Between Two Wolves and a Hard Place (6 page)

My eyebrows shoot up. What's wrong with me? I force a serious expression, banishing all dreamy, wide-eyed looks to the basement. "What am I doing? I'm looking for a studio." I try to say this as if it's both simple and obvious.

"No." He sounds impatient. Is that a growl I hear in the undertones of his voice? "What are you doing, showing up now, and playing these games?"

"Games?" My eyebrows try to go a little higher. "What are you talking about?"

"What do you mean, what am I talking about?" He throws up a hand in exasperation and rakes his fingers through his long hair. "You. In Honeycomb Falls, now. After all these years. Just as we're about to be mated. Hanging out at Fool's Gold like nothing ever happened. Showing up here wanting to rent a space. Are you seriously telling me this is a coincidence?"

I stare into his eyes. He never used to be able to keep a secret from me. I used to be able to read Drake like writing on the wall. Dean, never. But Drake? He was an open book. I see pain. Confusion. Anger. And something else. Something I can't quite identify. Something that makes my pulse race.

"Drake." I take a deep breath. "My boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - told me last night that he's stolen my company and my art away from me through some kind of legal shenanigans. I came back to hide in my old bedroom at my parents' house."

Drake's eyes go wide as he processes this. "He stole Iron and Roses?"

"You - how do you know about Iron and Roses?"

Drake immediately trips over his tongue. "I - well, it's not like - I mean -"

I fight the urge to hug him. "Yes. Marv stole Iron and Roses. I'm going to fight him, but it's probably going to take a whole year of legal battles. In the meantime, I need studio space so I can make new art." Another deep breath. It's still not easy saying this. "Because he's trying to sell my art to an international dealer, and I need to win the nomination to prevent him from doing so."

Drake blinks rapidly several times. It's a lot to process. He runs his hand through his hair again, and frowns. "So your showing up here has nothing to do with Dean and me?"

"I -" I stop. Putting it that way, looking into his eyes, I don't want to say it. I can see his hope, raw and hidden, like a little candle flame cupped behind his hand. All I have to say is yes, and I'll blow it right out. But I can't lie. It tears at my heart, but I nod slowly.

"Well." He blows out his cheeks and shakes his head. "Well, I feel like a fool. I guess I owe you my apologies."

"Drake, no."

"I should have known." He grins, a cold, pained expression. "Stupid of me. Thinking you'd come back after all these years. Sorry. My bad."

"Drake, please." But what can I say? That I'm glad I'm back? That I've done my best to forget about them, to bury my heart, to focus on my art, but now that I'm here I suddenly want to see them, spend time with them, rediscover our friendship? Because it's true. I realize it in a flash. I want to ask Drake a thousand questions. About his ownership of the mill. His and Dean's pack. About their lives, their experiences, about everything that's happened these past six years.

But I can't. Because I didn't come back for them. I came back for myself. And Drake can see it in my eyes. Before I can speak, before I can plead my case, he digs out a ring of keys from his pocket. "This way," he says, voice cold, and strides past me to where the hall ends in a plain white door.

I sigh and trail after him. He slides a key into the lock, and turns it with some effort. Pulls the door open, and gestures for me to go in.

I step past him into a huge space. It's easily a third of the whole mill, but without a second floor, so that the ceiling is far, far above me. Large windows look out over the rushing Conway River just where it turns into the Honeycomb waterfall. The floor is concrete, and the space is immense, empty, open.

But. My eyes lock on the furnace. It's a massive, black iron monster hunched against the far wall, taller than I am and massively industrial in appearance. Huge tubes extend from it, truncated and severed decades ago, no doubt meant to carry the heat to the rest of the building.

"It's functional," says Drake, stepping past me, his footsteps echoing in the vast, empty room. "I had a guy come over from Northampton to turn it into a kiln."

I join him, and can't hold the question back. "Why?"

"Why?" He laughs bitterly, and glances sidelong at me. "Why do you think?" But before I can answer, he shakes his head and turns away. "Everything you need should be there in the corner. Propane. Oxygen. I bought a torch secondhand. Carlisle something or other."

My eyes go wide, and I run over to where crates and boxes are stacked against one wall. I open a case, and pull out the torch. It's gorgeous, large, and of incredibly high quality. "A Carlisle CC," I say. Back home I only have a small Red Max, good for small, detailed work, but this would let me work on bigger pieces. "And pipes. And - how many cases of borosilicate glass is this?"

"Ten or so." Drake is smiling when I turn to him, but it's a sad smile.

"Drake. This is amazing. I - thank you."

His smile fades away. "Yeah. No problem. You're welcome to it. In a way, I'm glad you're finally here. When you leave, I'll finally be able to do something with the space. I've been keeping it empty for you all these years. Now I'll finally be able to let it go."

Tears come to my eyes. I feel so helpless. There's nothing I can say. I want to touch him, hold him close. Yet I can't. An irrevocable gulf stands between us. A gulf of my own making. We hold each other's gaze for what feels like an eternity, then Drake coughs and turns away. "I'll leave the keys in the lock. Good luck getting your company back."

"Drake!"

He looks over his shoulder. There's so much I want to say.
I'm sorry. I miss you. Don't leave. Hold me. Talk to me. Be my friend
. But I can't say any of that. So instead, weakly, I ask, "How much is the rent?"

He snorts. His pale blue eyes take on a pained, mocking look. "You really think I'm going to charge you? Rent is free." He turns and steps back to the door. Opens it. "Think of it as a gift. A gift in memory of dead friendship." Then he steps out, and the door swings closed behind him with a hollow boom.

I press both hands to my chest. How have I been so stupid? Honeycomb Falls has occupied a blind spot in my mind all these years because of Drake and Dean. I've avoided thinking about home because of them. But why?

Why this mental aversion?

My mind skitters away from specific memories. I don't want to recall, but I know why. Now that I'm back, now that I'm thinking of them both again, I can remember clearly what I've run from all these years.

I move to one of the windows and rest my hands on the sill. I look down at the rushing, cold waters of the Conway, then left to where the falls roar down a dozen yards to the rocks. It was the end of summer. The three of us were down there, on those rocks. We'd been swimming. I was wearing a form-hugging swimsuit, bright blue banded with black. I was so happy. The three of us had spent a magical day together, and as the sun began to set behind the mountains, we sat together on the rocks, wrapped in our towels, shivering and not speaking, simply shoulder to shoulder.

I rested my head on Dean's shoulder. Drake took my hand. It felt natural. It felt good. Laughing, Drake brought my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. I felt a shiver of delight, and then he turned my hand over and kissed the inside of my wrist. My laugh died on my lips as my delight turned to something more adult, more mature, dangerous and new, and finally the moment I had subconsciously expected was upon us. I felt the growing chemistry. Knew that our friendship had been changing into something more.

Dean turned my face toward his and kissed me on the lips. Nervously, but with that unyielding ardor that was all his. I moaned as desire swept through me. Drake's kisses traveled up my arm, and when I turned to him, he kissed me, his lips wider, softer than Dean's, but just as hungry.

Without speaking we rose to our feet and retreated into the woods, kissing and laughing and tripping till we reached a secluded spot. I was scared, but I trusted them both with my life. They were my best friends - and maybe something more.

I can still remember how the pine needles stuck up through the towel as we knelt down together, Dean in front of me, Drake behind. How they explored my body with kisses, how I submitted, not believing what was happening, my body afire. Our hands touched. Explored. I gasped. Moaned. They were on both sides of me. My one-piece bathing suit slipped off one shoulder, and then the other, and then one of them rolled it down to expose my breasts.

Standing in the mill, gazing at the darkly flowing river, I feel a shiver rush over my body. That old desire. Nothing I've experienced since then has ever felt as intense as those kisses. I reached for Dean's cock, straining through the wet fabric of his shorts, and grasped it, not knowing quite what to do but moving on instinct. He went tense, eyes wide, and growled as he bit my neck. Drake's hands were all over me.

Oh. I close my eyes and press my forehead against the cold glass of the window. I feel as if a fever is rising inside of me. I haven't thought of that perfect moment in years.

Then Dean began to lose control. As I worked his cock, his growls became deeper. More primal. Dangerous.

Startled, I released him and fell back into Drake's arms. Dean staggered to his feet, snarling as fur erupted over his body. His face elongated into that of a wolf. A tail burst out from the base of his spine. In a matter of moments he stood seven feet tall, part wolf, part man, eyes golden with fury and lust.

I remember screaming. I'd never seen him shift before. Drake threw me behind him and stepped forward to confront Dean, and I ran. I ran like I had never run before, terrified. Leaving the two of them behind.

They tried to contact me that night. The next day. I locked myself away in my room and told my dad to keep them out of the house. He did so. He asked me if I had been hurt. What had happened. I refused to talk about it. On impulse I accepted the offer to go study at the workshop in Venice, an amazing opportunity I had been debating. I left the next week, having steadfastly refused to talk to either of my friends.

I fled.

I abandoned them in my fear.

And refused to come home, to think of them, to deal with the reality of their being young werewolves ever since.

I think of Drake's eyes. The pain in them, the haunted hope. I ran away and abandoned them just as they were figuring out their love for me. Their passion. Their desire. They were kids. But then again, so was I. I was a terrified girl, and I fled to Europe, and put all thought of Dean and Drake and the fear and desire and lust and horror I'd experienced that afternoon in the woods out of my mind.

Until now.

Chapter 8

I drive away, my thoughts a tempest I can't still. It has to mean something, Kiera showing up like this, out of the blue, just weeks before we're slated to be mated with Leena. My mind is tormented by images of Kiera from six years ago. Ever since that summer, I've thought she was the pinnacle of beauty, what with her curly hair that was a delight to plunge my hands into, her large, full breasts, and her gorgeous, luscious curves. I thought I'd peaked early, met my ideal woman, and now, seeing Kiera again, I know I only got a taste of perfection that summer.

Because, man, she's only grown more gorgeous. She's intoxicating. Only my strongest efforts kept me from taking her in my arms, dignity and pride be damned. Only my wounded sense of justice kept me from pressing her full body to my own, burying my face in her neck, breathing in that scent that goes right to my head and makes me feel weak.

We've all changed. Older, for sure, but Kiera, she's become a woman. No longer that laughing girl, she's a woman now, with all the mystery and allure that comes with it. A woman I want to get to know. To explore. What makes her laugh these days? Does she still love Rocky Road ice cream and bad movies from the 80s? Does she still scratch at the arch of her foot with the toes of her other foot when she's feeling lazy and happy? I want to strip her clothes off and bare her body, her soul.

But I can't. I hunch my shoulders. Life can be cruel. With Kiera burning in my thoughts, I can barely stand to think of Leena. Sure, at first I was taken by her, by her sophistication, her dark beauty, her throaty laugh. At first I thrilled in her presence. But these days I can barely stand to stay close. If it weren't for Dean's morbid fascination, I'd have ended this mating weeks ago. But he's enthralled. Mesmerized. It's like she's some kind of deadly cobra, and he can't tear his eyes away.

I can't abandon him. I can't break and run. He's my best friend. If I leave him alone with her, she'll destroy him. Warp him. Bring out the worst, and turn him into a monster.

I pound my fist into the steering wheel, frustrated beyond all measure. Why? Why has Kiera shown up now? It has to mean something. But what? She didn't come back for us. But does that matter? She's back. Showing up at Fool's Gold. Showing up in the studio I prepared for her, so many years ago, in the crazy hope that I'd be able to make her smile when she finally came home.

And now she's here. And Dean and I are careening toward disaster. I need to do something. I need to change the course we're on. But how?

I dig out my phone and dial Dean. Despite the hour he'll still be in bed, recovering from last night. The phone rings, and rings, and then goes to voicemail. No message, just an electronic beep. I hang up, dial again. I know Dean will be opening one eye and staring malevolently at his ringing phone. I keep calling, and finally he picks up.

"What?" His voice is a rasp.

"Dean. Get the hell up. I'll be home in five. We're going out."

"Like hell." He hangs up.

I laugh. Dial back.

"I'm not going out."

"You are. No choice here, amigo. I'll be there in five. Don't make me pick out your underwear."

I hear him growl. "Just you try it."

"You know I will. Five minutes." I hang up.