Red (6 page)

When he turned off into the park, I peeled
off and followed.

I don’t know why I did it, but I was too
cagey and restless to head home, so driving a while longer wasn’t a
bad thing. Even after my morning run and a day spent hiking, I
needed to move. Needed out of the confines of the truck, of
society. Of my body. I was desperate to shift and
hunt
. But
there were at least a couple of hours until sunset, and I just
couldn’t risk it.

God, I couldn’t
stand
it here.

It’d been bad when we first moved to
Mortimer. But it was worse now that I’d met Elodie, to have felt
the calm and have it disappear again. Worse now that I’d released
some of the chokehold on my instincts. I was going to go mad from
inaction. And then where would Dad be with all his careful planning
and restriction if I wound up hurting some innocent bystander
because I hadn’t been allowed to take care of business. Case in
point. Why the hell was I following this guy?

The truck pulled off at a trailhead, and I
started to slow. Then I saw the little girl get out of the
passenger seat and rolled on by. None of my business, and in my
current filthy temper, if it
was
Rich Phillips, I wasn’t
entirely sure I could keep a lid on it. No reason to risk losing
control via fists or fangs when there was a child involved. Better
that I find some way to decompress.

I could be careful. Hike in deep, find some
cave to shift in and leave my clothes. Keep well away from trails.
People would be hiking back at this point in the day, if they
hadn’t already. Wanting dinner, a cool drink, a shower.

I parked at the next empty overlook. There
was no formal trailhead here, but I could see a path through the
underbrush that had been worn by some intrepid or foolish hikers
before me. Lifting my nose I tested the wind, but there were no
signs of people. The sounds of other vehicles were faint, far
enough away that I could slip over the railing and into the foliage
without being seen. Circling around, well out of the view of anyone
from above, I pushed my way through the undergrowth until I came
out on the forest floor more than a quarter mile below the
overlook, hidden by the canopy of trees.

For more than two miles, I kept up a steady
lope. It helped a little, burning some of the pent up energy as I
kept my nose and ears open for the presence of others, my eyes
scanning for a good place to hide and shift. It wasn’t a cave that
I finally found, but a thick copse of trees that grew so close
together, the branches practically knit to form a wall. I pushed
through and stripped, then crouched to let the wolf take over.

It had been too long since I last shifted.
My muscles bunched and cramped, twitching beneath my skin like a
full-body Charlie horse. I gritted my teeth as my frame rearranged
itself, bones lengthening to accommodate the additional muscle.
Finally with somewhere to go, the clenched muscles loosened, the
pressure eased. My claws dug into dirt as I stretched my new form,
pushing and dropping my haunches, then dropping my front end low
and stretching my hind-quarters all the way down to my toes.

Holy God, that felt good.

I pushed out of the thicket and into the
long shadows of dusk. Night wasn’t far off and the forest was
stirring. It was finally safe to be myself for a while. Suppressing
a howl of joy—I had enough human intellect left to know not to push
it—I took off at a sprint.

I ran for miles, free for the first time in
months to just
be.
Free of rules. Free of restrictions. Free
of my father. I wasn’t free of the anger, of course. It pulsed
below my skin like a second heartbeat. But as a wolf, it felt more
manageable, channeled into healthier pursuits, like hunting.

I cast about, testing the air for deer or
rabbit, something that would give a good chase. And then I caught
the scent. The same male I’d smelled on Elodie this morning. My
lips peeled back in a snarl as I lifted my nose, determined
direction. East. Toward the trailhead where the other driver had
parked.

I shouldn’t have followed the scent. Even
with some of the pressure released, my temper was still volatile.
But I found myself tracking him as the sun sank behind the
mountains and the sky bled with color.

When I realized I was hunting, I stopped
short, my human intellect throwing on the brakes before I did
something irrevocably stupid. I was not in control enough to do
this and trust that I wouldn’t act. Yet instinct demanded that I do
something
to this asshole for hassling Elodie. Scare him.
Rough him up. Teach him a lesson. I needed to protect her.

As if he’d make the connection between a
wolf attack and his actions earlier in the day.

I threw back my head and howled in
frustration.

And in the distance, I heard a long cry of
response.

~*~

Elodie

It was a supremely lousy
morning. My body was swamped with the kind of edgy, dragging
exhaustion that made me wish I actually liked coffee. The problem
of Sawyer had kept me awake into the deep hours of the night when
even the crickets and cicadas had gone to sleep.

He’d followed me home from the clearing that
day. It was the only explanation for how he’d known where I lived.
Combined with his mysterious disappearing act after our
confrontation, it added up to one thing: creepy. I wasn’t sure
which part disturbed me more—that he had followed me or that I
hadn’t sensed it. I should’ve been able to smell him at least. Of
course I’d been so rattled, it’s not like I was paying all that
much attention.

He knew where I lived.

Well, duh, he’d have known from dropping me
off anyway, but that wasn’t the same. He wasn’t just my boss’s son,
a cute guy giving me a ride. He could be a stalker. And contrary to
the heroines of some popular teen fiction, I wasn’t into that.

I called myself an idiot for my
paranoia.

Sure, I felt nervous as
hell around Sawyer, but it had nothing to do with fear for my
personal safety. I felt jazzed around him, electrified and
attracted in a way I’d never felt before. But what if my attraction
to him was making me blind to something more dangerous? I couldn’t
help but think about all the anger I sensed simmering just below
the surface. Sawyer was not someone I wanted to piss off. I tried
to imagine that rage directed at me, but I wound up less afraid of
him and more afraid of what I might to do to defend
myself.

I admit that I’m more
paranoid than the average teenager. It’s kind of a natural
byproduct when you’re forced to pick up and move across several
states, change your last name through less than legal channels, and
start a whole new life because your dad believes just enough of
your mother’s crazy for “just in case”. But the idea of somebody I
didn’t know just standing out there
watching
me,
following
me, freaked me the hell
out.

I was glad we were meeting at Hansen’s where
there’d be people and video footage.

Sawyer was leaning against the back bumper
of an ancient brown Jeep when I walked up, his face set in a scowl.
His was a real CJ-7, not one of those toy Barbie Jeeps like Amber
drove. He was upwind, and I could smell him—that curious mix of
evergreen and sweat and wild. And something else that I thought was
maybe irritation. The scent made my pulse speed up a notch. I took
a firmer grip on my pack strap, as if the gesture was somehow going
to steady me.

His gaze swung my way, and I felt the punch
of it in my gut, my heart thumping like a tympani in my chest. His
mouth curved in a smile that had me thinking all sorts of
inappropriate thoughts about what I wanted to do with it.

No.
No.
You do
not
want to make out with the hot
stalker guy. The
creepy
stalker guy, I amended.

“
Hey,” he said.

I tried to relax the white-knuckled grip on
my pack, while attraction and paranoia warred inside me. “Hey.”

Sawyer tipped his head toward the store.
“You need anything?”

A new brain? A boost to my
will power? For you to do something unutterably disgusting or
hateful so that I don’t find you so damned attractive despite the
fact that you may have been hanging around outside my house
watching me?
I shook my head, more in an
effort to shake the absurdity out of my brain than an
answer.

“
Let’s go then.”

As I climbed into the passenger seat, I
glanced around, on edge for a whole other reason as I looked for
evidence of the Barbie Squad. The last thing I needed was another
run-in with any of them. On that front, at least, it appeared I was
safe. Once Sawyer pulled out onto the road, I kept my eyes on the
tree line. Maybe if I didn’t look at him, it wouldn’t be so
bad.

The wind whipped my hair, bringing with it a
plethora of scents that my brain automatically tried to categorize.
My own nerves. Trees. Freshly turned earth. Exhaust from other
cars. Some kind of animal. It seemed my nose was getting more
sensitive. Or maybe I was getting better at separating things out.
I tipped my face up to get a better whiff.

“
Morning person,” said
Sawyer.

“
Sorry?” I
asked.

“
I was trying to figure out
if you’re a morning person or a night owl. If you weren’t a morning
person, you’d be hiding behind sunglasses and a thermos of coffee,”
he said.

I glanced at him, taking in the dark
wrap-around shades he’d slipped on and the to-go cup of java from
Hansen’s in the cup-holder. Covering bloodshot eyes because he’d
been up all night hanging outside my house? Ridiculous. “You’re
speaking in something other than monosyllabic grunts. That must
make you a hybrid.”

His lips curved in that half smile that shot
my internal temperature up five degrees. “Something like that.”

I had to look away again, grateful for the
cool morning breeze against my hot cheeks. I really, really had to
get this under control. What there was of my blunt cut fingernails,
I dug unobtrusively into my leg as a distraction. God, at least it
was only another couple of miles.

When he passed the turnoff for the research
station, I turned back to him. “Where are we going?” The question
came out a lot sharper than I’d intended.

Sawyer glanced at me, a frown line between
his brows. “Dad’s having us meet in one of the north quadrants. He
wants to start doing some prey density analysis.”

“
Oh.” I had to work to make
my shoulders relax. I could do this. Really, I could.

“
You okay, Elodie?” There
it was again. That talking to a scared animal tone he used all day
yesterday.

Relax.
“Fine. Just didn’t want to be late two days
running.”

Huh. Was that weird metallic scent on my
skin what a lie smelled like?

His irritation was back again. Good. Maybe
he’d get annoyed with my hot/cold routine and decide I wasn’t worth
the effort.

“
You’re a lousy liar,” he
said.

I didn’t dare look at him
because I didn’t have control over my face. “Wh…what are you
talking about?”
Damn it, damn it, damn
it.
Why couldn’t I keep my voice
steady?

“
You’re afraid of me
again.”

Damn straight.
Panic fluttered in my belly, and I coiled my
muscles prepared to… To what? Jump out of the Jeep if he made a
move? That was insane. We were going nearly fifty miles per
hour.

“
What did I do?” he
asked.

“
You followed me home.” The
words popped out before I could stop them. Well hell. I’d opened
this can of worms, I might as well follow through. “I never told
you which house was mine, but you already knew because you followed
me home the other day. Didn’t you?” My voice didn’t squeak as I
delivered the accusation. Bonus.

When he didn’t immediately respond, I got up
the guts to glance at him.

He looked…sheepish? Contrite?

“
Yeah, I did,” he
admitted.

Wouldn’t an actual stalker be trying to deny
the allegation?

“
Why?”

“
I was worried about you.
For all I knew, you were unstable and were just going to pick back
up where I’d stopped you. I wanted to make sure you got home
okay.”

Well didn’t that sound reasonable? It was
exactly the kind of logical explanation a stalker would come up
with.

“
And disappearing like some
kind of ghost and playing the creepy stalker was a preferable
alternative to actually walking me home?”

“
Would you have let me?” he
countered.

Okay, no, I wouldn’t, because I’d thought
him every bit as unstable as he’d thought me. “That’s not the
point.”

“
What
is
the point, Elodie? I screwed up.
I admit it. I freaked you out and followed you home all while
trying to do the right thing. End of story.”

My head hurt from trying to analyze his
scent and tone and words. He was angry, but not enraged. Defensive,
but who wouldn’t be against such charges? Sitting next to him in
silence, the whole thing felt stupid. He probably was telling the
truth. A nice person probably would have followed a presumably
unstable person home just to make sure they got there without
killing themselves. Right?

Before I could make any kind of reply—as if
there was an appropriate reply for this situation, we turned into
the parking area beside the trailhead, suddenly confronted by
dozens of cars and milling people.