Other (18 page)

After a heartbeat, I say, “Tavian,” and he takes his hand away.

The Ferris wheel spins around once, twice, before he speaks. “Sorry.”

“It's okay. I just want to take things slow.”

He nods. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah,” I say, though my heart falls down a notch or two.

As the Ferris wheel swings toward the ground, I see a familiar shaggy-haired guy at the edge of the crowd. He's by himself, staring skyward.

Tavian says, “Is that—?”

“Randall. Why's he here? Is he stalking me?”

Tavian looks grim. “He'd better not be.”

We share a glance.

“Let's see what he's up to,” I say.

But the Ferris wheel swings upward again.

“Damn,” Tavian says. “How long is this ride going to last?”

I clench my hands around the safety bar at my waist. “Maybe I should shapeshift into a bird and go after him.”

“Okay, so I can't change my hair color, but now you're shapeshifting in public?”

I grimace. “Good point.”

Tavian drums his fingers on the side of the seat. “Come on.” Then he tilts his head to one side and squints. “What is that … ?”

“What's what?”

“Shhh. Listen.”

I shut my eyes and strain to hear. The wind is blowing voices down from one of the gondolas above ours on the Ferris wheel.

“… Don't let them get too close. That would be a disaster.”

It's a male voice, soft and hard to pinpoint. I crane my neck, but I can't see who's above us.

“Yeah, we know,” says another, louder male voice.

Tavian glances at me. “Is that … ?”

“Chris.” My eyes widen.

“Fucking werewolves,” says a third voice, clearly Brock.

“Don't wait …” The wind gusts harder, whistling in my ears. “… Eliminated.”

Tavian growls under his breath. “I can't hear anything.”

The Ferris wheel circles down and stops, and the operator waves for us to get off. As soon as we hop down, I spin around and stare. Another gondola is emptying right now, but the sea of people engulfs me and two girls drag an armada of balloons in front of my eyes, completely blocking my view.

“Bollocks,” I say. “Where are they?”

Tavian peers through the crowd. “There's Randall.” He grabs my wrist, his eyes glowing like a fox's in the deepening dark. “Let's go. He's on the move.”

“Wait—go after him?”

“Yes. He's up to something.”

I hesitate. This could be dangerous. Really, really dangerous.

But I say “Okay,” and jog ahead.

Wind whirls through the fairgrounds and tosses my hair. I rake it from my eyes. The fattening moon floats higher in the sky. A shaggy-haired guy is stalking through the casual strollers. He glances sideways, and I hide my face. Yes. It's him. Then Randall lopes faster, swinging his head like a bloodhound following a scent. We're nearing the House of Horrors. The ticket guy outside chats with a big-boobed lady, distracted.

Randall sidesteps through the dark doorway. What's he doing?

Tavian grabs my arm. “Gwen.”

“We're going to lose him!”

He glares at me, his eyes orange. “Do you really—”

“Hey! Get back here!”

I whirl around and see Chris, Brock, and Blackjack on our heels. What happened to the third man in their gondola? Who was he?

Chris jabs a finger at us, his face red, and bellows, “They stole my wallet!”

I yank Tavian into the House of Horrors before the big-boobed lady ceases to fascinate. Inside the dimly lit House of Horrors, cheesy “spooky” organ music plays, punctuated by ghoulish laughter. Wooden vampires and other unrealistic Others spring up as we pass. I just hope we don't run into a very realistic werewolf.

Strobe lights flash, disorienting me. I stumble into a hanging ghost and bat it away, then walk through a narrow hallway flanked by two snarling beasts.

Three beasts. Randall is crouching in the shadows, his eyes glowing.

I whirl on him, and a growl rumbles from his throat. Tavian drags me back. Cornering a werewolf is definitely not smart. Randall barrels past us and leaps out of the House of Horrors. We stumble out in time to see Randall weaving through the crowd, people shouting in his wake. As we dash after him, I clutch a cramp in my side. Randall sprints past cages of chickens. They squawk, flutter, and beat against the bars.

“Hey!” yells a policeman. “What's going on here?”

“Nothing, officer!” I say. I don't want the police bungling things.

Ahead, Randall widens the gap between us. He vaults over a low fence and hits the ground running. We follow him into a field of high grass that comes up to our waists. I nearly trip over an abandoned hubcap.

Trees bristle ahead. We're going to lose him.

“Randall!” I shout. “Wait!”

He whirls on us, his hair silvering, his teeth feral. “Get the fuck out of here. You're leading them right to me.”

I take a step back. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to keep the pack safe,” he slurs around a mouthful of fangs. “And trying to keep you from getting killed.”

Tavian narrows his eyes. “Is that why you were watching us?”

“Not you. Them.” Randall crouches low. “Oh, shit.”

I glance back and see a ropy brown tail wagging above the grass. Blackjack.

Tavian grabs my hand and drags me toward the trees. We duck behind a clump of ferns. Our breathing sounds so loud I'm tempted to hold my breath. Randall crouches in the field, clenching and unclenching his hands, flashing hooked claws. I can hear grass hissing past Blackjack as he picks up speed, his paws thudding closer.

“He's going to fight him,” Tavian whispers, with a low whistle.

I squeeze his hand. “Shhh.”

He squeezes my hand back, and we lie on our bellies on the fallen leaves. The harsh fairground lights seep through the black trees and cast crazy shadows. Tavian's eyes gleam, and I edge into owl form to help me see.

Blackjack emerges from the grass, panting, sniffing, and stops not more than two yards from Randall. The pit bull lifts his blocky, muscular head and growls. Randall growls back, deep and wolfish, as his silvering hair sweeps over his skin and cloaks him in fur. Then he doubles over as his spine curves, crunching along every bone. He fumbles with his belt buckle, yanks down his jeans, and falls to his hands and knees.

I try not to stare. I've never seen a werewolf transform before, not in real life.

The change is shuddering through Randall, both violent and beautiful. A metamorphosis and a deformation. He lifts his head, now a huge silver wolf. As if finally recognizing the nature of his enemy, Blackjack starts barking, spittle flying from his mouth. Randall flattens his ears against his skull and bares vicious fangs.

Tavian swears under his breath. “This is going to get ugly.”

eighteen

B
lackjack marches closer, stiff-legged and snarling. Randall slinks sideways, circling his opponent. The pit bull lunges, the werewolf dodges, and Blackjack swerves just as Randall jumps high. Randall twists to avoid the dog's jaws, then sinks his teeth into Blackjack's shoulder. Blackjack yelps shrilly and shakes Randall off.

My heart thuds in my ribs. I don't realize I'm shaking until Tavian holds my shoulders.

Blood is trickling down Blackjack's side, and he skitters back, disoriented. Randall growls thunderously, and Blackjack charges. Randall rolls nimbly out of the way and, as Blackjack skids to a stop, Randall pounces. He bites the back of Blackjack's neck and brings him down. As a wolf, he must weigh twice as much as the dog.

“Blackjack!” Brock calls, not too far away.

The pit bull tries to struggle to his feet, but Randall pins him to the ground.

“Blackjack? Come here, boy!”

Brock bursts through the tall grass. Winded and red-faced, he gapes at the fight. His older brother catches up to him.

“Fuck …” The color drains from Chris's face. “Fuck!”

Brock glances wildly at his brother. “He's killing him. He's killing Blackjack!”

Chris pulls a gun from his jacket. I dig my hands into the dirt, coldness seeping through my skin. I can feel Tavian tense beside me.

Brock grabs Chris's arm. “Don't shoot! You'll hit Blackjack.”

“I don't have a choice,” Chris says, his face grim. “The cur is going to kill us next.”

Randall's yellow eyes roll toward them, but he keeps his muzzle clamped on Blackjack. The pit bull whimpers, and Brock's face twists. Chris cocks the gun. His hand trembles ever so slightly. I marvel at how quickly their bravado can crumble. Did they think they were invincible with their pit bull and their daddy's guns?

“Chris, wait,” Brock says. “Just wait a minute.”

Has Brock ever killed anything, or anyone, before? Is he having second thoughts?

The gun lowers, and Chris gives his brother a cold look. “What?”

Before Brock can answer, Randall releases Blackjack and lunges. He flings himself on Chris, knocking him flat on his back. The gun goes off, and my hands flinch to my ears. A snarl tears from Randall's throat. He bites Chris's arm and shakes it, the gun skidding into the grass. Then Randall pins Chris, his full weight on his chest and his teeth locked on his shoulder. Chris screams. Brock stands by his wounded dog—his hands clenched by his sides, his face colorless, his eyes clearly saying he can't believe he's so helpless.

Chris kicks Randall in the belly, and the werewolf growls louder. When Chris punches Randall in the muzzle, Randall bites his wrist with a sickening crunch, then closes his jaws on Chris's neck. Not hard enough to choke him or puncture his jugular, but enough to make him freeze, and for blood to trickle beneath teeth.

My imagination spins out of control. Blood-slick muzzles, guts spilling on the ground.

“Tavian,” I hiss. “We can't just hide here. We can't.”

He looks at me, his eyes black and unreadable. “They brought this on themselves.”

“Even these guys don't deserve this. You're going to let them die?”

Tavian stares at me a moment more, then stands. “Randall!” he shouts.

Brock's head whips around. “Help! You've got to …” When I get to my feet, recognition dawns on his face. “You gicks. This was a trap!”

Randall's head twists in our direction. His teeth dig deeper into Chris, who groans.

I shake my head, then take a step toward Randall. “You know if you kill them, you're dead. They're going to hunt you down and kill you.” I try to sound as if Randall and I are on the same side, as if I'm not afraid he's going to kill me, too.

The werewolf growls. My heart skips a beat.

Tears streak down Brock's face, but his expression hardens. “Fuck this.”

Tavian's gaze snaps to the gun on the ground, and he's halfway to it before Brock snatches it up and aims it at Tavian's head.

“Don't move.” The gun doesn't shake in Brock's hand. “Or I'll blow your face off.”

I raise my hands above my head. “Brock, we don't want to fight you.”

“Shut up.” Brock's face is a mask of rage. “Shut the fuck up, you gick bitch.”

“Put down the gun.” At gunpoint, Tavian remains remarkably calm. “Nobody has to die.”

“Shut the
fuck
up.” The gun swings toward Randall. “Get off my brother!”

Randall slowly opens his jaws and crawls off Chris, who gasps and clutches his neck. Blood dribbles from Randall's mouth and he licks it clean. I shudder and try not to let revulsion show on my face. Brock takes three steps forward, the barrel of the gun and the waiting bullet aimed right between Randall's yellow eyes.

“Brock,” Chris rasps. “Don't let—” He coughs and clutches his throat.

The gun wavers in Brock's hand and he steps away, toward his brother. Blackjack struggles to his feet with a cross between a whine and a growl, blood glistening on his brindled coat. Randall bares his teeth at the pit bull.

I share a glance with Tavian, wondering what we can possibly do to end this madness.

“Chris, what do I do?” Brock says, his voice high and tight.

“Shoot—the—gicks.”

Damn it. Am I going to have to shapeshift? Can I possibly do it fast enough? My pooka side paces within me, anxious to emerge.

Tavian glances at me. “Gwen—”

In a silver blur, Randall lunges at Brock and knocks him down.

“Get the gun!” I shout.

Tavian and I both leap for it, even as my instincts scream to get the hell out of there. Randall bites Brock's arm and shakes it hard. The gun falls, and I claw at the metal, my fingers shaky with adrenaline. I grab it and back away.

I can feel the weight of the gun's power in my hands. I'm afraid to be holding it.

“Randall,” I say. “Let Brock go.”

The werewolf's golden eyes burn, and he growls low in his throat, his teeth still deep in Brock's arm. But under my gaze, he opens his jaws and leaps away. Brock staggers to his feet, his face pale, and touches the bite on his arm.

Tavian slips his cell phone from his pocket and dials a number.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“911.”

“The police?” I suck in my breath. “But—”

“We're not going to stay here,” Tavian says, his face emotionless. “We're going to leave and let the police do their job.”

I face Brock, the gun still mine. “You can't tell the police what really happened.”

He just stares at me, then at the bite on his arm.

Chris is breathing unevenly now. Blackjack limps over to him and nudges him with his nose.

“Brock,” Chris rasps. “Did he get you?”

“Yeah.” Brock's voice breaks. “He got me.”

Randall stands with his head and tail held low, the fire in his eyes fading. He exhales deeply, almost a sigh, then turns and lopes into the forest.

Tavian and I run. We have to.

We sprint through the trees, the gun growing heavier and heavier in my hands, until I stop and fling it into the ferns.

“Gwen.” Tavian takes my elbow. “We can't do that. We have to hide it.”

A burning in my throat keeps me from replying right away. “Yeah.”

We find the gun again and bury it deep in the forest. Part of me feels guilty for hiding evidence, but part of me doesn't want the police to ever know. When we're done, I kneel on the leaves, my head bowed, my bones like lead.

“Gwen?” Tavian brushes my hair from my eyes, smudging dirt on my face. “You okay?”

“Of course not. I never want to do this detective shit again.”

A tiny smile touches his eyes. “At least your snarkiness is still intact.” He holds out his hand. “Come on. You're getting muddy.”

I let him help me to my feet as I heave a shuddering sigh. “I want to go home.”

“Me too.”

We stride together through the night. The moon ladles silver light over the forest. It drips down the trees and pools on the ground.

“Randall scares me,” I say, my voice small.

Tavian nods. “Though he had to do what he did. He was protecting his pack.”

“You think he's not a murderer?”

He looks at me, a sheen of moonlight in his eyes. “He didn't kill them.”

“Only because we stopped him.”

Tavian shrugs.

“Do you think … ?” I clench my jaw. “Those guys … ?”

“Those guys what?”

“Do you think they're infected with lycanthropy now? It seems like the ultimate revenge. To hunt a werewolf only to become one.”

“They did get bitten.” Tavian glances away, his face shadowed. “What are the chances?”

“Of dying, or of becoming infected?”

“Both.”

“I don't know. It depends on how tough you are. I think it's a fifty-fifty chance if you're healthy. But Chris was bitten badly.”

Tavian twines his fingers with mine. We slow to a walk at the edge of the forest, the lights of Klikamuks like jewels in the darkness.

“Our date,” he says, “was a disaster.”

I start to laugh, but the laughter snags in my throat, and then I can't look at Tavian because of the tears escaping my eyes.

“Gwen.” He says it so softly, I almost don't hear him. “Gwen.”

“I just want to quit,” I say. “I don't want to be a part of this anymore.”

Tavian rests his hand on my arm. He seems hesitant, as if he isn't sure what to do or say.

“I've lived in Klikamuks all my life, but I've never really felt unsafe before.” I rub my face dry on my sleeve. “I feel like I can't even try to be happy anymore.”

“Hey,” he says. “This is going to pass. This isn't going to last forever.”

“You think?” I laugh bleakly. “How many people are going to die first?”

Tavian grabs my shoulders. “Don't think about that, okay?”

My words tumble out. “Did you find your best friend dead? Is there a pack of werewolves running wild in your backyard? Did you get dumped by someone right after you gave them your virginity and told them you're Other?” Instantly I regret what I've said. I press my knuckles to my mouth and turn away.

Tavian is silent for a long, long moment.

I'm too pissed at myself to cry more. “I have a pretty screwed up life at the moment. I'm not sure you should want to be part of it.”

He grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “Gwen,” he says, his eyes intense. “I've wanted to be part of your life ever since you first walked into the bookstore. I can't get you out of my head. But you can't keep up this self-loathing thing, okay? I'd never forgive myself if I let you throw your life away.”

I try and fail to scoff. “I've never thought of suicide.”

“You've been so reckless, it's like you're trying to run at death head-on!”

I'm trembling now. “It's better than running away from it.”

“No, it's not. You shouldn't keep thinking of death. If you need help, get help.”

Part of me wants to argue, to tell him he can't tell me what to do, but more of me knows he's right. I should stop doing this. I stare at the ground, my hair curtaining my face. “Okay.”

“Come here.” Tavian sounds gruff, and I wonder if he's trying not to get emotional. He drags me into a hug and holds me tight.

I sniff and bury my face in his shoulder.

“I'm here for you,” he says. “If you need to talk, you can talk to me.”

“Okay,” I say again. “Sometimes none of this seems worth it.”

“I know what you mean. But then I think of things worth living for.”

I stare at his face, my arms still linked around him, and question him with my eyes.

He laughs, a tired little laugh. “All the sappy-sounding stuff. Beauty. Hope. Love.”

I might be falling in love with him, but I'm still too afraid to admit it.

He lowers his voice. “Your ex dumped you after you slept with him? For the first time?”

“Yes.”

“What an asshole. I would never have done that to you.”

I wait for him to speak again, to admit that he's feeling the same sweet ache in his chest.

“Though my first time sucked, too,” he says. “Junior prom. Empty classroom.”

“Ugh. Really?”

“Yeah.” He twists his lips wryly. “Everybody was really horny. Peer pressure, too.”

I don't want to think about him with some other girl. “I'm glad I'm homeschooled.”

“Guess we have to make up for crappy first times,” he says. “Thank God it gets better.”

My face hot, I say, “Well, I wouldn't know. There's only been one time for me.” I laugh at myself. “Just warning you.” Admitting all this to him makes me feel lighter, as if I've tossed aside a burden.

“I believe in second chances,” Tavian murmurs. “They can be just as special.”

At first I can't look him, but then our eyes meet. His are glimmering like obsidian.

“I'll make it better,” he says, “I'll make you happy. Okay?”

My eyes sting, and I blink.

“We'll go on another date,” he says. “A real one. A good one.”

“Okay,” I say, just to see him smile.

I can't fall asleep that night, until I put on headphones and blast hard rock so I can't hear myself think. What a lullaby. Sleep seems impossible, but exhaustion drags me into unconsciousness.

I see Chloe again and again, swinging from the tree like a pendulum, the branch screeching. Her eyes are still moving. I know she's alive, but I can't reach her. Hands slide around my throat and choke me.

I twist around and stare into icy blue eyes. Not Zack. Justin.

I fall out of the dream and out of my bed, sheets tangled around my neck. I struggle free. Breathing hard, I crouch on my hands and knees.