That night, Blake leaves sooner than I expect.

His conversation with Ethan rings in my mind for the rest of the day—the tracks in the woods, the patrols, Blake joining them at midnight.

Through the last bits of today's training and meditation, it's all I think about.

When I step out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam behind me, I instinctively search for him. I glance down the hallway at his closed bedroom door, then at the kitchen, where Leyla and Thomas sit chatting quietly.

That silver string that usually shines from my chest is missing. Not even a whisper of the string shimmers, telling me he's far from the cabin.

For a moment, I doubt myself. Maybe I misheard him. Maybe he didn't say midnight, but his words stick in my mind so clearly.

I frown, shuffling into the kitchen to join the others.

"That was a long shower," Thomas remarks.

"I sweated in places I didn't know I could sweat in," I reply with a simmering look. "If you want me to take shorter showers, maybe we should reduce my training sessions."

"Nice try," he says, laughing.

Really, I'm just enjoying the hot water and the roof over my head. After spending so much time on the run, not knowing when the next hot shower will be, it's like torture each day to turn the water off and step out.

I can't imagine going back to life on the street. It's just another reason to keep hiding Bianca from Blake. If he decides I'm more trouble than I'm worth... I can't risk it. I can't go back to looking over my shoulder every five minutes.

No. I made the right decision, keeping my past hidden. Bianca, her husband, my so-called family... I just want to leave them all where they belong—in the past.

All that matters now is that I'm living in this cabin with a bunch of werewolves and soon, I'll be a werewolf too.

Speaking of werewolves, we're one werewolf short right now.

I grab a glass, fill it with water and take a seat at the kitchen table. A second passes, until I can't hold it in any longer.

"So," I start as casually as possible, "where's Blake?" Thomas chokes on his drink while Leyla only offers me the barest hint of an amused smile. My whole face warms. "Don't look at me like that."

"He's at the pack dinner," Leyla explains. "They're held around once a week at the main house. Gives the pack a chance to get together and speak to the Alpha."

"Why aren't you two there?" I ask. Thomas and Leyla share a grim look and embarrassment washes over me. "Oh. Sorry, I—"

"No, it's fine," Leyla cuts in. "We're not technically part of the pack, so..."

"We're unwanted," Thomas says.

"I'm sorry," I say, frowning. "Couldn't Blake do something about it all?"

Leyla's smile turns pained, and she looks away, sighing. "The pack hates his policies enough as is. He's doing the best he can."

The way she says it, it's clear she wishes she could be a true member of the pack. I search for words that could be considered comforting, but there's nothing to really say.

I have no idea how the pack works. I've never actually met any members other than Blake. All I can do is offer a sad smile and pat her hand.

"Anyway," Thomas says. "Sometimes they have a party after dinner. You know, to celebrate a birthday, or an anniversary, or some kindergarten graduation—"

"Werewolves find any excuse for a celebration," Leyla comments.

Thomas nods. "And eventually they get too drunk to notice who's in the crowd."

He gives me a conspiratory look which I return with a suspicious frown. "What are you trying to say?"

"Well, we sneak out of course," he says, as if it's obvious.

"You sneak out?" I echo with a gasp. "Does Blake know?"

"Oh, he doesn't go to the pack parties," Leyla says. "Or, at least, he doesn't stick around. I've never seen him at one."

I snort. That sure sounds like him. I shake my head at the pair. "You two are going to get yourselves into trouble someday."

"It'd be worth it not to sit in this cabin all day, every day," Leyla mutters. She sighs, shaking her head, and stands. "Well, screw them. Let's have a pack dinner of our own, right here."

"I like the way you think," I say, giggling.

"The Omegas!" Thomas cheers, lifting his cup into the air.

I take a sip of my water and pull my knees up to my chest. "I wouldn't want to have dinner with anyone but you guys."

"Aww," Thomas coos. "Me too." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "I probably shouldn't say this, but I'm glad you got bitten, Clover. It gets a bit lonely in this cabin."

"I'm glad too," I say. It's true. Being bitten, weirdly, solved all of my problems.

"Really?" he asks. "Even though you're stuck here with us now?"

I laugh. "You make it sound like it's the worst thing in the world."

He shrugs. "My life before all this was pretty different. I can't lie. I miss going out. Hanging out with friends."

I frown. I hadn't thought about that. There's nothing from my old life that I miss. Not Bianca, and definitely not being on the run.

But Thomas and Leyla, for all I know, lived normal lives before ending up here.

A part of me wants to ask how Thomas found himself here in the first place, but then I remember Leyla's reaction. I remember how I was bitten, and I decide I'd better not.

"Why can't you?" I ask instead. "Go out, I mean. In fact, why do you stick around here at all?"

"It's hard to explain," Leyla says. "You'll see after your transformation. There's just something about being a wolf that makes you want to be part of a pack. Thomas tried to leave."

He laughs, nodding. "I survived about two weeks before I came back. I missed having that...connection. Besides, it's harder than it sounds, not being able to tell anyone you're a wolf. When you go a long time without shifting, it becomes like an itch you have to scratch. Especially on the full moon."

"And where else can you shift without someone seeing," Leyla adds.

"Doesn't stop us from going out, though," Thomas says. "Mingling with the humans."

"There's just not much around here," Leyla says. "The diner's our usual spot."

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of the diner, but it makes sense. I met Blake that day, at that diner.

"Which is why the pack takes every opportunity to celebrate things," Thomas adds. "I guess it gets boring at the main house too."

I hum, going over their words in my mind. I guess it's a sacrifice, in a way. You have to live in the middle of nowhere to transform easily, but then you have to live in the middle of nowhere.

Either way, it's better than living in my old house, under Bianca's tyrannical rule.

"When you don't have to spend twenty-four hours a day training, we'll go out," Thomas says. "Maybe Blake will let us take one of the pack cars and we can go somewhere nicer than the local town."

"In the meantime," Leyla says, standing, "who's hungry?"

***

By the time I'm in bed, the sun long gone over the horizon, I can't sleep. My mind is too busy, thinking about the full moon and the pack, but most of all, thinking about Blake.

I can deny it all I want, but I'm worried about him. Whatever those tracks were...I just hope he doesn't run into any trouble.

I turn onto my side, checking my phone. An hour past midnight. Where is he?

I shouldn't be this worried—I barely know the guy—but I can't help it. I don't know where my feelings as Clover end and where my feelings as Blake's mate begin.

Huffing, I turn on my side and glare out the window. The moon is especially bright tonight. My entire room is bathed in its light.

I close my eyes. Maybe if I lie here long enough, sleep will eventually take me.

Burying my face into my pillow, I breathe in the smell of my bed sheets, a mixture of laundry detergent and soap. Fresh.

I don't know how much time passes until I catch another scent.

Earthy.

Blake.

I spring up in my bed and squint out the window. My bedroom faces trees, but I don't know where he's coming from.

I stare at the tree line, hoping to see some movement, when suddenly the cabin door bangs shut and the string on my chest flares to life.

"He's home," I whisper to myself.

My pulse quickens and I try to imagine him, opening the cabin door and shutting it behind himself. I wonder if he's okay. I wonder if he found anything.

I hold my breath, trying to listen to his footsteps in the kitchen. A tap turns on, then off again. A kitchen cabinet opens. Closes. More footsteps, and then...the front door opens again.

I frown. Is he leaving? When he just got here? I haven't even seen him yet.

Without thinking, I jump out of bed, kicking my legs free of the bed sheets as I race barefoot to the door. My feet shuffle silently down the hallway. My body remembers how to move around a house unnoticed.

I pass the peonies, perched in a vase on the kitchen counter. The curtains are pulled open, illuminating the room with moonlight.

I can smell Blake beneath it all. He was just in here. He's still nearby.

I rip the front door open and bolt into the cold night air, my eyes already on the horizon, searching for Blake's figure in the trees.

Except, he's not in the trees. He's on the porch steps, glass in hand.

I pause, suddenly feeling very vulnerable, and very stupid.

My pajamas aren't much, just whatever Leyla could scrounge up for me—a stretched gray t-shirt and some men's shorts that I had to tie tightly around the waist to fit.

His eyes land on me, blue and icy as always. Slowly, they trail down to my bare legs, then flick back up to my eyes.

My own eyes run over him, searching for any sign of how his night has gone, but there's nothing. He looks just as he did when he left, if not a little messier, a little wilder.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I thought you were leaving again," I say. My breath comes out of my mouth like a cloud, and I wrap my arms around myself.

"So, you came after me?"

I blush. When he puts it that way, it makes no sense at all.

"I guess. I wasn't really thinking," I say.

I don't even know why I came out here. What was the plan? To stop him? His brow furrows, confused. I don't blame him. Even I'm confused. I clear my throat.

"Why aren't you inside?" I ask, shifting the focus.

"Needed some alone time," he says.

His words are so sharp, they stab me right through the chest. I chuckle awkwardly and take a step back.

"Ah," I say. "I'll just...go, then."

Before I can turn, his hand covers my own, his large palm enveloping my fingers. Instantly, my nerves flare to life.

"Wait, I—didn't mean it that way," he murmurs.

I blink at him. What other interpretation of "alone time" is there? He doesn't look at me, just stares down at the drink in his glass. Slowly, I step towards him.

His arm turns slack, but his grip on my hand is firm as I step down the porch and take a tentative seat beside him.

"You're cold," he mutters, matter-of-factly. He shifts, pulling his sweater off his back and passing it to me. My eye catches on the sliver of skin at his hips when his shirt rides up. He shoves it back down and I rip my eyes away.

"Oh, I'm okay—"

"Put it on, Clover," he says.

How could I say no, when he says my name like that? Snapping my mouth shut, I tug the sweater over my head.

Instantly, I'm engulfed in his scent and his warmth. I inhale through my nose, savoring it for a moment.

Once the sweater is on, Blake slides closer so that our arms are touching. He's like a radiator, the way heat comes off him. I don't even need the sweater, sitting this close to him.

He lifts a hand, throwing back half of his drink in one go.

I can smell it—the sour scent of alcohol.

"How was it?" I ask, breaking the silence. He looks at me, frowns, and looks away. His eyes train on the thick grove of trees.

"They were right. Tracks. Human and wolf," he says.

"But...that could mean anything, right? It's not necessarily a bad thing," I say.

"Normally. Could just be a lost rogue. Could even be a hunter and a regular wolf." He pauses and takes another drink. "This was different, though. The tracks were blurred. Someone tried to cover them."

"Why would they cover them?" I ask, though I know the answer. Someone doesn't want us to know they were here.

"Doesn't matter," Blake says. He sets his glass down on the wood of the porch. "I don't want you to worry about these things."

"It's hard not to," I murmur. "Especially when you vanish like that."

He turns to me, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I just—" I sigh loudly and run a hand over my tired face. "I don't know. I can't explain it. I don't know if—if it's me, or this whole wolf thing, or... I don't know anything anymore."

He listens to me in silence. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Thoughtful.

"The wolf-side is you," he says. "Imagine...everything that makes you up is like a tiny drop in your body. When I"—he clears his throat—"bit you, that tiny drop started to grow. Multiply. That's what your wolf-side does. It's nothing new. It just magnifies everything that was already there. Turns it into a flood."

He glances at me and catches my confused expression. One hand lifts and trespasses into the air between us. I think for a moment that he might touch me, stroke my face, but it makes a sharp turn towards his own face.

Blake drops his head and squeezes the spot between his brows. His expression morphs to one of frustration.

"It will all make sense when you shift," he says. "You just have to get through it."

I sigh. As always, it comes down to the full moon.

It seems like my life has been placed on pause until the next moon. And even then, only if I survive.

I shove the thought from my mind. I don't want to think about death right now.

I look towards the sky and silently curse the moon. This is all its fault. All my confusion. This whole mixture of feelings inside of me. None of my actions making any sense.

Stupid moon.

I glare into the sky, like my eyes can take down the moon itself. It shines brightly tonight, clusters of stars winking beside it.

I never noticed it before, but the whole sky is lit up by stars out here. Here, where there's no light pollution blocking the view. It's like I can see the whole Milky Way stretching out in front of me.

I close my eyes and breathe in the cold air. It smells like winter. Another reminder that the full moon is coming sooner than I'd like.

My bare feet are frozen on the porch step, and I inch closer to Blake, trying to leech some heat off of him.

"Sometimes," Blake says, breaking the silence, "I come out here to just look at the moon."

"Do you howl at it?"

He dead-pans at my joke. "Very funny."

I shrug, fighting a smile. "I thought it was."

"Well, it wasn't."

I lift an eyebrow at his grumpy attitude. "Okay, wolf. No need to bark at me."

He shakes his head, muttering to himself, and I clamp my lips shut, holding in a laugh. Do all wolves lack a sense of humor, or is it just him?

I turn back to the sky, and we fall into silence. I can see why Blake would come out here to think.

"It's incredible," I say, voicing my thoughts. "I've never seen stars like this before."

He pauses. I can see the gears moving in his mind as he debates whether to respond or not.

A second later, he nods. His blue eyes close and his chest rises as he takes a deep breath in.

"It smells like winter," he says, his voice quiet.

I can't help it this time. A laugh bursts from my lips. He turns to me, bewildered by my sudden laughter.

"What?" he asks, frowning.

"Nothing," I say, though I can't help grinning. "It's just—I was just thinking that."

His brows jump, ever so slightly. "Were you?"

I nod. "It's just unbelievable. I mean, what does winter even smell like?"

"Like this," he says simply.

He inhales again, then suddenly pushes himself to stand. He takes one step up the porch and offers me a hand.

"Come on," he says. "We'd better get inside. Long day tomorrow."

I don't argue. I take his hand, and together, we go inside.