Men silently stepped from the trees and moved to create a line as I’d asked. They continued to emerge from the woods even as the line extended around the corner. Because of that, new rows started behind the first line. The shuffling continued until roughly five hundred gathered. So many men focused on me, all at the same time, made my stomach churn. If they were human...I suppressed a shudder at the thought.
Ignoring the vast number, I moved toward the first man, nodded stoically, then turned to start the slow walk down the line. The Elders kept pace with me. I didn’t bother pausing to meet anyone’s eyes. Only my scent mattered.
As I’d asked, those without a strong interest stepped out of the line and walked back into the woods. It allowed those behind them to move forward and take their place. When I reached the end, I turned around to walk it again. I paced the line several times in silence so all would get their fair chance. As the number remaining decreased, my mood lightened. Sam made note of names as needed. Soon only a handful of men remained.
While my future loomed brighter, theirs dimmed. I nodded solemnly to those remaining and watched them melt back into the trees. I truly felt for them, but I’d experienced no attraction to any of them—no pull that Sam and the other Elders and werewolves had assured me I would feel when—not if—I met the one. A triumphant smile wanted to break free, but I contained it, not wanting to offend anyone. Finally, my duty was complete. I breathed deeply of freedom, ready to go back to my room.
Behind me, the Elders moved, reminding me of their presence. My mood shifted. The anger and betrayal from their lack of warning resurfaced. With a stiff back and tight mouth, I made my way toward the door and the waiting Elders. I didn’t meet any of their eyes.
Sam had hours during the drive to say something but hadn’t, and now all of his secrecy had been for nothing. I hadn’t found a Mate. Did he realize the pointlessness of his gesture? I seriously doubted telling me in advance would have changed the outcome other than to make me nervous during the drive up. That, however, would mean I shouldn’t be mad at him so I quickly disregarded the thought. Honesty was honesty. He should have told me.
Walking the dirt path, which I realized I’d tread over several times in my socks, I saw a peculiar shadow on the ground melding with the shadow of the still open door.
I looked up at the space behind the door and saw the flash of eyes just before a man stepped into view. I froze. My stomach dropped, and my heart did a strange little flip. Before I could take my next breath, a shiver ran up my spine and gooseflesh rose on my arms. My anger spiked, uncontrolled.
“You have got to be kidding,” I whispered to myself without thinking. I’d been so close to escaping.
His filthy long, dark hair trailed in front of his eyes and shadowed his face into obscurity. An old, dull-green army jacket, just as filthy as his hair, hung from his frame while his bare feet shone pale against the black sweats he wore. I couldn’t tell his age, the color of his hair, or the color of his eyes—because of the tangle of hair—but I could see the glint of them as he moved away from the door.
He stalked toward me. I remained frozen and tried to deny the significance of the encounter as my stomach continued to do crazy little flips. Just before he reached me, he turned away and walked around the corner of the building, heading not into the woods as the rest had, but to the front of the building.
I stared after him, momentarily confused. He’d recognized me. Just as I had him. Why had he turned away? Did it matter? Move! Escape before he changed his mind!
Finally, my feet obeyed, and I lurched toward the door.
“Sam, I’ve more than fulfilled any obligation I had to you or the pack. I’d like to leave tonight.” The Elders stepped aside before I bowled them over.
I rushed past them, through the Introduction room and into the interior hall. There I paused to pull off my dirt-caked socks. Charlene would have me cleaning floors if I walked through the halls in my filthy socks.
Maneuvering through the fortuitously quiet and empty halls, I struggled to control my emotions. Over the years, I’d learned control, knowing those around me would be able to smell things like fear, anger, lust, or even sadness. But tonight all that control evaporated. Anger and fear swamped me. Anger at Sam for arranging the whole damn thing, and fear that the Elders knew what had just happened.
I’d been so close to freedom. Sam had set me up, stacking the odds against me with the sheer number of werewolves in attendance. Why would it have to be the very last one I saw that sent a bolt of lightning right into my stomach? Was it too much to ask for just one break in my life?
Self-pity began to flood me, but then a spark of hope surfaced. Could it be possible that no one noticed? Maybe they had attributed my reaction to the way he looked. I turned a corner, almost to our rooms. If I didn’t acknowledge him in front of others, then it didn’t count...right?
Once in the apartment, I headed straight to my room and grabbed my bag from the bed. Thankfully, I hadn’t unpacked.
Moving quickly, I went to Sam’s bed and zipped his bag closed just as he walked through the door. His slightly mussed, grey hair gave away his agitation. Good. He deserved a little bit of it to match my own.
He met my gaze. I resented that he did so now, after the Introduction was complete, and he’d gotten his way.
“Now, Gabby,” he started in his soothing tone.
“Stop.” I held up a hand to forestall anything else he had to say and to keep my temper in check. He might not know he’d gotten his way. Even if he did know, he didn’t deserve the pithy remarks running through my head. He deserved my respect for all he’d done for me in the past and for everything from which he’d shielded me. Still, I wasn’t going to listen to any more tonight. Amazingly, he didn’t try to continue.
“Are you driving me or not?” I asked as I picked up his bag.
He held out his hand. I surrendered the bag and wondered what I’d do once we got home. I still had a whole summer ahead of me. A summer filled with two jobs and roommate interviews. Would Sam still let me leave like I’d planned?
I followed him out the door and closed it softly behind me. I knew I couldn’t escape this place permanently because of my tie to these people, but I hoped not to see it again for a long while.
Sam’s easy stride annoyed me within two steps. Was he stalling? I took matters in my own hands and strode past him to get to the entrance.
The longer we stayed, the more likely I’d run into that guy again. According to the information I’d gleaned over the years, he shouldn’t have turned away in the first place. Maybe he hadn’t been attracted to me.
In the entry, I stuck bare feet into my sneakers, which felt wrong, but I didn’t want to waste time to stop and put on socks. A part of the heel folded under and wedged itself behind my foot. I was taking too long. Scalp prickling with tension, I struggled to pull the crimped back out. Why had I crammed my foot into the stupid thing? I took my shoe off, fixed it, and slipped it back on as my gaze darted around the room searching for any sign of him.
Sam had continued his leisurely pace and just stepped into the entry as I tugged on the door.
Nerves strung tight, I almost screamed at the sight of someone standing there illuminated by the yard light. Instead, I only stopped abruptly. Not someone. Many someone’s crowded the porch. A whole group of werewolves. For that split second, when I’d opened the door, I thought that man had returned for me.
The men fortunately didn’t notice my near heart attack or me. They were too busy watching something in the parking lot. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they blocked my view. I didn’t really care what had them so engrossed; I wanted to go home.
I heard Sam behind me, muttered a quick “excuse me,” and moved around the small group. It took me less than a second to spot the object of their attention. Once I did, I couldn’t look away.
Sam’s truck had exploded. Ok, maybe not literally, but that’s what it looked like at first glance. The detached hood leaned against the right front fender. Dark shapes littered the ground directly in front of the truck. My mouth popped open when I realized I was looking at scattered pieces of the truck’s guts. Little pieces, big pieces, some covered in sludge. Deep inside, I groaned a desperate denial. Not Sam’s truck. I needed it.
A clanking sound drew my attention from the carnage to the form bent over the front grill. He did this, the last man I’d met. He studied the gaping hole that had once lovingly cradled an engine—one with enough life to drive me home.
“Gabby, honey,” Sam said from behind me, causing me to jump. “I don’t think he wants you to go just yet.”
My heart sank. Not only did the man’s actions scream loud and clear “she’s mine” but Sam’s calm statement confirmed my worst fear. The Elders had noticed. My stomach clenched with dread for a moment, and I wrestled with my emotions. No, it didn’t matter who noticed. I wasn’t giving up or giving in. I’d told Sam I’d come to the Introductions. I had never agreed to follow their customs.
“There’s more than one vehicle here,” I said.
“If we go inside to ask anyone else, we’ll come back to more vehicular murder.”
I turned to look at Sam. He watched the man and his truck. He was right. I couldn’t ask anyone else to deal with this guy’s obvious mental disorder. As soon as that thought entered my mind, I felt a little guilty. I usually didn’t judge people. I preferred to avoid them altogether. But this guy made himself hard to ignore.
“Fine.” I shouldered my bag, turned, and walked toward the main gate, pretending I didn’t hear Sam’s warning.
“You won’t get far,” he said softly behind me.
The yard light’s glow didn’t extend under the branches canopied over the Compound’s dirt road. Crickets sang and night creatures distantly rustled in the undergrowth. With a hint of anxiety, I marched toward the distinct boundary between light and dark. The dark didn’t concern me as much as the things hiding within it. But my fear of that grimy man overshadowed any concern I had about crossing over that boundary. Darkness blanketed me. I slowed while my eyes adjusted.
I used my other sight to watch for signs of pursuit. None of the sparks from the yard moved to follow me.
My fear kept me walking for miles. No werewolves ever entered within the perimeter of my sight though I thought I spotted a bear. Maybe a werewolf escort wouldn’t have been so bad.
Hours later, tired beyond imagining and satisfied that Sam’s dire predictions had turned out to be false, I spotted a motel ahead. The empty parking lot screamed vacancy better than the creepy, flickering red sign mounted in the office’s window. My feet and legs hurt too much to ignore the opportunity to rest. Sighing, I pushed open the office door and rented a room for the night using the emergency cash I always carried. My plan remained simple enough. In the morning, I would find the nearest bus station and buy a ticket home or as close to home as possible.
Key in hand, I walked to my door and let myself in. A damp, musty smell engulfed me. I stretched out a hand and patted the wall until I found the switch. I grimaced at the room. It didn’t inspire any thoughts of recently washed sheets. I kicked off my shoes and set them near the door. About an hour into the walk, I’d stopped to put on socks, and as I padded across the dirty carpet toward the bathroom, I was thankful for their protection.
The shower curtain looked brand new, but the tub and floor hadn’t seen a scrub brush in a long time. I used the toilet but didn’t look at it closely before or after. Sometimes ignorance was bliss.
The water dripping from the faucet had stained the porcelain brown. So I let it run while I dug through my bag. My stomach rumbled, and I regretted not grabbing some food before leaving. Ignoring my protesting stomach, I scrubbed my teeth. When the water ran clear, I spit and rinsed, smelling the water too late. Rotten eggs. Instead of wishing for food, I wished I’d just left the toothpaste in my mouth.
I wanted to go home where a clean bed waited, where inadvertently swallowing water from the bathroom sink wouldn’t put me in the hospital, where I could pretend this weekend never happened.
Purposely not thinking of anything but the present, I left the bathroom light on and moved to the main room. I set my bag on a chair, turned off the light, collapsed fully dressed on the bed, and pleaded with the universe that nothing gross contaminated the coverlet.
The drama of my day had taken its toll. My eyelids refused to stay open. Grossed out and hungry, my last thoughts were of the creepy guy at the front desk and chaining the motel door.
* * * *
I stretched, only half awake, and fell off the bed. For a queen-size bed, I must have rolled around on it a lot to work myself so close to the edge. Laughing at myself in the darkness, I pulled myself back up on the mattress and winced at the soreness in my legs. I paused. Darkness? My stomach flipped in fear as I remembered the light I’d left on in the bathroom.
I blindly stretched out my arm. There should have been a wall near this side of the bed. The door to my room swung open. Light flooded in, blinding me.
A shadow moved to block the light, and I suffered a moment of disoriented panic. Was it the man from the front desk? By my third squinted blink, I saw Sam standing silhouetted by light. Behind him, I spotted his foldout bed.
“You okay?” he asked.
“What am I doing here?” I turned and looked at my familiar room at the Compound.
“Dunno,” he mumbled. “He brought you back before dawn. Didn’t say a word, just knocked on the door carrying you. I let him in. He set you on your bed then left.” Sam’s hair stuck up in places, and he absently scratched the hair on his chest, wobbling a bit as he stood in his flannel house pants. He needed his coffee.
I looked down at myself. Dirt stained my clothes as if he’d dragged me all the way back here from the motel...by my feet...through mud. I reached up to comb my fingers through my hair, and a leaf fluttered to the floor. I stared at it in disbelief and let my hands drop back to my sides. He’d left me looking like a wreck. What was going on with this guy?
“What happened after I left? Did he follow me?” I watched Sam closely. If he didn’t respond with complete honesty, I wouldn’t be responsible for what I said next.
“Not right away. When you started walking, he looked up from the truck and watched down the road for a while. Long after you passed from sight anyway. Then, he just took to the woods, leaving my truck in a heap.”
Apparently, he wouldn’t let me go easily. Not that walking half the night had been easy. It also meant he’d left after I’d walked far enough that I could no longer see his spark. He’d probably tracked me by scent, keeping his distance. Clever. But why?
I needed to talk to him and figure out what he wanted. There were probably new rules—his rules—that I needed to learn, too. My impotent frustration grew. Better to get it done now so I could figure out a way out of this mess.
“Where is he?”
“Gabby. Before you do anything else, I’d like two minutes of your time. You need to hear what I have to say.”
My anger at Sam still lay in a dark, dormant pool inside me. I didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say. Some of my anger and frustration collapsed in on itself as I acknowledged the truth. Sam’s dishonesty bothered me, but my brush with freedom, to have it so close and then ripped away in the last few seconds, hurt more. Besides, if I didn’t hear him out, I’d wonder what he had wanted to tell me. Defeated, I agreed.
“Fine, but please hurry.”
Sam turned and walked back to his bed. I followed.
“His name is Clay,” Sam said, sitting on the lumpy mattress. “Clayton Michael Lawe.” He looked up at me as I moved closer and eyed me from head to toe.
In the brighter light of the living area, I really did look like I’d been dragged, or at least rolled, in mud. How had I slept through someone carrying me for miles?
“He’s twenty-five and completely alone. His mother died when he was young. An accident. Shot by a hunter while she was in her fur. His dad took him to the woods.”
That meant he’d been raised more wolf than boy. Sam had explained much of the recent pack history to me when we’d first started coming to the Compound. They’d only maintained enough of the original buildings to keep up appearances and used the 360 acres that came with it to live as wolves. Charlene’s arrival had brought about huge changes, mostly in the social aspect of the pack. Afterward, most pack members started acclimating to their skin. Only a few of the old school werewolves still preferred their fur.
“His father died a few years back,” Sam continued, pulling me from my own thoughts. “Clay’s been on his own ever since, still choosing to live in his fur more than his skin. He’s quiet and has never been trouble. He comes when an Elder calls for him but still claims no pack as his own. So, by pack law, he’s considered Forlorn.”
Forlorn. I closed my eyes tiredly and recalled my werewolf history.
Prior to Charlene, the decimated numbers had only supported one main pack in Canada and a few packs overseas. Over the last two decades, the Canadian pack had grown enough to consider splitting their numbers.
Because of the dangers of discovery, joining a pack ensured an individual’s safety and continuity for the pack. Some, like Clay, stubbornly remained reclusive. The majority of those who stayed solitary did so because they disagreed with the changes Charlene had helped to establish. Many felt the superiority of the pack entitled them to an elitist isolation from humanity and the world.
By staying on his own, Clay had effectively stated his opinion on the pack’s reentry into human society. However, Sam’s comment about never being trouble meant Clay had not yet actually sided with the other opinionated Forlorn.
Yet Forlorn, not having a link to a pack, still had the link to the Elders. A link all werewolves shared. Elders acted as the lawmakers and enforcers for all werewolves while the pack leader enforced the rules for the pack, settling disputes. Elders and pack leaders worked hand in hand to keep the pack healthy and growing. Though a pack leader did not control any Forlorn, the base society rules laid down by the Elders still bound them.
According to Sam, a werewolf could not break their society laws. Once an Elder declared a law, it became an ingrained piece of the werewolf. Sam had compared it to a hypnotist. The werewolves heard the law, could contemplate it, have opinions about it, but followed the law regardless of their thoughts and feelings. Most laws made sense and werewolves didn’t try to fight them, but even when a werewolf disagreed with a law, there was no choice other than to obey it.
At least, no one had proven otherwise. However, I’d overheard Sam speaking with another Elder about several instances where a Forlorn had ignored certain aspects of their laws, which made the relationship between the pack and Forlorn even more strained.
Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.
“He was here last night to help keep the peace. He didn’t come to be Introduced to you.”
At least that explained his presence by the door and not in the line with the rest of them. My conspiracy theory that Sam had set me up shriveled.
“There are two things I can promise you. Though he is technically Forlorn, he’s always followed pack rules. He has no issue with humans. With him, you are safe. His control over the change is unusually strong.”
When over stimulated, the change could burst upon a werewolf with less than adequate control. Sam had drilled that into me when I first started hanging out with Paul and Henry unsupervised. He didn’t want me to freak out if one of them went wolf on me for no reason. He’d stressed that whether in their fur or in their skin, they had the same intelligence and instinct. The change was just a defense mechanism because in their fur, they had teeth and claws to fight. So, what he meant was Clay had control, and he kept his emotions in check.
“And he won’t give up,” Sam added.
Clay hadn’t been looking for a Mate like most werewolves did once they reached puberty. Did that give me any advantage? I doubted it. Sam had repeatedly stressed that instinct ruled this business. And fighting instinct proved extremely difficult for werewolves. So Sam’s final warning was a given. Once they scented their Mate, they couldn’t turn back. I sighed. Why couldn’t werewolves get strategically-timed head colds like the rest of us?
“All right, where is he?”
“I think he’s still tinkering with my truck. Try there.”
Sam slid back under his covers, and I turned off the lights for him before walking out the door. My sock-covered feet, the only thing on me that didn’t seem too dirty, muffled the sound of my passing. By the front door, I found my mud-caked shoes and put them on. They hadn’t been that dirty when I’d taken them off at the motel. I couldn’t believe he’d put them back on me before abducting me. Had I really been that tired? Maybe there’d been something wrong with that water. But why were my shoes caked with mud if he’d carried me?