my dad, had me, lost him, and kept on going. She dates, mostly city guys that she doesn’t bring around. Not stepdaddy material. Just”—he waggles his brows—“dates.”

  “Totally understandable.”

  We’ve baked three s’mores, and we both reach for them at the same time. I grab one and try to snatch up a second, but my fingers graze the hot pan, and I yelp, dropping both. He scoops them up and shakes them at me. I grab for one, but he backs up, and I slide off the counter . . . just as he’s coming back to give me the s’more, sandwiching me between him and the cupboards.

  Elijah grins down at me. Then he puts a s’more half way into his mouth and arches one brow. I lift up the inch I need to be on eye level with him. Then I take one dainty bite from the edge of the s’more. His brow rises higher. I keep nibbling until our lips brush, and then I kiss him, tentative at first, in case this isn’t what he intended. His hands slide down to the hollow above my hips, and he chomps down his half of the s’more before kissing me back.

  After the first kiss, I expect this one to be a disappointment. That one had layered the thrill of danger with the buzz of the unexpected, making out with a cute stranger in an empty hall, hoping whoever was approaching didn’t realize we’d broken into someplace we shouldn’t be. Add in the realization that Elijah was a werewolf, and it’s obvious the kiss held an extra something I shouldn’t expect to find again.

  Yet I do. He kisses me back, and sparklers explode in my brain, firing and popping and writing his name in the night sky. At first, I taste chocolate and marshmallow and graham cracker. Then that fades, and he tastes of things I never associated with tastes at all. He tastes of the forest. Of sunshine and shadow, forest and meadow, fast-running water and lazy ponds. Of the run and the chase and the hunt and the gloriousness of those moments when the human world slips away, when I am a creature whose skin I fully inhabit. In Elijah’s kiss, I feel my wolf blood strumming through my veins, rising to meet his.

  Elijah’s kiss is deep, hungry even, as if he’s reaching for something, reaching into me and embracing what he finds there. I smell him, the musk of wolf mingled with his own scent. I feel him, the heat of his body blazing against mine. Yet that hunger stays in the kiss, held fiercely in check. His hands remain on my waist, fingers splayed and as hot as fire-brands where my T-shirt rides up, his skin meeting mine. He grips me firmly, but not as if he’s forcing his hands to stay where they are, not as if he needs to keep them from wandering up or down. Just like during our first kiss, the firmness feels as if it’s for my sake, telling me his hands aren’t going anywhere, that I won’t feel them creeping and need to tense, pulled from the kiss, ready for the “no” that becomes a war of wills and boundaries, my body a battlefield.

  His hands stay exactly where they are, letting me relax and enjoy the kiss until we run out of breath and separate, laughing softly as we pant for air.

  “Wow,” I say. “You are really good at that.”

  He hesitates and then lets out a whoosh of a laugh. “I was going to say the same thing about you. Pretty sure it’s not me.”

  “Mmm, I think it is. But like with the s’more, I believe more testing might be in order.”

  I’m teasing, but he doesn’t need another hint. He pulls me against him for another amazing kiss that only breaks when my stomach growls, and he chuckles against my lips before backing up.

  “Making out is very strenuous,” I say. “Burns so many calories.”

  “S’more s’mores?” he says.

  “I think this requires protein.”

  “I have jerky.”

  “So you’ve said, and you may keep it.”

  I return to the pantry and come out with a jar of peanut butter. I take two Hershey bars and give one to Elijah. Then I open mine, break off a piece and dip it into the peanut butter. We sit there, dipping and eating.

  “You said you have a dog,” he says.

  I nod. “A shepherd-border-collie cross. Atalanta. Not named after the city.”

  “Because that would be Atlanta. Atalanta is a huntress from Greek myth. I’m sure you hear that mistake a lot. Try having a dog named Lagahoo. People come up with all kinds of weird mispronunciations for that.”

  “Lagahoo?” I grin. “You named your dog ‘werewolf’? That’s Caribbean, right? A variation on the French loup-garou.”

  His grin matches my own. “Very good. It is, indeed. Dad grew up in Jamaica, but his family was from Trinidad. That’s where the lagahoo comes from. Someone dropped her in our front yard when she was a puppy, and Mom decided I was old enough to have a dog of my own.”

  “Atalanta was abandoned, too. I found her in our old playhouse one winter, and I convinced Dad to let me give her to Logan as a Christmas present. Only, as it turned out, Logan had found her first and put her in the playhouse as a Christmas present for me. I didn’t realize that until years later because I was so excited about getting him a puppy that he didn’t have the heart to tell me he’d rescued her for me.”

  “That’s kinda awesome.”

  I take another scoop of peanut butter on chocolate. “My brother is awesome. I know you didn’t see him at his best, but—”

  A door bangs, right outside the kitchen, and we both freeze.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate

  When a door bangs in the hall, we go still at first. Then footsteps sound, coming our way. Elijah wheels for the pantry, but I catch his arm and mouth, “No hiding spot.” He hesitates only a moment before realizing I’m right. Once we’re in that pantry, there’s no place to go. If someone else is coming for food, they’ll head straight for the pantry.

  The question is: What other option do we have? Only one. I run and duck behind the kitchen island. Elijah frowns, and I know what he’s thinking—that it’s hardly a perfect spot. But he slips over and crouches beside me, and I whisper a plan.

  The footsteps approach. They stop at the door. It creaks open. We’ve left the lights off—we can see well enough with the moon filtering through the skylight overhead. Whoever i
t is doesn’t hesitate at finding the lock undone. Footsteps enter. The person pauses. I wait for the click of the lights, but the room stays semidark. The steps sound again, heading for the pantry.

  The setup of the room puts the pantry on the intruder’s right. To get to it, though, they’ll step past the island, meaning if they look left, they’ll spot us. I track the intruder’s steps as I creep toward the left side of the island. As soon as the footsteps pass the right edge, I zip around, and Elijah follows.

  We’ve left the pantry door open, but the person doesn’t seem to notice that. When the footsteps move into the pantry, I lean out, just a little, and inhale deeply. I don’t pick up a scent, which is odd.

  I creep out from my hiding spot. We’re on a direct path to the door here. We just need to get to it while our fellow camper is inspecting the snack options. I dart soundlessly across the room. Elijah follows, bare feet padding as he carries his sneakers. I’m opening the kitchen door when I hear Elijah stop. I look back to see him frowning in the direction of the pantry. He mouths something I don’t catch.

  I wave for him to get over here. He starts my way . . . and the footsteps head from the pantry. I look around wildly, but there’s no place to go. I yank open the door and swing out, but that leaves Elijah in the kitchen, and I’m not going to abandon him.

  I reopen the door and step through, ready to take my punishment as Elijah says, “Kate?”

  He’s standing in the middle of the room. And he’s alone.

  I look around. Then I circle the island, checking the pantry as I do.

  “We didn’t both hallucinate those footsteps,” he says.

  I shake my head.

  “And we heard them stop right about here.” He stands on the right side of the island. “No one could have gotten past you.”

  “No one did.”

  “I don’t know much about magic,” he says. “Any spell that can do this?”

  “A blur spell distorts your form,” I say. “That’s sorcerer magic. A cover spell hides you. That’s witch magic. You’d need to use both to slip past and then disappear.” I clear my throat and say louder, “If someone’s in here, it’s cool. We just came for a snack, same as you.”

  No answer. I turn on the light, and Elijah paces off the room while I watch from the corner, looking for a blur of movement. We don’t see one. We check the pantry, too.

  It’s not foolproof. We could have missed that telltale blur. When we finish, I call, “You know the lock’s on the outside, right? I can lock you in here.”

  Silence.

  “Do you smell anyone?” Elijah asks.

  I shake my head. Then I think of something, walk to the door and drop to all fours. I sniff the ground. The only recent scents I pick up are mine and Elijah’s.

  Hairs prickle on the back of my neck.

  “No one but us, right?” he says.

  I nod. “It’s not a ghost, though. They couldn’t open the door.”

  “So . . .” he says.

  “I’ll talk to Holly tonight and Logan tomorrow,” I say. “Maybe I’m missing a spell or a subtype power. One of them will know. For now . . .” I scoop up the rest of the chocolate bars and return the peanut butter to the pantry. “Time to clean up and clear out.”

  * * *

  I slip into my room fifty-five minutes after telling Holly I’d return in an hour. I’d have been sooner, but when I noticed I had fifteen minutes left, Elijah found a way to fill ten of them.

  I slip back into our room to find Holly reading. I toss her a Hershey bar. She looks from it to me and back again.

  “Is this what you ate?” she asks. “Because I want whatever you had. You can flick off the lights—your face is glowing enough for me to read by.”

  “You can have what I did, but I’d rather not offer up Elijah. Give me a room number, and I’ll fetch you a proper midnight snack.”

  “I don’t think it’ll have the same effect.” She flips onto her side, head braced on her arm. “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “He’s really likable. A nice guy in a very nice package. Also, an amazing kisser.” I thump onto my bed and sigh at the memory.

  “So that line you gave him about not looking for a boyfriend. Changed your mind yet?”

  “It wasn’t a line. I’m on dating hiatus.” I tug off my shoes. “I’m still in recovery from the last one. First longterm boyfriend. First longterm burn.”

  “Jerk.”

  I smile at her. “Thanks. I want to be one of those girls who bounces back and says it’s his loss, but I’m not bouncing. Not mooning over him, either. I just . . . I got hurt worse than I expected.”

  “What happened?” She sits up. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me, obviously.”

  But I want to. The thought surprises me. The only person I’ve told is Nick, because he’s the one I’ve always gone to for stuff like this—he dated a lot before he got married.

  I couldn’t talk to Logan—he and Brandon moved in the same school circle, and that was awkward. If Logan had asked pointblank, though . . .? But he didn’t, and I won’t deny that stung.

  I’d have liked to tell Mom, but then Dad would find out, and while he wouldn’t exactly hunt Brandon down for what he did, he’d want to, and I just wasn’t ready to upset them both with a problem they couldn’t fix for me.

  “It was sex,” I say as I lay back on the bed. “He wanted it, and I didn’t—not yet. He just . . .” I look over at her. “He wouldn’t stop pushing. Even kissing felt like a constant battle to keep his hands from sliding up my shirt.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Right? I eventually did let him go farther, because I wanted to, but he just plowed through that like it was a hurdle on the way to his real goal. He didn’t care about all the steps in between. I did.”

  “You wanted to slow down and enjoy the journey, and he was powering through to the finish line.”

  “Exactly. He was convinced I’d eventually give in. It wasn’t as if I have hangups about sex. Maybe the fact I was open about it led him to believe he could talk me into it.”

  She gives me a hard look. “That sounds like taking responsibility for his inability to hear the word no.”

  “I don’t mean that. I just . . . It felt like there must be a solution to this situation, and I wasn’t seeing it, and that was my fault. I tried to talk to him, and he’d just say sure, yeah, he understood that I wasn’t ready, and that was fine, but then the next day, he’d go right back to pushing for more. Eventually, he came up with a solution of his own. He found a girl who said yes.”

  “Seriously? What a jerk.”

  “In theory, no. If he felt he needed sex, then it was his prerogative to end our relationship and find someone else. The problem was the he skipped the ‘ending it’ part.”

  She turns so fast her bed squeaks. “He cheated on you?”

  “Didn’t even try to hide it. He went to a party and screwed around with a girl from school and then told me about it. Letting me know someone else gave him what he wanted. Like that would make me see the error of my ways.”

  “What the—?” She bites off the curse and throws her hand out, a tiny fireball igniting. “Take this. You know where to put it.”

  I laugh. “Thanks. If I had one of those at the time . . .” I trail off and sit, pulling my knees in. “No, that’s a lie. I’d like to say I told him off or even threw him across the room. I didn’t. I just . . . I went into shock. I barely got home before I broke down.”

  “I wouldn’t have made it out of the room,” Holly says softly, extinguishing the fireball. “I can pretend I’d use that fireball on him, but I would have been crying too hard to say the spell. I’m sorry. He’s a total asshole, and I’m really sorry.”

  I nod, knees clutched tight. I’m looking at them, but she leans out and catches my expression. “There’s more?”

  I hesitate. Then the words come, the ones that wouldn’t even with Nick, that were too humiliating to tell him.

&n
bsp; “People knew,” I say. “People at the party. The girl he picked . . . Of all the girls he could have chosen . . .”

  “Uh-huh,” she says, and I know I don’t need to explain.

  “He told her that I wouldn’t have sex with him,” I say. “So she offered to, thinking that would be her way to win him. Except he didn’t want a relationship with her. When he tried getting back together with me, she told everyone that they’d had sex and why. She’s the head of this clique I’ve had trouble with since I started high school, and this was exactly the sort of thing they’d been looking for. They started taunting me, sending stuff to my social media, even writing on the bathroom walls. At first, they said I was a frigid bitch, a prick tease. Then they decided I must be a lesbian. Then maybe, since I’m not exactly full-figured, I must actually be a guy, and I was afraid Brandon would find out. And then . . .”

  Tears run down my cheeks, and I swipe them away, horrified.

  “And then . . . ?” Holly says, so gently my tears only flow faster. “You don’t need to tell me. But if it would help . . .”

  “My brother,” I spit out the words fast before I can change my mind. “They started saying I wouldn’t sleep with Brandon because I had a crush on . . .”

  My gorge rises, and I can’t say the words. I don’t need to. Holly’s sharp intake of breath tells me she gets it.

  “Those bitches. Those fucking bitches. I have never said that word before, but they deserve it.”

  “Bitches?” I say, laughing softly through my tears.

  She doesn’t return the laugh. “Why would they say . . . ? Oh, wait. Let me guess. The other accusations didn’t bother you enough. Calling you gay. Calling you trans.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t consider those insults, either. They didn’t hurt me.”

  “So they had to find something that would.” She goes quiet briefly before asking, “What did Logan say?”

  My laugh comes harsher now. “I sure as hell wasn’t telling him.”