I managed to be up and ready for school early the next morning, which was definitely a first. Then again, I didn’t usually get to nap—twice—in a day, so that probably helped. On the way out of my room, my booted toe hit something, and plastic crackled. I looked down and found a bag peeking out from under the edge of my bed. The green hoodie I’d bought at the mall last week. I’d totally forgotten about it. Smiling to myself, I put it on over my tee and zipped it up before heading downstairs.
I scanned the note my mother had left on the counter, telling me she’d be home late, finishing inventory. It made me think of Julie and George, and whoever might be next. Painful images of Angela or Sam, their skin marred by teeth marks, distracted me as I headed out the door and locked the deadbolt behind me. A glint of silver caught my eye, and I turned. An Aston Martin idled at the curb. Wes stood in front of it, leaning against the passenger door. The sun shone brightly on his hair, making it look more of a burnished bronze color and casting a golden glow around his face.
No magnetic force was needed; the desire to go to him and wrap my arms around him was pure physical attraction. I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and walked over.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Driving you to school.” He turned and opened the passenger door for me. “Consider it guard dog duty,” he added, in a half smile.
Once inside, I found my seat already toasty warm, as was the rest of the car. Wes came around and got in, revving the powerful engine and easing us forward.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, as he steered us onto the street.
“Much better. My arm barely hurts anymore, and I think I got enough sleep to last me, like, three days.”
“Don’t be so sure. You start training today and Jack doesn’t go easy, believe me.”
“Yeah, the thought of having to fight him is a little intimidating,” I admitted.
“He won’t fight you today. He’ll start with the basics.”
“Well, when will we get to the fighting part? I don’t exactly have time to start slow.”
“It’s not like you can learn this stuff overnight, Tara. It’ll take time.”
“Well, I don’t have time. Can’t you guys give me the accelerated version or something? I need to be able to defend myself and, more importantly, everyone else. Leo could try again any time. I need to be ready.”
“If you try to go too fast, you could get hurt. Your muscles aren’t used to battle yet. You need to condition them slowly, or they won’t be ready, and you could seriously hurt yourself. Then you won’t be able to protect anyone.”
I knew he was right, but I was too impatient to want to hear it. “How do you know how my muscles will react? I’m sure it’s not quite the same for Werewolves.”
“No, it’s not. But I’m not just a Werewolf, remember?”
“Right, Dirty Blood,” I said. He gave me a hard look. “Sorry, does that term bother you?”
“Would ‘white trash’ bother you?”
“Point taken. So that’s how you know about a Hunter’s physical abilities.”
“I have an idea, yes.”
“And is that why you can move like that? Because you’re both?”
He seemed to be considering my question. “We think so,” he said, slowly. “There’s no precedent or comparative information but we think it’s a matter of me getting the best of each race’s attributes so the strength and speed are twice as much.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He kept his eyes on the road and for the first time ever, I thought I saw a hint of red color his cheeks. “It’s complicated.”
I waited, but he didn’t say more. Maybe it was because he always seemed so sure of himself but it took me a moment to realize he was actually embarrassed. “It’s not really that big of a deal,” I said with a shrug, hoping to ease his discomfort.
This time he did turn to look at me, and his eyes flashed. “Actually, it is a big deal. Werewolves don’t look kindly on it. It’s a disgrace to our lineage. And Hunters, well, they don’t really know what to do with me. It’s kind of a mess. The only group that’s ever really accepted me is The Cause. Then again, they look at it as the ultimate peacemaking tool.”
“Well, if you think about it, it is a good way to bridge the gap. I mean, there probably aren’t too many of you out there but—”
“None,” he said, cutting me off in a grim voice. “I’m the only one.”
“Is that why Leo hates you so much?”
He nodded, his mouth a hard line. “Probably. To him, I’ve betrayed our kind twice. Once just by being born and again by joining The Cause.”
We rode in silence for a few minutes. I wasn’t really sure what to say. I was starting to realize why his mixed genes were such a big deal. Clearly, it bothered and even embarrassed him to tell me. But I also felt like there was a lot about it that I still didn’t understand. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched with tension. New questions popped into my head, but I bit my tongue. I decided it was probably best to let it go for now. We were almost to school, anyway.
We got stuck in traffic; the long line of cars waiting to pull into the student lot was creating a traffic jam at the entrance so we had to stop for a while and wait for an opening into the drop-off lane. While the car idled, a familiar face rolled up next to us. Cindy Adams, in her family’s Taurus, gawked openly at the Aston Martin’s shiny silver paint and sleek lines. Her eyes settled on the darkly tinted windows and I could see her straining to see inside. When I realized she couldn’t, I felt a smirk cross my face and before I could resist, I was pressing the automatic window button, letting the glass slide down a few inches.
“What are you doing?” Wes asked, eyeing the descending glass. He knew I wasn’t a fan of the cold.
“It’s kind of hot in here,” I said, still watching Cindy. Her eyes were almost popping out of her head, trying to see over the tiny crack of the window. I knew she had to be dying to know who was inside. We didn’t see a lot of flashy cars at our school. Most of the kids who could drive got their parents hand-me-downs, so nothing was brand new, much less luxury class. I hit the window controls again, letting it slide down another inch.
“I can turn the heat down,” Wes said.
“It’s okay. I want the fresh air,” I lied.
Finally, I couldn’t help myself any longer, and I pushed the control and sent the window all the way down, revealing my face. Cindy’s expression registered surprise and then open envy as her eyes went from me to the car and then finally, to Wes. She stared at him for a full thirty seconds before she realized I was still watching her. I smiled with devious satisfaction as she tried—and failed—to smooth it over into a blank stare. The traffic moved, and we inched past her. I rolled up the window, still smiling to myself.
“Who was that?” Wes asked.
“Just some girl I know,” I said. At his stern look I added, “Her name is Cindy Adams, and she’s basically been president of the We-Hate-Tara club since sixth grade.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction, like he was still trying to understand what was so great about letting her see me in the car. Did he not own a mirror? The second he pulled up to the curb, I grabbed my bag and hopped out before he could question me further.
“Two thirty?” he called.
“Two thirty,” I confirmed. “See you then.” I pushed the door shut and hurried toward the entrance.
“Holy Mother …”
I looked up to find Sam blocking my way up the steps, but she wasn’t watching me. She was watching the back end of the Aston Martin as it disappeared around the corner. I stopped and waited for her to turn her attention back. When she did, it was with both eyebrows raised.
“Was that the guy?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, hesitantly.
She let out a whistle and a couple of sophomore guys stopped and grinned a
t Sam with eager faces that she ignored. “Wo-ow,” she said, falling into step beside me. “He’s a little bit gorgeous, with some yummy on the side. I thought you said that phone call was a bust.”
“Well, it was. At first, anyway. But he came over yesterday and we hung out and …” I let the sentence hang. Aside from the Hunter stuff, I had absolutely no idea what was going on between Wes and I, if anything.
“Hanging out is good,” Sam said, easily accepting my explanation. Then again, with Sam, “hanging out” was as serious as it got. “Does George know?”
“They’ve met,” I said, carefully.
She snickered. “How’d that go? Any violence?”
“It was touch and go.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Seriously, though, George has no say anymore. He doesn’t get to be mad or have an opinion. We’re not together.”
“Yeah, good luck telling him that.”
“I know.” The first bell rang, signaling we only had a few more minutes to get to class and Sam and I parted ways.
~ 18 ~