Destiny and Deception (7 page)

“
These
pajamas?” She pressed down their front with her hands. “I have
other
pajamas.”

“Ugh.” I rephrased: “You can’t go out for a snowball battle wearing pajamas.”

“I can’t, can I?” she asked, a note of challenge rising in her voice.

“Okay, okay—you
can,
but you really shouldn’t. How’s that?”

“Better,” she said, a touch of the old fire burning in the depths of her eyes. “I like to think I can do whatever I want,” she reminded me.

But as quickly as it had sparked, the fire in her eyes smothered out and I wondered if she’d realized that although she liked to think she could do what she wanted, some things were still too difficult.

“If anyone can, Amy,
you
can. You’re a tiger.”

“Glad
you
still think so,” she muttered, turning her back to me and straightening out her bed. She fluffed the pillow by whacking it hard against the bedpost and admitted, “Most days I just feel like a pussy.”

“It’ll get better,” I assured her, although I wasn’t certain it would.

“How do you know? You haven’t been through what I’m going through.” Crossing to her dresser, she tugged open a drawer so it squeaked in protest. Clothing was shoved aside and shaken out as she rifled through the drawers.

“You’re right,” I conceded. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with. Or how. But by the same token, you understood what I went through losing my mom the way I did and yet your mom is still alive.”

“Might as well be dead to me,” Amy said firmly.

My fists clenched at my sides. “But she’s
not
. She’s not dead. But you understood; you felt my loss and my pain even though it was totally different from your own.” I glared down at the floor, toes in my mismatched socks twitching in frustration. “Give me a chance,” I requested. “I’m
trying
to understand what you’re going through. And to support you. The way a good friend should.”

She nodded, a stiff yank of her head, keeping her back to me as she meekly pulled off her pajama top and replaced it with a loose-fitting sweatshirt that would have never before found a place in her wardrobe. Amy never claimed she had a perfect body, but once she’d been proud even of her small imperfections.

And certainly proud of her generous curves.

Lots of girls who ran cross-country and track, like Amy did, complained the first thing to shrink was their boobs and the last was “asses and ankles.” Amy maintained her shape and flaunted it.

At least she
had
.

But since Marvin’s attack, things had changed. Before, she’d worn tight tees, halter tops, and belly shirts, making her a frequent violator of Junction High’s dress code; now her wardrobe was mostly turtlenecks and baggy sweats. Before, she’d walked with her shoulders back and her boobs out, enjoying the attention. Now it seemed the less attention she drew to her body—to her
existence
—the more comfortable she felt.

She dug around for socks and sat on the edge of the bed to tug one on. She didn’t look at me. “How bad do I look?” she finally whispered. “I didn’t sleep.…”

“You’re fine.”

Finishing with her second sock, she stomped her foot. “I thought you were done lying to me.”

“I…” I shook my head. “You look rough.”

Her head lolled forward on her neck. “I know.” She heaved a sigh. “He’ll notice.”

There was only one “he” she could mean. Only one guy she still cared about looking good for.
Max
.

“Look. We’ll brush out your hair, put it up in a ponytail.…” I grabbed her brush off the card table that acted as her nightstand now, but she raised a hand between us.

“It’s more than my hair. A lot more than my hair. It’s everything about me.”

“He won’t say a thing,” I promised. Max wouldn’t. As much as he blustered and bulled his way through life, he was careful around Amy.

Now
.

“That’s almost worse,” she confessed. “Him noticing and not commenting.…” She thrust a hand out. “Gimme that.”

I handed over the brush and watched her fight and curse her way through the tangles and snarls. She caught my eyes at one point as she panted between tugging the brush through her red mane and paused in a particularly long string of curses. “I could make a sailor blush,” she proclaimed.
Proudly
.

I snorted and refused to ask what Cat would think of such a thing.

When Amy was done she seemed oddly satisfied. Like she’d just won a battle with herself. I hoped this one would be the first of many.

“How dark are the circles under my eyes?”

My mouth opened, and she just shook her head. “That bad?” She flopped forward, reaching under her bed, and dragged out her purse to fumble for concealer.

“Don’t,” I said as she untwisted its cap. “It’s okay for him to see. It’s better if he knows.”

She blinked and swallowed once, then twice, and shakily put the cap back on, tucking it all away again. “I guess all that’s over anyhow.”

“What? What’s over?” I joined her on the bed, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and gently giving her a squeeze, doing my best to ignore the way her body still stiffened at anyone’s—even
my
—touch.

“Him seeing me …
that
way.” She shook her head, red hair cascading around to cover her face.

“What way?”

“As pretty—as
sexy
.” She croaked out the last word, her spine going loose as she leaned against me.

I propped her up.

“No,” I returned. “Max is a dork sometimes, but he’s not an idiot. He’s not done seeing the sexy side of you.… I think you’re the one who’s struggling with it, and that’s okay.”

She sniffled and rubbed at her suddenly running nose. “Oh, god,” she said, sucking in a breath, “I’m getting even more disgusting.…”

“Stop it,” I demanded, giving her a little shake. “You’re having more of a problem with this than Max is.”

She pulled back and I struggled to unwedge my foot from my mouth. “As you should. I mean, it only makes sense.…” I groaned. “Don’t give up. Not yet. Max cares enough about you to show you who he really is—was … Hell. You know what I mean. That level of honesty: the hey-by-the-way-I’m-a-werewolf level of honesty? The when-they-say-he’s-a-sexy-beast-they-mean-it-in-more-than-one-way level of honesty? That’s huge.” I stroked her hair with a trembling hand. “Don’t give up on Max. And don’t you dare give up on
you
.” I let go of her and stood. “Now get up.”

“What?” She looked up at me, her hair falling across her face and obscuring all but a few bits of her damp eyes.

“Get up,” I commanded. “We have a snowball battle to fight. To
win
. And I say we take no frikkin’ prisoners.”

She pulled the hair out of her eyes and back from her face, tying it up in a crisp ponytail with practiced hands. “Fine. I’ll pull my ass out of the dumps for a while. Just. For. You,” she emphasized.

“Geez. That’s
all
I was asking,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “Let’s go. Cat wants to teach Max humility.”

“Is that even possible?” Amy mused. “Have you explained to Cat the concept of setting
achievable
goals?”

I laughed and together we climbed the stairs, shrugged into our coats, pulled on our boots and gloves, and prepared for a battle.

Of epic proportions.

CHAPTER SIX

Marlaena

I shifted forms to start the campfire. Though I reveled in the wolf, the human bits of me didn’t always stomach what the wolf greedily gulped down.
Not that there was much food to have
, I thought, looking at the squirrel we’d dug out of a rotting tree and the assortment of nuts that had been stashed by it.

Beth changed, too, seeing the way I retained parts of my wolfskin to appear human except for an amazingly well-fitted fur suit. She mimicked me, adjusting the sleeve length, neckline, and midriff for a more modest look. She might have been the youngest of our crew, having only turned seventeen a month before we found her outside Chicago, but she was a fast learner. As long as she remembered her place in the pack, she’d stay.

But if anyone ever forgot their place …

My gaze settled on Gabe. “We can’t stay here. We need a better den.” I focused on my index finger and watched my fingernail pinch together and sharpen into a claw. Knowing we were all desperate to eat every bit of it, I gutted the squirrel and skewered it on a pointed stick.

Debra nosed a flat rock to the fire’s edge, and I dumped the guts onto it to sizzle as it warmed by the fire.

Gabriel rose and sniffed the air.

“Have a bite, then go,” I ordered. “We want better than this. We
need
better than this.”

He nodded, and we all scooted closer to the fire and the scent of roasting meat.

Jessie

Pietr had begun constructing a snow fort by the time Amy and I stepped off the back porch. He hadn’t gotten far—probably his overthinking of the structural integrity of its architecture (instead of just slamming snow together) took its toll.

Snow still fluttered down around the house, big soft flakes like fat feathers falling from the sky.

Amy and I were barely off the lowest step when Max charged us, hurling snowballs as Cat screamed from her position near the tree and frantically returned fire to cover our stunned advance.

Pietr watched, dumbstruck, and I scooped and balled snow, throwing as fast as I could.

And loving it.

“Pietr!” I screamed.

“Man-up, Jessie!” Max shouted.

Pietr lobbed a snowball at him, and Max staggered back at the impact. Cat pelted him with a few, shrieking each time she tossed one and Max yelped and dodged away, keeping the tree between his sister and himself as he returned fire.

Amy screamed, balling snow as fast as she could and tossing snowballs indiscriminately at everyone.

Except Max.

“Hey!” I protested. And got a loosely packed snowball to the thigh in response. “Whose side are you on?”

“There are sides?” she asked, hitting me again.

“Yeah—aren’t there?”

“I thought we had a whole grand mêlée deal going on!” she called back, taking cover behind Pietr’s fort.

“
Grand mêlée
? Are you goin’ medieval on our asses?” I laughed.

Amy roared, bending over to hold her sides at the absolute indignation in my tone.

I barreled over the wall of snow and took her to the ground with a
whuff!

Giggling, we tried to untangle ourselves from each other and each other’s scarves. We got to our knees and peered over the wall, watching Max and Cat still heaving snowballs at each other around the tree.

Every time Cat got hit, she screamed. And every time she hit Max, he mimicked her scream so well she shouted at him. In Russian.

Pietr started stockpiling snowballs and I thought back to social studies class and the arms race. My face ached from grinning in the cold.

His back to me, Max made a lovely target. I tore into the top of the densely packed snow wall and freed a nice chunk of snow.

Max stumbled when my snowball thumped right between his shoulder blades.

He turned and snarled out my name. “Jessssie…”

“Wuh-oh,” Amy squeaked.

Ignoring Cat, he raced straight for us, and I pitched snowballs so fast and hard my shoulder tightened.

Some went wide, but a few nailed Max.

Right in the chest and gut.

One accidentally went a bit lower.

He growled—but didn’t slow down.

One of his snowballs hit me in the shoulder so hard I spun partway round.

Stooped and repeating, “Ow, ow, ow…,” I felt him rush past and heard the
ooof
as someone lost their breath. I whipped back just in time to see Max barrel over Amy, wrapping an arm around her as he took her to the ground and stopped her fall as fast as he’d started it, dropping into something like a push-up position, boots and one gloved hand holding them both up, one arm keeping her just suspended above the blanket of snow.

“Give her back, you beast!” Cat shrieked, raining snowballs on Max’s broad back.

He seemed not to notice; his nose a hairsbreadth from Amy’s, he said, “Good morning.”

She just stared up into his face, her heart surely pounding after it’d dropped so quickly into her stomach. “Good morning yourself.”

He turned his head and looked at all of us. He grinned, a stretch of his lips making him boyish and brazen at the same time. “Battle’s over,” he announced. “I win.”

“What?!” Cat demanded, furiously pressing snow between her gloved hands.

“
Da
, I won.” He looked back at Amy and kissed the tip of her nose as he smoothly brought them both back up to a standing position, his arm staying tight around her. “I rescued the princess.”

“What?!” Cat socked him with a snowball and he pushed Amy behind him, shielding her with his broad body, and nearly doubling over laughing at his sister.

“Rescued the princess from
trolls!
” he roared, scooping up a discarded snowball. He hurled it at Cat and roared even louder when it pulled her hat right off her head.

“You brute!” she shouted. Her face was frozen and pink in a strange balance of outrage and laughter.

Max looked over his shoulder at his willing captive. “Come with me?” he asked, his voice dropping. Going suddenly serious.

She nodded and he scooped her up easily, sprinting around the far side of the house, away from our curious eyes and ears.

Alexi

I heard them on the porch before I saw them. Setting down my coffee mug and the newspaper that announced “Stray Dogs Become Problem for Junction,” I moved my chair closer to the window.

His voice was low—dark.

Hers was soft. And more vulnerable than ever.

“If you aren’t sleeping well, maybe you need to do something differently,” he suggested. “Change a habit. Get some help.”

“What habit? Or help?”

“How you sleep. When. Maybe where?” He paused. I imagined Max was as deep in thought as he could get. Probably rubbing his forehead because that most important part of him—well, not the part he did most of his thinking with, but the part he should engage more regularly—was pounding against his skull at such sudden and intense usage.