JACKSON WHITTEMORE BREAKS HIGH SCHOOL STATE RECORD FOR POINTS PER GAME.

Jackson Whittemore, captain of the Beacon Hills boys lacrosse team, continues to astonish with a 17 percent increase in his goals per games stats over last year

Most of the rest of the article was burned, which was fine with Derek, because it was boring. He was about to toss it back into the fire when he idly turned it over. There was what appeared to be an address, followed by a string of letters and numbers. It looked like some kind of code. Shrugging, he folded it up and stuck it into his jacket pocket. It might come in handy. He was keeping tabs on Jackson Whittemore.

He kicked dirt into the fire to put it out, at the same time digging around with a stick for more souvenirs from Jackson’s encounter with the young man, finding nothing. As the earth smothered the fire, he smelled more smoke.

This is getting ridiculous, he thought. He was beginning to suspect someone was deliberately setting fires to throw him off the scent. Images from his dream tumbled through his mind, and he raced back into the darkness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stiles was seriously beginning to lose it. He was scared, and cold, and worried about Scott and Allison. He’d even stumbled back to Allison’s car and then returned to where Derek dumped him, as terrified as he was about running into the Alpha. Somehow he’d hoped he would find something that would tell him where they were.

He sat on a log, tossing twigs and leaves into the fire, which really didn’t help it grow. There was an art to these things, he knew. He’d actually been a Cub Scout, but he’d been booted for being too talkative during meetings. Go figure.

He tried calling Scott a couple more times, then Allison, then Lydia. He’d had her phone in his possession when he’d deleted the picture she’d accidentally taken of the Alpha. Of course he’d also inputted her number into his own phone; how stalkerish was that?

Taking a breath, he dialed the divine Ms. Martin, and waited. He had a queasy moment imagining Jackson, with Lydia, answering his call instead of her. Stiles nearly hung up, but he waited until it went to voice.

“Hey, just checking in on our boy,” he said, hoping that was sufficiently vague. Then he sighed and hung up, and thought about playing Angry Birds or something to pass the time.

“I couldn’t find them,” Derek said, coming up behind him, and Stiles let out a shriek.

“Can you not do that?” he said. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

Derek sat down on the log beside him. He was kind of sweaty, and he looked glummer than usual. Stiles drummed his fingers on the log, waiting for Derek to bring him up to date.

Finally, he couldn’t take the silence any longer and said, “So?”

“There are fires all over the forest,” Derek said. “I think the Alpha has been setting them so I wouldn’t be able to smell Scott.”

Stiles crossed his arms and hunched over, shivering and trying to make himself inconspicuous, in case the Alpha spotted Derek and decided to attack him. But Derek was a Beta werewolf, too, like Scott. Why wasn’t he part of the Alpha’s pack?

Maybe he is. Maybe he just hasn’t told us, he thought.

“Or maybe it’s some kind of trap,” Derek said. “Something the Argents cooked up.”

“You mean that Allison’s in on it?” Stiles asked, sounding incredulous.

Derek slid a glance at him. “Why do you sound so surprised? You know what the Argents are. What they do.”

“But Allison’s different,” Stiles said. “She’s totally into Scott. She’d never do anything to hurt him.”

“We can’t trust human women,” Derek replied. “Believe me, I know.” He stared into the flames, and remembered.

Beacon Hills

Six Years Earlier

Derek swam.

Lap after lap, after school, he did laps to burn off the extra testosterone. On Mondays, he would begin the school week, wedged in with all the humans, watching their power plays, sometimes mixing it up with them, getting flirted with and hit on by girls he knew he should avoid. He stayed on alert all week, until by Friday, he thought he would explode from the pressure.

Added to that, Wolf Moon was coming in a month. Hales from all over the country would be arriving for the big ritual, when they honored their ancestor, the Beast of Gévaudan, the one who, it was said, created their werewolf heritage. Derek was sixteen, the age of manhood in their pack, and he would be taking his place among the adult males. His cousin Josh would be there, and Derek was anticipating his challenge for rank in the hierarchy. Josh was sixteen, too. And so Derek swam, for endurance, and lifted weights, for strength, and told himself over and over that he had just as good a chance at winning the challenge as Josh did.

Derek wanted to see his father collect on the bet he’d made with Uncle Peter. His dad was betting on Derek; Uncle Peter favored Josh, who was his sister-in-law’s kid. Derek’s sister, Laura, had told him that the two senior Hale males were keeping statistics on Derek and Josh—height, weight, workout regimes. Derek was insulted. Of course he could best his cousin.

Laura thought it was all so funny. That afternoon, in the cafeteria, she had mocked his supershake, the drink he had concocted that included ginseng energy boosts he bought from a senior named Michael Foy, whose father was into Chinese medicine.

“Josh is two inches taller than you,” she’d reminded him. “You can’t take anything that will make you taller.”

“Less than one inch,” Derek corrected her. “And he moves like a lumber truck.”

Swim it off. Grow strong, he told himself, as his hands sliced through the water.

One by one, the other swimmers finished their routines and got out. They had dates, and friends. Movies and parties to go to. Derek stayed aloof. Unlike Laura, who was popular, he didn’t have any human friends, and he didn’t want any.

Swim it off. Grow strong.

“Derek,” said Mr. Braswell, the basketball coach who also served as the after-school lifeguard. He was standing at the edge of the pool. “Remember, I’m taking some personal time while my wife’s home on maternity. My substitute starts on Monday. I’ve been looking the other way and letting you stay in the pool after hours, but you should probably play it cool. He probably won’t go for it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Derek said, frustrated. He didn’t see why he couldn’t sign a form or something saying that he was assuming the risk of swimming without a lifeguard. Swimming got it done for him the way nothing else did. He wanted to be ready for the challenge.

He wanted Uncle Peter to lose that bet.

• • •

The following Monday, after the final bell, Derek suited up in the locker room, putting on his black Speedo and showering before he hit the pool. With his towel over his shoulders, he warmed up a little, making circles with his neck and rolling his shoulders as he observed the other lap swimmers. The swim coach kept begging Derek to join the team, but Derek and his father both agreed that would be taking too many chances. It was difficult enough controlling himself at school, and the swim team traveled to meets. How would he explain his refusal to participate on trips taking place during the full moon?

He was about to dive into the water when he remembered that there was a new lifeguard. He looked across at the lifeguard tower, and he nearly fell in. The sub was a young woman—the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. Her body was more sinewy than most swimmers’, and her black suit was definitely not regulation. Her honey-brown hair was shoulder length and her eyes were green, like a mermaid’s.

Don’t wolf, he told himself. Stay calm.

She smiled straight at him, leaning forward in that amazing, clinging Spandex suit of hers. He looked away, and his enhanced hearing picked up her lusty chuckle. Fighting to retain command of himself, he dove in from the side of the pool—not the best of swim manners, since he nearly collided with a girl who was doing the backstroke in the lane he dove into.

“Hey!” the girl cried, flailing as Derek came up for air. She waved her hand at the lifeguard. “Ms. Argent! Did you see that?”

The lifeguard—Ms. Argent—climbed down from her perch and sauntered over to the side of the pool. Derek slicked back his hair and ducked under the nylon lane line, meeting her there.

“You’re Derek Hale,” she said.

“Yes.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off her legs. They were amazing, muscular and long, and her suit bottom rode high on her hipbones. “Sorry about that.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” she said with a little smile, gaze traveling from his face to the waterline and back again. “Being Derek Hale looks pretty good to me.”

He felt himself go hot. It was a good thing he was in the pool.

“Mr. Braswell said you like to swim late,” she said. “I’m cool with that.”

“I’ll lock up,” he promised.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. Her eyes were so incredibly green, and her coy little smile made his stomach dance. He was riveted.

Then she turned around and sauntered back toward the tower. Derek watched her, his predatory instincts coming into play.

She’s human, he reminded himself, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. He followed her every move as she climbed back onto her tower and laid the mandated rescue float across her lap. She was catlike, lithe and strong, and he was mesmerized. She knew it, too, judging by the way she gave her hair a toss and smiled at him again.

Swim it off, he ordered himself, finding an empty lane and putting on his swim goggles. Then he moved his shoulders and neck to work out the brand-new kinks, and began to swim. He didn’t follow any kind of program. He just did lap after lap.

Then he became aware of someone swimming in his lane. That happened; when the pool was crowded, swimmers shared lanes, one swimming from shallow to deep, and the other going from deep to shallow. As he raised his arm and took a breath, he caught a flash of honey-brown hair and green eyes. Then, through the water, a musky scent traveled toward him.

Kate Argent was in the pool, sharing his lane. He jerked, losing his rhythm, and stopped swimming. They were alone in the water, just the two of them. All the other lanes were empty.

She’s coming on to me, he thought. He couldn’t believe it.

She kept going, passing him by, and he watched her, stunned and unsure. When she reached the wall, she did a flip-kick and headed back. Would anything happen when she reached him?

He thought about reaching out, touching her. He wanted to, with all his straining body. But she was practically a teacher, and he was only sixteen. Of course she was just toying with him. She probably had a boyfriend or a husband waiting for her.

Flustered, even a little frightened, Derek ducked beneath the nylon lane divider, reached the side, and climbed out of the pool. He left without saying a word, heading for the boys’ locker room. Her amused laughter trailed after him.

He was almost afraid to shower, but he quickly rinsed off and changed into street clothes, still mostly wet. He practically ran out of the school, looking over his shoulder.

She was standing in the parking lot, scanning the cars. Moonlight gleamed on her hair, which was slicked away from her face. She was wearing a black V-neck sweater, tight jeans, and heeled boots that clung to her calves. His vision wolfed, and he turned his head away quickly before the telltale glow revealed his secret—although it was likely she’d assume the headlights from the cars on the road were being reflected in his eyes.

Her body was so curvaceous, and her features were so pretty. He wanted to growl to her, speak of his desire for her, but he pushed it all away and loped down the street.

He was due to meet his sister at the Beaconburger, a local hangout. Involved in school with friends, Laura was always content to wait for him so they could drive home together. They shared a Subaru Forester, not the coolest car, but Derek was planning to get something of his own once he landed a part-time job. Their dad said he could start looking if he kept his grades up. Derek was smart, and his GPA showed it. Laura, too.

He looked through the window at his sister. Laura was sitting in a maroon pleather booth reading a book. A Diet Coke and a very rare hamburger were placed before her. Brother and sister had started eating occasionally at the Beaconburger before they went home after school. It helped cut down on the traffic in the kitchen as their mom began preparations for Wolf Moon.

He went inside, and she raised her chin the merest fraction of an inch, scenting him.

Hey,” she said, smiling as he approached. Then something must have shown on his face, because her smile faded and she put her book aside. “Derek? Are you okay?”

He looked hard at her. Then he shook his head. “I’m not,” he told her.

She gestured to the empty seat across the table. He sat down very slowly, almost as if he couldn’t remember how to make his human body move. He felt strangely weightless.

She pushed the hamburger at him. “You look kind of pale. Did you overdo it in the pool?”

“There was this girl. Woman,” he said. He licked his lips. “Laura, she was . . . she’s beautiful.” He shook his head, dumbfounded. “She’s so beautiful.”

Laura blinked at him. Then she grinned. “Could she be . . . beautiful?”

He pursed his lips and took a drink from her Diet Coke.

“Is this . . . woman a student?” Laura asked.

“No. She’s the new lifeguard. Ms. Argent. Mr. Braswell’s replacement.”

“School lifeguard?” she said, looking mildly shocked. “A teacher?”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was still wet, and he looked down at his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “She went swimming with me. Laps. I was alone in the water and then she was there.” He saw her sleek body moving through the water. Remembered her scent, and her husky laugh.

“It was like swimming with a wild thing,” he said.

“Oh?” Laura cocked her head and sat back in the booth. “And . . . did you do the wild thing?”

“What?” He jerked back to reality. To the booth, and the noisy crowd, and his sister, practically laughing out loud at him. “No!”

“Don’t look so insulted,” she said. “You’re sixteen, Derek. In our world . . . matable.”

“Sh,” he cautioned her. “Not so loud. Someone might hear.”

She made a pfft sound. “Don’t worry. I can barely hear myself in this din.” Still, she leaned toward him, grinning and peering up at him through her lashes. “So . . . she came onto you like a big slut?”

He blushed. Suddenly he didn’t feel like talking to her about it anymore. It felt like he was saying bad things about Ms. Argent, but he couldn’t really explain why. Because they were packmates, he and Laura were relatively close as teenage brothers and sisters went, but on occasion he’d gotten weary listening to her chatter on about her crushes on human boys and dissect each thing her girlfriends said and what they wore and who they went out with. But now the tables were turned, kind of. And he wasn’t used to talking about himself, and everything in him was denying that Ms. Argent had done anything slutty.

He picked the bun off her hamburger, staring down at the bloody meat, and replaced the bun.

“She’s not really a teacher,” he said. “She’s just a lifeguard.”

She gestured to the hamburger. “Go ahead. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

She leaned forward on her hands and giggled at her so-very-serious little brother.

“Then maybe you’re in love. Puppy love,” she added, giggling some more.

• • •

A few booths down, Scott McCall put down the cheeseburger from his kiddie meal. “I’m not hungry,” he said miserably. He wanted to get away from the arguing. His parents always fought a lot, but today it was worse. Something had happened. Something bad. “Can I have money for video games?”

“No,” his father snapped, as his mom opened her purse. “We don’t have enough money for crap like that. Am I right, Melissa?”

“I have a couple of quarters,” Scott’s mom said, ignoring his father. And somehow, even though he was only ten years old, he knew it would be better to take them than to explain to her that there was only one game in the entire Beaconburger that took less than a dollar. And that it was a stupid game, and he didn’t like to play it.

He held out his hand for her to drop the quarters in, but his dad clamped his fingers around Scott’s wrist. It hurt, but he pretended that it didn’t as he watched his mom looking through her purse.

Then Scott felt his chest go tight, and a crackle of distress snapped through him. It was starting. He was going to have an asthma attack. Here. Now.

In front of his father.

“I’m getting mixed messages,” his father said to his mom, who looked up from her purse and saw that his dad had hold of Scott’s wrist. “First we don’t have enough money to pay for cable. But we have enough money for Scott’s inhaler. We don’t have enough money for a down payment on a new car but we can stop in here at the Beaconburger instead of eating at home, where mac and cheese is a dollar a box.”

“Let go of my son,” his mom said in a low, deadly voice. Then, very softly, “Scott, do you need your inhaler?”

Scott pursed his lips together. He was trying to push the air down his windpipe into his lungs. Each puff of the inhaler cost money. His dad always said so. He didn’t want his dad to get madder. Scott didn’t want him to yell at his mom because Scott had asthma. It wasn’t her fault. It was his, Scott’s.

“Hold on, Scott,” she said, reaching back into her purse. “I’ve got it right here.”

“He doesn’t need that,” Scott’s father said. “It’s all in his head.”

Scott pushed harder, but it wasn’t working. He began to wheeze.

“Let go of him,” his mom said again. “Scott, here.” She held out the inhaler.

His father kept a painful grip on Scott’s wrist, grinding the bones together. Tears welled in Scott’s eyes as he gazed at his lifesaver—the inhaler.

“You baby him. That’s why he thinks he’s so delicate. C’mon, Scott.” His dad jiggled his wrist. “Stop being such a wimp.”

There was no air in his lungs. None in his body. He couldn’t get any. His mom’s eyes got big, and she turned the full force of her gaze on his dad.

“Let go of my son, now,” she said. “Let go of him or I swear to God, I will deck you.”

No, I’ll breathe, Scott promised her, promised them, if only to make it all stop. But he couldn’t. He was beginning to see yellow and gray dots.

His mom half rose out of her chair. Scott’s father made a show of releasing Scott, and Scott grabbed the inhaler from his mom and took a puff. His air passages opened and he sucked in air. He took another puff, even though each puff cost money, and shut his eyes as he trembled with relief.

“Yeah, he’s your son, all right,” Scott’s father said. “But maybe he’s not mine.”

Her eyes narrowed. She hated his dad. Anyone could see that. “Scott, are you all right?” she asked him.

No, he wanted to tell her. I’m not. And I won’t be, ever. Not as long as he’s with us.

“We need to go home. He needs to rest,” she said.

His father grabbed his mom’s purse and yanked out her wallet. His hand shook as he handed Scott a five-dollar bill.

“Go play your damned video games,” he hissed at him.

Scott took the money and stumbled away. Passing table after table, he heard some girl talking to some boy about being in love.

I will never fall in love, Scott vowed. Ever.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Beacon Hills Preserve

The Present

As Scott cuddled Allison against the chill, he sighed. He didn’t want to move on, but each minute that they spent making out, they weren’t looking for her keys.

“Allison, we should look some more,” he said, and she kissed him again.

“I know. This is just . . . so nice.”

They both got to their feet. They were only about two-thirds of the way along the original path they had first taken, walking beside a steep incline that shot down into the darkness. There was still hope that they could find her keys.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find them,” he said, and he squeezed her hand. She smiled gamely at him.

Then her phone rang. Her brows shot up and she reached into the pocket of her heavy coat. But as she pulled her hand back out, she stumbled backward and let go of the phone.

“Whoops,” she said.

“I’ll get it,” he said, but she was already pivoting around to retrieve it.

Her momentum carried her forward, and, to Scott’s shock, she began sliding down the incline. Her feet shot out from beneath her as she accelerated.

“Allison!” he cried, reaching out to stop her.

He grabbed her hand, but her weight yanked him off balance and he crashed to the ground. Then the incline angled down more sharply, practically perpendicular, and they began falling nearly headlong into darkness.

Scott tried to latch on to branches as they plummeted, fighting to hold onto Allison, but her fingers slid out of his grasp and he heard her cry out. Rocks pelted his face and body, and his shoulder slammed hard against a boulder. He tried to catch hold of it but no luck.

“Allison!” he yelled.

There was no answer as the rocks rolled around him and he kept sliding down.

He felt himself begin to wolf and realized that if he let himself do it, he could at least see where she was falling.

No, stop, he ordered himself.

“Allison!” he called again.

Nothing.

If she saw him turn, so much would go wrong. But he had to chance it. He tried to limit it to eyesight only, and scarlet infrared bathed the tumbling world around him. He still didn’t see Allison anywhere.

Let her be okay, let her be okay, he pleaded as he fell. He kept trying to grab onto something, anything. The skin on his hands was being sliced; everything stung.

Then he landed hard on spongy earth and lay panting. Fear whooshed up and around him like waves. He made himself hide the wolf away and sprawled on the ground, hurting everywhere.

“Scott?” Allison said hoarsely. “Scott!”

“I’m here,” he said, reaching out his arms, trying to find her without his enhanced vision. Their hands met, and he pulled Allison into his very-human embrace.

“Are you okay?” she asked. She covered his face with quick kisses. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. What about you?” He had werewolf healing powers. She didn’t. He touched her face. There was a scratch on her cheek, and leaves in her hair, but she looked relatively unscathed.

“I’m okay.” He picked some of the leaves out of her hair. “I got some scrapes on my legs but it’s nothing major.”

“I’m glad,” he said, and kissed her. “Hey, Allison,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m falling for you. Head over heels.”

She snickered. “Nice one,” she said. Then she picked a leaf off his arm, like they were two animals grooming each other. “Do you think we’re being punished for sneaking out when we’re grounded?”

“No. I think we’ll be punished if we’re caught,” he replied, grinning at her.

“Then let’s make a pact that we won’t be caught,” she said. She sat up very straight and held up her right hand. “I, Allison Argent, do solemnly swear not to get busted by my parents.”

“And I, Scott McCall, solemnly swear that, too.” He threaded his fingers through hers. She smiled at him.

And then she made her “uh-oh” face.

“I think I lost my phone.” She groaned. “My keys and my phone.”

“Maybe it fell down with us,” he suggested. “Unless it can defy gravity.”

“Or it got stuck on something,” she said uneasily. “I swear, Scott, are we in a Roadrunner cartoon?”

“Only if an anvil falls on our heads. Yikes, duck!” he cried, throwing his hands over his head.

She smiled gamely and gave him a teasing swat on his arm, but he could feel her dismay. Grinning, he looked downward and let his eyesight shift. This felt like a math problem, not his strong suit, but he was willing to give it a shot: if he were falling a hundred miles an hour down a twenty-thousand-foot drop, at a velocity of whatever, and he were a phone, where would he land?

Right there!

Her phone was a small red rectangle about ten feet away from them, lodged among dozens, if not hundreds, of tall, spindly bushes with white flowers and clumps of red berries.

It was too dark for him to have reasonably spotted it in normal life, so he kept pretending to inspect the ground. Allison was right beside him, glancing up and around.

“We can use my phone to call it,” Scott suggested, pulling out his phone. His charge was at 9 percent. “Let’s make this count. My battery is super low.”

She nodded and held her breath while he pressed in her number. Her phone trilled in the bushes. Her ringtone for him was Kids of 88. Nice.

“Yes!” she cried, hugging him. They both darted toward the bushes. Scott lunged for the phone, reaching out . . . and found he couldn’t seem to move his hand forward.

“What?” he said. “Allison?”

She darted past him and stared at the wall of greenery. “I don’t see it,” she said. “Call again, please.”

He was staring straight at it. It was about three layers of branches in. But as he put his hand forward, it was as if he touched some kind of invisible barrier.

What the heck?

“There,” he said, pointing. “See it?”

“Yes!” she cried. She pushed herself into the mass of leaves and branches and snagged her phone. “Yes, yes, yes!”

She whirled around and fought her way back through. Dancing a little, she hugged him. He soaked it up and hugged her back.

Then she pulled away so she could look at him. “Why couldn’t you get it?” she asked him. “Are you hurt?”

Now what do I say? he thought, studying the bushes. Were they some kind of wolfsbane? He tried again to move into them. It was exactly as if a force field prevented him.

She was waiting for his answer. Maybe he could pretend to be scared or have some kind of weird phobia.

About touching bushes?

“Um, yeah,” he said. He faked a limp forward, and then he sank to the ground. “Something’s wrong with my leg. I didn’t notice at first because . . . because of the adrenaline. But it’s hurting a lot.” He hated lying to her.

“Oh, no,” she said, falling down beside him. “Do you think you broke something?”

“No.” He didn’t want to upset her. “Just, um, a sprain. I’m sure it’ll be better soon. If I just rest a minute.”

“Okay.” She sat down beside him. “Wow, I totally didn’t notice that hill.” She laid her head on her knees and grinned weakly over at him. “But I was a little distracted.”

“Me, too. Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. She seemed okay.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “But I’m worried about you. If you can’t walk, how are we going to get out of here?”

“You can carry me,” he suggested.

“Right.”

“Sure. Over your shoulder. You could totally do it.”

“Well, I’d need a machete to cut down all those bushes first,” she said, laughing. “But once you’re feeling up to it—if you’re feeling up to it—we might be able to work our way through them.”

“Sure,” he said, realizing he was going to have to make sure he didn’t feel up to it. Unless he could figure why he couldn’t do it now. There was so much about being a werewolf that he didn’t know. Okay, he hardly knew anything. If Derek were here . . .

Derek, he thought. I can text him and ask him. But Derek didn’t have a cell phone. Argh, Derek. You complicate my life on so many levels.

“All this to find Jackson,” Allison muttered. “He’d better be awfully grateful.”

“Yeah,” he said noncommittally. He wondered if going through all this for the sake of a guy who didn’t like him marked him as an idiot, or a wuss, or worse.

“This was so nice of you,” she went on. “Think what would have happened if Lydia and I had come out here, and my aunt had called her house. If she hadn’t been there to answer the landline . . .” She mimicked slicing her throat.

He cocked his head. “What would have happened?”

She moved her shoulders, and her features darkened. “I don’t actually know. I’ve always been pretty close to my folks, you know? Because we move so much. This is the first time I’ve really had friends . . . or a boyfriend.” She wrinkled her nose at him as if testing out the word.

“We’re very friendly here in Beacon Hills,” he told her, grinning back at her. Loving hearing the word boyfriend on her lips, referring to him. Then he bent over and kissed her, and she slid her arms around his neck.

“So I see. But anyway, to answer your question, this is a new subject for my family and me. Me being in trouble. And . . . us not being as close,” she added faintly. She frowned and got a faraway look on her face. “Things are . . . different.”

Don’t I know it. He was used to keeping things from his mom, though. He didn’t like to worry her, and it felt weird going to her with questions about . . . well, anything. He and Stiles had kind of raised each other.

“Lydia and Jackson are probably making up,” she murmured.

“Making out,” he said, and lowered his head toward her.

“Wait. How’s your ankle?” she asked him.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t kiss with my ankle.” He tried to remember if he’d actually said that it was his ankle that was bothering him. He didn’t know what to do.

“I’m sure it’ll get better in a few minutes,” he said. “It’s just in shock.” He made a look of mock concern. “I hope it doesn’t sue me.”

Her smile didn’t reach past her eyes. She was worried about him. That was so cool.

“Maybe I could look at it,” she said. She moved her shoulder. “I don’t know first aid, but you do. You made a splint for that dog I hit. You could tell me what to do.” She gestured to the bushes. “We have plenty of wood to make a splint.”

His mind was racing. He wondered what would happen if he had her make a splint from one of the bushes. Maybe it would work like when Derek had burned the Northern Blue Monkshood and then pushed it into the bullet hole in his arm. Used the poison to cure the poison. But were the bushes poison?

He looked over his shoulder at the hill they’d just fallen down. Hill was definitely the wrong term. It was a freakin’ cliff, rising nearly straight up. Grateful Allison hadn’t gotten severely injured, he doubted they’d be able to get back up it without rock-climbing equipment.

“Let’s make sure your phone works,” he said, partly to distract her. “Why don’t you check in with Lydia?”

As she nodded and initiated the call, he shifted his vision and scanned the area around them. To his consternation, he realized that the bushes were growing in a semicircle around the cliff, with no breaks. There were only two ways to get out—up the cliff, or through the bushes.

“Call failed,” she reported. “But we might get better reception somewhere else.” She looked at the bushes. “That stuff is so thick,” she murmured. Then she looked back at him. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Worse,” he said, lying. He needed some time to figure out what to do. They were scared, but Allison wasn’t hurt. They weren’t in imminent danger of getting found out, and except for the intense fear factor, being here with her was pretty sweet.

He handed her his phone. “We don’t have a lot of chances to call on my cell,” he reminded her. “We have to make them count. I’ve got the reception but you’ve got the power. Maybe we should try texting somebody. I’ll try Stiles.”

“Okay.” She nodded. She leaned over his shoulder and he realized that he wouldn’t be able to tell Stiles everything. He’d have to try to speak in code. So he wrote: We r stuck here, bottom of cliff. Then he took a picture of the bushes and attached it to his text. As an afterthought he snapped a picture of the cliff and sent that as well. Then he realized he had Where’s My Phone on his phone, too, and of course Stiles knew his user name and password: Allison and Allison. If his battery didn’t die, and Stiles got the texts, he’d realize where they were, and see that they were in trouble.

• • •

Hunter Gramm really did have a gun.

But Jackson Whittemore was not about to become a victim.

There was no way Gramm was going to fire a weapon out in the open. There might not be anyone in the lot itself, but there were other people in the preserve, and someone was bound to hear.

Cassie, he thought. Then, Wait. His mind racing, he reviewed their conversations. Could she have been in on it? Luring him here for this guy?

Right now, that didn’t matter.

He took off running toward his car, yanking out his keys as he did so. His heart was pumping and his mind was racing. Get to the car, get to the car. His body, used to sprinting, sucked up the adrenaline and he put on the turbo. His brain, used to defining and achieving goals, spun game plays of him peeling out in the Porsche and calling the police.

Footfalls clattered on the blacktop behind him. Gramm hadn’t shot at him, just like he’d expected.

There it was, his Porsche. He got ready to jump in—

—just as another guy in a ski mask popped up from behind it like a jack-in-the-box. He, too, was brandishing a gun.

“Stop right there,” he ordered Jackson.

Jackson still would have run, or fought, or yelled, or something, except that Gramm had caught up with him and pressed a gun into his back.

“There’s a silencer on this thing,” Gramm told Jackson. “Like on TV, you know what I’m talking about? And I won’t hesitate to use it.”

The other guy came from around the Porsche. He moved swiftly, glancing toward the preserve, aiming his gun at Jackson the entire time. Masked.

“Good timing,” Gramm said to the second guy. To Jackson, he said, “Let’s go.”

Jackson bolted. The second guy ran forward and hit him in the face with something hard. Already exhausted before he’d tried to escape, Jackson lost his footing and went down on one knee. Then he looked up at the two masked guys as they trained their weapons down on him.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Gramm said. “Now open your mouth.”

Jackson glowered at them both. He was feeling woozy, but he still fought as the other guy stuffed a rag into his mouth, then tied it in place with another rag.

“Hands behind your back,” Gramm said.

If I do that I’m a dead man, Jackson thought, not moving a muscle.

The second guy grunted and grabbed one of his arms. Jackson felt something tight clamp around his wrist. Handcuffs. Then the guy pushed his other arm behind Jackson’s back and put on the handcuff. When they snapped in place with a click, Jackson flashed with panic.

Someone will come, he told himself. This is a public place.

Then something hard came down on the back of his head, and everything went black.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Beacon Hills

Six Years Ago

It was Friday, Ms. Argent’s fifth day on the job, and after the first day—when she had swum beside him—Derek had caught himself waiting for her to do it again. But she hadn’t moved from the lifeguard perch all week, hadn’t even spoken to him. She’d just watched him like a hawk, gaze trained on him, as he’d stroked through the water. One by one the other swimmers had left, and he’d remained behind, torn between disappointment that she hadn’t done it again, and complete and utter relief that she was staying away from him.

He told himself that he was swimming as long as he always did because the Wolf Moon was coming, and Josh would be training right now, too, getting ready for the challenge. He knew humans had their power plays inside families, but they were nothing compared to those of a werewolf pack. Privileges and status revolved around successful challenges.

As well as around failures.

He swam lap after lap beneath her scrutiny. Then, just as he did one last flip-kick and headed for the stairs in the shallow end, he felt the vibration of her approach in the water.

And then she was swimming alongside him. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know what else to do except to keep swimming. What was he supposed to do? She was probably used to really cool guys. He spun a fantasy of her life before she’d moved to Beacon Hills: living in a big mansion in Sacramento, maybe, or a wicked cool condo. Maybe she’d been an Olympic swimmer and gotten injured or something tragic. He thought about all those human, adult things that he hadn’t done, that she obviously had—get a job, have a car. Just . . . leave.

I can’t do that, he thought. I have my pack.

He’d always been taught that being a werewolf was a gift. Not everyone in his family was so lucky. He had nieces and a couple of cousins who were ordinary; and his old great-uncle was completely human and had never consented to the Bite. What would Ms. Argent think if she knew? Would she think it was cool, or would she turn away from him in horror?

It doesn’t matter, he thought. I can’t tell her.

They swam together, synchronized, and when they hit the five-foot mark, she took his hand and put her feet on the bottom. He stopped, too.

They faced each other.

And she smiled at him, much more shyly than he would have expected. She looked down, then peered up at him through her lashes.

“What you must think of me,” she murmured.

His heart was pounding so hard he was sure that she could hear it. He had no idea what to say her, and he also had no idea how to get out of the pool without embarrassing himself.

Except . . . he didn’t want to get out of the pool. He wanted to kiss her.

“There’s something about you,” she whispered. “I’ve been thinking about you all week. I tried to stay away. I mean, you’re a student and I’m . . . well, I’m not a teacher. But I’m close. To being a teacher.”

She swirled her fingers in the water. “And this isn’t really my style, you know? I don’t come on to men like this.”

Men. She thought of him as a man. He licked his lips, completely tongue-tied.

“I wish you’d say something,” she murmured. “I’m kind of dying about now. I’m sorry if I misread your intentions. I won’t bother you again.”

His intentions? Misread them? He was baffled. But then he thought about all the looks he had thrown her way. How he’d glanced up at the lifeguard tower every time he’d made a turn to head down the lane. Maybe he had been sending out signals.

“I—I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he blurted, then flushed because that sounded so wimpy.

Her smile was so sweet. “I don’t want to get you in trouble, either,” she said. “With the school administration or your girlfriend . . .” She trailed off.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said.

Her cheeks went pink and she smiled, gazing down again. “Oh. I just assumed . . . you being so handsome and all.”

His knees almost buckled. He didn’t date girls. He had cultivated his status as a loner on purpose, because it made his life easier. But now, facing her, nothing in him wanted to be alone. Sure, Laura’s friends flirted with him and told her to tell him that they thought he was hot. But they were girls. Ms. Argent was a woman.

“Look,” she said. “I—This is happening in such an awkward way. I don’t mean to crowd you. I’m just . . . well, I’m drawn to you, and I can’t really explain it.” She smoothed her wet hair away from her face, and he found the gesture very sexy. “But I don’t want you to think I’m just after . . . well, you know.”

“I—okay,” he stammered. “So, um . . . what . . . ?”

“Do you want to go for coffee?” she asked. He was aware that she was still holding his hand. She caught her breath and let go of it, crossing her arms over her chest. “We could just talk,” she suggested. “I’m new here and maybe you could just show me around a little.” She raised her brows, looking hopeful and uncertain. I know we’d have to be careful. Outsiders might not understand.”

“Yeah,” he said. What he didn’t know how to explain to her was that he had never taken a girl anywhere in Beacon Hills. He wasn’t even sure where to go for coffee. They couldn’t go to the Beaconburger—it was far too public—and that was pretty much the only place he knew of that even served coffee.

“I think we’re both having the same thought,” she murmured. “Privacy.”

Privacy, as in being careful not to be seen together while they were hanging out? Or privacy as in . . . oh, God, was she serious?

“So we can get to know each other.” She pondered a moment. “Would you think I was too forward if I invited you to my apartment? Just for coffee?”

“When?” he blurted.

She smiled. “Now?”

His mind was racing so fast it was practically starved for oxygen. He checked the time on the large wall clock. Laura and he were due to meet at the Beaconburger in forty-five minutes. Depending on how far away her apartment was, they could dress quickly, drive over there, chat for a few minutes . . . but there just wasn’t enough time.

What if she didn’t ask again? He couldn’t say no. But he didn’t want to say that he had to get a ride home with his sister.

“We only have one car in my family,” he said. That wasn’t true, but she didn’t have to know it.

“I could drive you home.”

She looked so hopeful that he almost said yes. But with Wolf Moon approaching, members of the pack would be showing up. He wasn’t sure when, but the rules of hospitality always applied—all pack members had a standing invitation to stay at each other’s houses.

“I’ll just drop you off,” she said. “No one will see us.”

He was so torn. He wanted to say yes like anything. But he couldn’t put his pack in jeopardy by inviting a stranger onto their land. At any other time, he would be able to pull it off. Laura had had friends over, even for overnights on non-full-moon nights. But right now it was too risky.

Talk about horrible timing.

“Another time, then,” she said sadly.

“Wait. Let me call my sister,” he blurted. And then he was embarrassed because that sounded as if he had to check in with her.

“Laura Hale?” she asked, and he was startled. She blushed again. “I made discreet inquiries about you. Your sister’s a senior.”

“Yes. Please, wait just a second,” he said.

“Okay.” She was so sweet.

As he kicked off toward the edge of the pool, he forced himself to slow down. He could swim faster than anyone on the varsity team, but no one could ever know that. Then, as he plodded through the water, he could feel himself begin to wolf. He was too excited. He had to calm down. But how could a sixteen-year-old guy calm down when a beautiful woman like Ms. Argent wanted to get to know him?

Stop, stop, he ordered himself.

He made himself stay in the water until he was sure the wolf shift had reversed itself, and then he scrambled out of the pool. He didn’t look back at her as he walked into the boys’ locker room. He knew that would look wimpy, and he wanted to be 100 percent positive that there were no telltale signs of the shift on his face—no sprouted hair, no long teeth, no glowing eyes.

Once in the bathroom, he checked his eyes, then opened his locker and got his phone. He called Laura.

“Hey,” she said. “Zup?”

“Can you pick me up in three hours?” he asked. He had no idea where. “At the Beaconburger?” He could always call her back later with a different place. If she said yes.

Say yes, say yes, say yes, Derek silently pleaded.

“What’s in it for me?” she asked.

“I won’t tell Dad that you were frenching Josh last Wolf Moon.”

“I was not,” she said indignantly. “I would never—”

“And that I have the picture on my phone to prove it,” he added smoothly, although he was lying. He didn’t have a picture. He even wasn’t sure she had been frenching him. But when he’d walked in to call them to the ritual, both of them had messed-up hair and Laura’s lipstick was gone. And her lips looked like they’d practically been chewed off.

“Derek,” she said. “You didn’t.”

Ah-ha, and you did. He was insulted. Josh was his direct rival. Laura shouldn’t be dueling tongues with him.

Suddenly he scented Ms. Argent and glanced in the mirror above the row of sinks. She was standing at the entrance of the boys’ locker room. He hitched a breath, reacting to how hot she looked. A beach towel was wrapped around her body like a dress, showing off her sculpted legs.

He was still dripping wet in his Speedo and he turned slightly. He held up a finger—one minute—and was very grateful that Ms. Argent didn’t have superior hearing, like werewolves. Otherwise she would hear Laura sputtering and threatening to rip off various parts of his body when the assembled pack went on the big hunt.

“This is so you can do something slutty,” Laura said.

“Sort of,” Derek said noncommittally.

“With a human.”

“So what? You have.”

“I have not. Not . . . that.”

He lowered his voice. “I’m not doing . . . that.” Although he really, really wanted to. “We’re just going to talk.” Laura snorted. “We are,” he insisted.

She huffed. “Okay. Okay, even though it’s inconvenient. I have a lot of studying to do and I’ll tell Mom I need to go to the library. She won’t care. But you have to promise me that you’ll delete that picture and I will be checking your phone.”

“Okay,” he said. She’d probably kill him when she found out he’d been lying to her, but it would be worth it.

He hung up and pretended not to see Ms. Argent in the mirror. Then he counted to five before he turned around to give her the good news. He knew he couldn’t act all overeager. She wouldn’t respect that. But he was so happy that it was difficult not to.

When he did face her, he worked very hard at not grinning ear to ear.

“All set. Let’s go,” he said.

He left the huge grin for her.

• • •

Oh, sweetie, getting your attention is like shooting fish in a barrel, Kate thought as she drove Derek in her car to her apartment. It was across the street from a bar, which, from her point of view, was convenient for when she wanted to hang out with the grown-ups. She was wearing a pair of jeans, heeled boots, and a black low-cut cashmere sweater. I can practically hear you slobbering. It’s like you’re a big puppy dog and I am a juicy steak.

She had taken off her pendant just in case he might know what it was and it was resting safely inside her purse. It showed the Beast of Gévaudan, the murderer that had begun the feud between the hunters and the werewolves. An Argent family heirloom, it served as a token to remind the hunters that they had taken that pelt, and would take many others through the generations.

The thrill of this new hunt raced through her. The euphoria of the chase. She never, ever got tired of dangling herself in front of males of all kinds. It was no accident that in ancient Greece, the deity in charge of the hunt was a goddess—Artemis.

Beside her, Derek “Aquaman” Hale had his head resting on the back of the seat and his eyes closed. He was really good-looking. This was not going to be the most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life.

He opened his eyes and looked at her as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune, and, yeah, he was pretty damn lucky if she did say so. Many had called. Few were chosen.

She parked in the spot allotted to her apartment unit. After she killed the engine, she led him inside. A street-level unit, it was pretty sparsely furnished. She wasn’t planning to stay in Beacon Hills all that long.

Just long enough.

“Do you really want coffee?” she asked, as she put down her purse and took off her jacket. “Or would you rather have a beer? I also have wine. I like red wine,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “We drink wine on—” He stopped himself. “Special occasions.”

“Wine it is.” She grinned happily. “I like to have a little something to unwind after I’m at the pool, you know? Lucky thing I live across the street from a bar.” She said that to goose him a little, remind him she was a woman, with a woman’s needs.

He looked a little worried about having wine, but there was no way she was giving him coffee or even a soda with caffeine in it. He was completely amped already. Any more and he’d probably fly to the moon.

The full moon?

She had her orders, but she had to be sure. Kill werewolves, and you were a hero. Kill people, and you were a mass murderer. The group she was involved with had detected werewolf activity in Beacon Hills, and she just had a feeling about the Hales. Of course, there were several other large families in the area that might make up the pack she was seeking. Derek’s furtiveness and hesitation might have nothing to do with her assignment. There were reasons other than being a werewolf for not wanting to bring home someone who was way too old for you.

It hadn’t dawned on him to question the motives of a pretty woman who was coming on to him. He believed what he chose to believe. Men—werewolves and humans—were so simple. They always assumed you wanted them. Some fat man on a couch burping and watching cage matches?

Oh, yeah, you wanted him.

A guy who threw you around the room and accused you of cheating on him?

Oh, yeah, you wanted him.

Like a hole through your heart.

But the good one? The one that you really did want?

A flash of rage roared through Kate, but she kept it at bay. She could feel it trying to take over, like a wolf scratching at her door. Rage was not her enemy. Rage got the job done.

In ancient Greece—land of Lycoan, said to be the first werewolf—men who pissed off the goddess Artemis were ripped to shreds by her hunting dogs. Several times a day, Kate dreamed about ripping various people to shreds. Of course, she never acted on it. She left that for others much less able to control their savagery.

Through the entrance to the kitchen, she watched as Sweetie Derek politely moved a packing carton off her sofa and sat down. What a body. Still boyish, but with the sweet promise of a truly splendid man. If she was right about the Hales, Derek would never become a man. Just as he wasn’t really a boy. He was a monster hidden inside a human disguise.

If she was right.

She poured two glasses of wine and started to pull open the drawer with the secret ingredient . . . except that he got back off the couch and came into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway as if asking permission to enter.

“Well, hello,” Kate said. She shut the drawer and handed him one of the glasses. Ruby red, just like blood. Funny thing about werewolves. When you shot them or cut them open, their blood was red, just like humans’.

“What shall we toast to?” she asked him, smiling as he stared shyly at the wine in his glass, as if drinking together signaled another step in their dance. A closer step. Which it did. That was why people drank together.

When he shrugged his shoulders, she leaned against the counter, giving him a nice view, and said, “How about to life, love, and the pursuit?”

She waited for his response. He was staring at her body. Wanting her. Intimidated by her.

She loved it.

“The pursuit of happiness?” he said, as if he assumed she’d forgotten the actual expression.

“Sure. That’s worth pursuing,” she said.

• • •

They clinked glasses. And drank the wine. Derek was used to it; they had specific rituals for each new moon, including drinking wine and eating traditional delicacies. Wolf Moon was the most special. It was a time for family reunions and reestablishing pack unity. It was also the night for issuing challenges and reordering the hierarchy of the pack.

The night he would kick Josh’s ass.

He wanted to tell Ms. Argent all about it. She probably liked athletic men. In human form, he and Josh would run through a set of contests based on strength, speed, and endurance. When the moon rose, they would battle in werewolf form for dominance. The whole pack would watch, and howl in support and approval as the two displayed their cunning and prowess. Challenges kept the pack strong. Werewolves had to be able to take down prey, and defend themselves on the hunt. And, should hunters ever come to their door, they had to be able to defend themselves from the humans.

If anyone ever attacked her, I’d rip out his throat, he thought. She probably had no idea just how wild the world could be. He wanted to shield her, protect her. The pack looked out for its own. The loyalty to the pack went far deeper than what most humans felt for their blood relatives. His Uncle Peter said that the humans were fickle and weak. When they were threatened, they panicked and scattered. Werewolves worked together to take out powerful enemies.

Like hunters. They’d been clashing with hunters for centuries.

“Want another glass of wine, Derek?” she asked him.

He checked the time on his cell phone. He had at least two hours to go.

“I’m having seconds,” she said.

“Oh, then yes, please,” he said. He drank it down so she wouldn’t have to wait and handed the glass to her. She put her knee on the couch as she took it, smiling down at him. He was aware of her scent and the welcoming warmth of her body heat.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked. “Sandwich? I have roast beef.”

He was really hungry. He nodded.

“Thanks,” he said.

He watched as she walked back into the kitchen, her hips swaying, and he smiled faintly to himself. Sure, he was nervous, but this was really cool. He thought about taking a picture of himself on her couch with his phone but he felt like it might put her in danger. It was awesome that she was willing to take a chance just to be with him. She could get fired, even jailed if things . . . if they happened.

He rose, fidgety and excited, not sure what to do or say when she came back. Was she waiting for him to make the next move?

He wandered around the room. It wasn’t very big, and it was filled with cartons. Trying to be casual, he glanced down a short, narrow hall to where her bedroom must be. Just thinking about it made his blood race, and he wiped his face with his hand. He was feeling sweaty and too hot. He caught himself walking a couple of steps down the hall and turned around. Coffee, she had said. Getting to know each other.

And he wanted that. He really did. But he was a young werewolf in his prime, and it was becoming difficult for him to keep himself under control. He checked his fingernails. Had they lengthened? He rubbed his tongue along the edges of his canine teeth. Sharper?

“Here we go,” she said, and he darted back into the room as if she’d caught him doing something wrong. She was walking back from the kitchen with a tray. On it were two sandwiches and their wineglasses. The smell of the meat made his stomach growl, and he coughed to hide the sound.

Then she set it all down on her coffee table. She picked up half of her sandwich and he did the same. He took a bite, tasting the rare flesh, mayonnaise, and mustard. He tried to have good manners, chewing with his mouth closed, but he was ravenous.

He swallowed it. She raised her brows. “Good?” she asked.

Nodding, he took another bite, then chased it with his wine. A couple more bites, and the half-sandwich was gone. As he set down his wineglass, he saw that she’d only taken a couple of dainty nibbles, and he felt like a pig, rushing through his meal.

He eyed the second half hungrily, but made no move to take it. She smiled and took another bite, then sipped her wine.

Silence fell between them. He was hungry, agitated, and his body was humming with excitement. The thought of the juicy meat in her mouth excited him. Wouldn’t it be cool if they became a couple and he brought her home to meet the pack? Even better, what if she joined the pack? His Alpha—his father—could give her the Bite. Of course she would live through it. He pictured them running together beneath the full moon. He could imagine her fierce, proud howl as she sought her mate. Him. That would be amazing.

Josh would be incredibly jealous. Having a mate would bring Derek status.

Maybe she could get the Bite on Wolf Moon, he thought. That would be so awesome. She probably wouldn’t be ready that soon, but wouldn’t it be great?

She seemed to be taking forever to eat the first half of her sandwich, savoring every morsel. He felt kind of stupid sitting there, waiting for her to finish. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. How to sit. She’d invited him there. She’d wanted to get to know him better. But they weren’t even talking to each other.

Then she was done, and he eagerly picked up the other half of his sandwich. He felt obvious and silly but he’d committed to waiting, and the wait was over. He sank his teeth into the meat. Thinking about Ms. Argent as a werewolf had excited him. He knew he had to be careful. Knew he couldn’t make the shift in front of her. At least, not yet.

He would have to have his Alpha’s permission, and he would probably have to bring her to their underground chamber beneath their house, where she could watch him in contained safety. That was where the Hale werewolves went when it wasn’t okay to run in the woods. When there were too many humans, or when the young werewolves, like him, seemed especially volatile. He was sixteen, and he was finishing human puberty. When hormones were racing through him, turning him into a man, it was hard for him to stay in control.

Sometimes the Alpha separated the young werewolf males from the rest of the pack if he thought that in their frenzy they might forget how young and untested they really were, and foolishly challenge him for dominance. That was a generous act on his dad’s part. He had heard of some packs where the Alpha deliberately tried to stir up the teenagers so he could get rid of them through a challenge—but those were dysfunctional packs.

“I want to know all about you,” Ms. Argent said, breaking his reverie as he took another bite of sandwich. He realized that the entire time he had been devouring flesh, he had been staring at her. “Your favorite color, your lucky number, when your birthday is.” She daintily pressed a napkin against her lips. “Guess what my favorite color is.”

Why did she have to ask him a question when his mouth was full? He chewed quickly, swallowed, and said, “Um, pink?”

“Green.” She smiled and surveyed his face as if it were her marked territory. “Like your eyes. But there’s brown in them, too. At first I thought they might be blue. They’re very expressive.”

Whoa. She liked his eyes. And she had spent a lot of time studying him. Tingles played at the small of his back and along his cheeks, and she smiled as if she knew how much her words had affected him.

Then she fluttered her lashes and said, “Now tell me. What is your favorite color?”

She held her head still, as if inviting him to look. Inviting him in. For a dizzying moment it seemed as if there was nothing in the world but her lovely, lovely eyes. That they were like moons for him to race beneath, proud, wild, free.

“Your eyes are green, too,” he said.

“Good answer.” She tore off a piece of her sandwich and popped it into his mouth like a piece of candy. Then she ate a little nibble, too, clearly enjoying the taste.

“Do you believe in fate? That some things are just meant to happen?” she asked him.

“I—I don’t know,” he answered. He wanted to tell her that he was pretty sure he believed in love at first sight. But maybe she would laugh and tell him that what he wasn’t feeling was love, but a stupid little teenage crush that meant nothing.

No, he thought. Ms. Argent would never say something so cruel. And besides, maybe . . . maybe she believes in love at first sight, too.

“So, have you been swimming long?” she asked him.

He was grateful that she’d asked him another question. He needed something, anything to distract him from his thoughts. He was a little afraid he might blurt something out that would reveal how he felt, and it would turn out to be the wrong thing. He didn’t want to mess this up. But suddenly he was overcome with the idea that he would mess it up. He was so nervous even contemplating that that part of him wanted to run away now, before he could wreck it. But of course everything else urged him to stay, and never, ever leave.

“Derek?” She peered at him. “Swimming?”

“Most of my life,” he managed to answer.

She ran her gaze up and down his body. He squeezed the edge of his plate hard. He pulled in his stomach and pushed back his shoulders as discreetly as he could. He wanted to look good for her.

“It shows,” she said. And for a moment he couldn’t remember what she had asked him about. Swimming. Lap after lap, to burn off the excess energy. To be able to maintain in the human world. To stay disconnected from the ordinary humans who weren’t in his family.

“You’ve got a great swimmer’s body and you really know your . . . strokes.” She rested her head on her arm, gazing at him. “You seem driven when you swim.”

“There’s just so much pressure,” he blurted, and then he stopped, afraid he had just said the wrong thing. He could never talk about his double life with anyone outside the pack. And if he complained about typical kid stuff, she might think he wasn’t mature enough to handle an adult relationship.

“The pressure can be enormous,” she agreed. She leaned forward, placing her forearms on her thighs. He was aware of how her sweater front bunched, and he could see her cleavage. He made himself let go of his plate so that he wouldn’t break it and clenched his left hand tightly against his own thigh.

“I hated high school,” she said. “They tell you you’re responsible for your life and then you come home and find out your family’s moving. Or that your parents are getting divorced. And you have no say in any of it.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. She got it—at least the human side of it.

“It’s such a mishmash, and you have to deal with all of it,” she went on. “And the people you have to hang out with, day after day. Some kids in high school are babies and others are all grown up, ready for the real world. Like you.”

Wow, could she rea

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 725