Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have let it out of my sight in the first place—and I wouldn’t have, if not for the weird feeling it gives me whenever I hold on to it for too long.
Even with the neutralizing sealing spell Soren used still at work, I swear it’s like I can feel the energy of the otherworld every time I touch the tiny, unassuming little stone. I seriously thought it was going to electrocute me the first time I accidentally brushed my fingers across that actual mark of Canath that appeared on the object’s surface. And even just being near it creates a pulling sensation in that matching mark that I carry on my wrist, as if it’s trying to pull me into it, same as it somehow did with that first guardian.
Which is why I wanted to destroy this first key immediately. But all of Soren’s research suggests that all three of the keys need to be in contact with each other when we perform the final spell to destroy them, or else the energy of them might just end up slipping away and manifesting in some other object.
And then we would get to play ‘find-the-key’ all over again.
So obviously, key number one is still intact, despite my love-hate relationship with it.
My hand rests on the lockbox. I sense Soren watching me, and I divert my attention to him so I can avoid touching the key for a little bit longer.
He glances from the door back to my questioning eyes, and then he explains his staring: “I couldn’t help but notice that you came in alone. After you—”
“Left with Liam. Yes. I know. Everybody is apparently really interested in how we decided to walk back from that dumb café separately. Which is kind of crazy when you consider how many more actually interesting things we’re dealing with—you know, guardians and fissures and the possible destruction of life as we know it—things that you all could be focusing on instead.”
“You seem upset.”
“Well I have this really annoying character flaw,” I grumble, “where for some reason I can’t help but care about what my friends think of me.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
I snort out a laugh. I’m far from amused. But there’s just…something about the way that he’s casually made me realize that I’m more exhausted and upset about Liam than I thought, and that something makes me feel too helpless to do anything except laugh about it all.
“It is,” I sigh.
He smiles. It’s a bit softer, a bit more hesitant than his usual one. And I can’t help but fall a little in love with it. Even though I’m trying not to, same as I was trying not to three days ago. I don’t want to deal with these butterflies that feel like they’re going to war in my stomach over him. I don’t need the extra distraction.
But he isn’t exactly helping me win my battle.
He’s folded his hands behind his head and is leaning back against the wall with a thoughtful look on his face. The stretched pose puts every bit of his lean muscle on display, and it lifts his shirt a little higher than his low-slung sweatpants, revealing a strip of his bare, tanned skin. I force my gaze up to his face instead. His eyes are still green—the color he said was as genuine as that softer smile he just gave me.
I’d told him I liked them that color.
I can’t help but wonder if that’s why they haven’t changed again; this is the longest they’ve stayed one color since the night we met.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment of silence.
The apology catches me off guard.
My confusion must be obvious on my face, too, because he follows up with: “I didn’t mean to cause problems between the two of you.”
“It’s okay. You’re far from our only problem.”
“Right…but still, I’ve been thinking.”
“Not about me again, I hope?” I say with a wry smile. “That’s what got us into trouble last time, if you remember.”
“I know.” He pushes away from the wall. For a minute he looks as if what he’s thinking about is closing the space between us and maybe picking up where we left off the other night. He hesitates, though, and in the end he just throws an almost frustrated look out the window instead. “But I can’t seem to help myself.”
The low tone of his voice sends heat sneaking up the back of my neck.
“We’re business partners,” I say quietly. “That’s all.”
He nods. “That’s all I wanted.”
“Me too,” I reply.
But I sound really, really unconvincing.
It’s like when you write a word over and over, repeating it so many times that it doesn’t seem real anymore.
He turns away from the window. Studies me for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath, shakes his head, grabs his backpack from the couch and slings it over his shoulder. “We’re leaving soon, right?”
“We’ve more or less decided on our next destination, so yeah. I was coming up to get my stuff.”
His eyes fall on the lockbox next to my hand. “Is it still bothering you? The key’s energy?”
“I wish I could say it wasn’t. But I can feel it through the box, even….and I’m sort of afraid to open it. Wonder if they’d notice if we just stole the whole box? It’s not that big. I could fit it in my backpack.”
He comes closer, his focus still on that box. “Maybe I can try to neutralize it further.”
“It seemed like that spell kind of wore you out last time.”
“You noticed.”
“Sorry. I won’t tell anyone else you aren’t invincible. It can be our little secret.”
His gaze flickers away from the box and takes mine.
I swallow hard, unable to keep myself from thinking about what other sort of little secrets I’d like to keep with him.
“Well,” he says, still looking at me and not the box and key in question, “I’m not above thievery as an option, either.”
“Somehow I had a feeling you wouldn’t be.”
And somehow I don’t think we’re talking about lockboxes anymore, either.
His lips part with a sly little smile as he takes a step closer. The door to our room is still cracked. I can hear people chattering and walking by outside, though they’re just barely audible over the sound of my own pounding heart. But I hear them. I smell them. I feel the vibrations of their movements—all of my already-heightened senses seem to be in overdrive mode, and I’m simultaneously afraid of being caught while getting drunk off the idea of being this close to him, keeping these secrets in almost plain sight.
My mind races, warring over these thoughts, trying to decide whether to stay or to run.
Then he presses his mouth to mine, and there’s no more war.
There’s no more anything for a moment.
Time seems frozen along with my body, until he takes my face in his hands and pulls me deeper into the kiss. Then everything comes back at once: the morning dew scent of him, the taste of coffee and cream on his lips, the feel of his fingertips pressing into my skin and sending every nerve-ending in my body quivering to life—every part of him collected, rushing over me like a wave that leaves me breathless and unsteady for a moment.
He steadies me by backing me against the wall.
Then he leans away, just far enough that he can see my face. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and lets his fingers linger there, teasing and tickling my earlobe for a moment before he says, “I don’t like leaving things unfinished.” His voice is low and raspy through his heavy breathing. “So I’ve been thinking about this since we were interrupted the other night.”
“This is essentially anarchy,” I breathe. “I hope you realize that.”
“I do, my rebellious Little Wolf.”
I cover his smirk with a swift, more aggressive kiss. “Still don’t like that nickname,” I growl, which makes him laugh and kiss me back even harder.
We tangle more completely together, movements hungry and quick for fear of another interruption. My hands grip his hips, and then slide to the warm skin of his hard stomach as he trails his lips down the side of my nec
k. I feel his teeth on my skin, and my vision blurs a bit as something beastly and insatiable surges up in me, bringing dangerous strength with it.
The strength of a wolf.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve twisted our position and pressed him against the wall instead. My vision changes again—not blurring, but clearing as the colors around me shift.
His hands are around my wrists a moment later, pushing against the grip I’ve claimed on his waist.
I instinctively growl and try to twist away from him.
He’s surprisingly strong.
But I know I’m stronger.
I jerk free of his hands. I’m prepared to pounce, to crush him against the wall in a show of dominance that I can’t help but want to put on. Before I can, he stubbornly reaches for my arms and pins them awkwardly to my sides—but it’s his voice that actually gets me to stop.
“Easy,” he whispers. “Look at what you’re doing.”
I squirm free of his grip, but I don’t attack him again. My sight slides back to normal human vision, and I manage to find enough focus to follow his gaze as he narrows it on the window.
Through the crack in the curtains, I can just barely see a group of people, huddled together on one of the many flower-lined paths that crisscross their way around this quaint little inn.
All of them are pointing at something I can’t see.
I sprint to the window, fear skipping through me and making the room spin and making my steps unsteady. I slam into that window and clutch the velvety light-blocking curtains for support, holding my breath as I survey the damage that I’ve done.
Or that we’ve done, I guess.
Luckily, it isn’t much. Just enough to catch people’s attention, it seems; the spot they were pointing to is just a scar of strangely-red sky, though in the sunlight I think I catch a sparkle of the ash-like fissure residue falling from it.
I scan that sky, the yard, the distant mountains—everywhere I can see—searching for any sign of any creature I might have inadvertently unleashed on this poor village. There’s nothing to see. After a moment that group outside begins to disperse, and I finally remember how to breathe properly.
And then I promptly forget again as I sense my accomplice moving into the space behind me.
His hand just barely brushes my hip. Not even on purpose, but it still sends electricity shimmering over my skin and thoughts of the past few minutes rushing through my head.
I close my eyes and bite my lip, frustrated at myself for almost losing control, frustrated at him for standing so damn close right now, even if all he’s doing is looking out the window for himself.
“World’s still in one piece,” he remarks.
“I almost lost control.”
He turns and studies me for a moment before he says, “Yeah. I thought that only happened when you were in danger or distress?”
“Apparently my inner wolf can’t tell the difference. It just senses my heart racing, and then you cornered me and I…I just… I’ve never…”
He reaches and casually picks a loose thread from my sleeve. I’d swear there’s a hint of a grin flirting with the corners of his mouth. “Never gotten quite as worked up before over something like this?” he guesses.
“Stop looking so pleased with yourself,” I mutter.
“Sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. But…”
“But what?”
“But it’s also interesting to know I have this sort of effect on you.”
“It’s dangerous, apparently.” I wish I could get rid of that low note of desire still humming underneath my every word. Because I know he hears it. And the way that he’s looking at me…it feels like he’s hearing everything else I’ve never actually said to him, too. Like he knows entirely too much, and I’m not entirely sure how I let this happen.
But to his credit, he doesn’t try to argue my point.
“Yes. Obviously, that was very dangerous. And that’s disappointing.”
“So we’re agreed.” I take a deep breath. Swallow hard, like I might be able to choke that desire down my throat. “No more touching like that.”
“I’ll do my best.” He says it with the smile of a saint, but his tone is perfectly sinful as he adds: “Though it probably wouldn’t hurt you to practice more of what we were doing so we could work on you keeping control. Practice makes perfect and all that.”
I roll my eyes at him, but before I can come up with a proper retort, a flustered-looking Carys throws open the door to our room. I don’t have to guess what’s made her eyes so wide and her breathing so heavy.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
It doesn’t stop the harried looks she’s tossing back and forth between Soren and me.
And it occurs to me then that I probably should have been coming up with an explanation for this inevitable moment instead of bantering with Soren.
“We tried taking the key out of the lockbox,” he lies for me, “and its energy was a little too much for her.”
“I just slipped for a moment,” I agree.
“I thought you’d used a neutralizing spell? What happened to that?” She takes a step closer to Soren, arms crossing and then her hand lifting, balling into a fist that she rests her chin on. Leave it to Carys to demand further evidence.
Soren doesn’t falter under her interrogative gaze, at least. “The spell isn’t indefinite. I was just about to reinforce it. But that required taking it out of the box.”
“It probably wouldn’t have effected me,” I add, “but I’m just overly tired, I think. And with everything on my mind…”
She slowly lets her gaze slide away from Soren and fix on me instead, and a moment later I hear her voice in my mind, (Are you sure you’re okay?)
(I’m perfect.)
She slowly nods, finally letting it go—which should be a relief, but honestly it just makes me feel a little sick to my stomach.
Because let’s make a list, shall we?
So far, I’ve managed to alienate one of my best friends, nearly rip a hole in the sky, and now I’ve added successfully lying straight to the face of my other best friend. A real banner day for Eleanor McLelland, in other words.
Before I can do any more damage, I gather my things in silence— which neither of them interrupts, thankfully—and we head for the nearest exit.
Thirteen
Spells and Mirrors
It’s raining, and the four of us are crammed into a dented black taxi cab, on our way to the Cambio Forest Visitor’s Center—which is apparently a lot farther away than it looked on the map that was hanging on the inn’s wall.
Carys volunteered to take the front seat with our driver, in hopes of solidifying some of the Romanian that she’s learned over the past days.
It’s been kind of entertaining watching her attempt this, since our driver has thus far spoken approximately zero English, aside from a few super friendly greetings.
In addition to her memorized lines, Carys has been making use of a translator app on her phone, and the friendly old man has been finding this endlessly hilarious; either because the translations are way off, or because the robotic voice of the translated words. Not sure which, but I’m trying to focus on the sound of his deep laughter, whatever’s causing it.
Because the alternative is focusing on the fact that I’m currently squished between Liam and Soren with barely an inch to spare on either side.
The latter has his head resting against the foggy window, his eyes closed. Asleep, I think. His legs are stretched diagonally across the center floorboard and pressing lightly against mine. I can’t so much as take a deep breath without causing him to stir too, and to readjust and brush against me, inviting dangerous memories of the hotel room to come flooding back into my mind.
Meanwhile, to my right, Liam is still uncharacteristically quiet. We exchanged a few words before crawling into the car, but ever since then he’s been staring out the window like he’s trying
to memorize every tree and its position in every rolling field we’re driving past. I keep waiting for his thoughtspeech to shove its way into my head, for him to privately insist we finish the argument we started earlier.
A half hour of this so far.
Soren yawns and shuffles his position a bit. His hand falls lazily to his side, brushing mine as it does.
Our knuckles rest lightly together.
I should pull away, but I don’t.
I shouldn’t be watching him out of the corner of my eye, either, but I’m doing that too. I’m ninety-eight percent sure he’s actually asleep; he never looks quite this vulnerable or peaceful when he’s awake, no matter how much magic he might use to hide himself. And how much of it is still an illusion at this point, I wonder? How much of his real self have I seen?
I shouldn’t be wondering.
I shouldn’t care about him like this. Nothing beyond how he’s going to help me finish this mission we set out on. Because it doesn’t matter—especially not after what after what happened earlier, which just proved that caring, and getting too close to him, is going to have disastrous consequences, one way or another.
But it’s hard not to think about him when he’s, you know, right there.
Also, if you were wondering what the definition of hell is—it’s this.
It’s exactly this.
I mean maybe just the first circle of hell, but still. Or does lust land you in the second circle? I can’t remember. I probably should have paid more attention during our homeschool study group’s discussions of Dante’s Inferno.
I stare ahead, zeroing in on the rearview mirror and what I can see of our driver. He still seems happy, at least. He’s laughing so hard at whatever Carys just said in Romanian that he nearly swerves off the edge of the narrow road.
(You’re positive this guy knows where he’s going, right?) I think. (And that he’s not just bored and driving us around as an entertaining practical joke or something? Like maybe we’re on one of those hidden camera shows or something…)
Blood and Wolf Page 13
