Chapter Nine

Once I'm on the road, it takes twenty miles, a sketchy GPS, and several long-winded curses before I hit a fork in the road. It's at this point that I realize that I'm not too far from home 2.0. Just a few more miles around the lake, and my Dad's house would be the first to break up the forest.

The realization sweeps across my skin like the touch of a ghost. I've probably skated near this place a thousand times, but I never stopped to listen to what lurked inside these woods.

I swallow the lump swelling in my throat and split off from the highway down the narrow, dirt road. The road itself is eerie; it's canopied by thick branches, illuminated only by the white lights of my car. The deeper I drive through the blackness, the stronger my regret grows. Maybe I should have stayed home? I could have locked myself in my room and tried to figure out all that gibberish that Damien gave me. But, my question about the wolf-boy seemed more important than the flower, at least, they did when Pete dropped me off at the house. I took less than a minute to grab my stuff to leave. I even had a few seconds to spare, enabling me to tuck the spell safely under my mattress.

I could have easily done that, as I could have just as easily confessed everything to Evelynn Lucke. She probably would have given me a new pill and I could forget that any of this stuff even existed. I could forget about The Fox Glove, and about my ruined formal dress...I could forget about him.

My gut twists at the thought. As easy as it would be, do I really want to forget?I mean, I would never know that someone is manipulating my mind. I would never find out who, or why, or even the length of time that this has been happening. I would forget those stark eyes and the way they made the hair stand on the back of my neck.

Then again, I would forget that I went all Buffy on him with my ice skate.

A normal person would have bled to death. Not him. He healed. In just a few minutes, his wound closed right up like he was a superhero or something—a werewolf.

I take a breath and count to twenty-three. That's as far as I get when the dark road blooms into an open, gravel parking lot. A dozen or so cars litter the area, the roofs of them glowing bright beneath the sign atop the run-down cabin. The red light reads Beauchamp's, and the blinking H keeps pace with my heart.

I park as close to the entrance as I can—incase I'm in need of a swift escape. The creaking wood of a small porch replaces the crunch of gravel in a matter of seconds, and then I'm parallel with a wide, green door.

The air wafting through the cracks of the door smells faintly of garbage, and even though the sign hanging in the window says open, I can't muster up the guts to turn the knob. Something is seeded deep in my gut and it's asking me to turn around. It's begging for me to walk away and to leave this be. Perhaps I really should go home, down a pill, and forget everything. That's what they'd want me to do—the person who's been giving me the Ironide, I mean. What if there's good reason for making me forget? What if I saw something horrific and the pills have provided me the opportunity to live life unscathed?

A grunt startles me, and in a blink, a gruff man is pushing past me, grumbling on that I'm in his way. He passes through the door, and then I'm blasted with a warm gust of loud chatter and the stench of beer. It's when he moves that I get a glimpse of men playing pool that I resolve to enter the building. I've come too far to turn back now. After all, I am a Conall—my curiosity will always be stronger than my fear.

Once I'm inside, I take a moment to observe the area. Straight ahead, the group of men are still gathered near the pool table, waiting while their buddy takes a shot at the eight ball, and they howl with laughter as he misses the shot. To the left of me is the L-shaped bar and between us are a dozen round tables and a row of leather booths along the cheaply papered walls.

"ID please?"

The voice jolts me, and when I look to my right, I'm met with a pair of terrifying, yellow eyes beneath a surplus of black makeup. The woman is in all black, including her hair, and perched on a stool with her arm extended. She tilts her palm towards me, displaying her full sleeve of tattoos. The ink resembles a painting I'd expect to see on the ceiling of a fancy church.

"ID," she repeats, only to shrug when I scour my pockets and come up empty.

I sigh, "Look, I promise you I'm not here to drink."

"That's fine," she says blandly, "but I can't let you in if you don't have ID."

"I'm just looking for someone. He told me to meet him here like, five minutes ago."

Her stoned expression doesn't change.

"Fine," I sigh, "I'll wait outside, but will you tell him that I'm here?"

The woman rolls her eyes, "What's his name?"

I freeze. I still have no idea what his name is. It's not like I can say 'I'm here for the werewolf.'

"See, the thing is—"

"Val, it's cool, let her in," a husky voice cuts through, and I know it's him by the way his tone sears my spine.

"Damn it, Beck," the girl shakes her head. "I'm not covering for your dumb ass again when Boyd finds out you're bringing your friends in. I took the fall last time and got my ass reamed!"

"Boyd can piss off. She's not here to drink."

"I don't give a damn why she's here."

"Oh, shove off," he smirks, only to give me a wink when our eyes make contact. "He won't even know."

"Right," Val snorts.Then, she turns her gaze on me, "Trust me on this, honey. You're better off drunk with this one. At least you can salvage some dignity in not remembering the night."

I shake my head, eyeing the scruff still lacing his jawline. "Thanks, but it's going to take more than a few cheap drinks for me to lose my self-respect."

Her face contorts, like she's not sure if I was insulting her or not. After a rapid blink, she says to the kid, "Whatever you've got going on, take it out back."

"Got it," he says, and before I can thank her for letting me in, he clasps his fingers around my wrist and pulls me through a hallway towards the back of the bar. We pass a couple girls in all black, leaning against the serving window., The way they've got aprons hanging off their hips and their hair tied back tells me they're the waitresses.

One of them cusses at us when we blaze past, and the wolf in front of me retorts with another curse and adds, "I'm taking a smoke break."

"You smoke?" I ask when we stop near the back door. He finally lets go of my wrist, only to unhook his leather jacket from the wall and tug it on.

He shakes his head and a few pieces of hair bounce against his jaw. "Nah, but it's the only way to get a decent break around here. They get more breaks in four hours than a non-smoker does in twelve."

When I walk out the door, I'm slammed with the crisp scent of fresh snow meshed with rotting food from the dumpster. I take a few steps away from the bar and towards the smaller gravel pit filled with three cars and a motorcycle. This must be where the employees are supposed to park.

"I half thought you'd chicken out."

I twist my back to the cars, only to face the kid with his hands in his pockets and eyes fully turned on mine.

"So...Beck, is it?"

"Yep. Beckett, technically," he says, the corner of his lip twitching toward a smile. "So, you gonna interrogate me now? Ask me a thousand questions to which I can cryptically reply?"

"That was my plan. At least, it was before your girlfriend tried to decapitate me."

His brows crash inward, and I wait for his expression to darken, but only a few seconds pass before he throws his head back to laugh. For some incomprehensible reason, this reaction enrages me.

"Oh, you're an idiot," he says between breaths.

"Yeah, well, Olivian wouldn't tell me anything. Now you know that she's definitely on your side."

"No shit, she didn't crack." He hops off the back steps, feet crunching across the frozen ground until he's a good foot away from me. "She's sworn to me by a blood oath."

My mouth drops. "A w-what?"

"A Blood-Oath. You know, like when someone carves the Lycan symbol into their arm and mixes your blood with theirs, blah blah blah. It's a long ass process that basically means they're bound to you til death."

"So, what, you guys are like, betrothed now or something?"

Beck cocks his brow. "Why, you jealous?"

I don't even dignify that with an answer.

"No," he finally says. "She's basically just sworn to protect me, and vice versa. It's like the ultimate form of trust for a witch."

Is that why she attacked me when I mentioned him? Because of some blood bond? I swear, it felt like something more, something deeper.

"Okay, so she is a witch. I knew it!"

"That's why you're an idiot for messing with her." He shifts the weight from his right foot to his left, and smirk on his face has fallen. "Look, don't make me regret telling you anything."

"Fine. Just don't lie to me."

"Fine."

I nod, making contact with his stark blue eyes. Strangely, he's different here. Less intense. I wonder if it's because we're on his territory, or if it's because I don't have a gun in my hand?

"How's your cut?" I ask it before I realize I want to, and I think he's surprised as I am that I did.

Swiftly, he pulls a hand out of his pocket and takes hold of the rim of his navy work shirt. He yanks it up to his ribcage, revealing a light trail of hair down the middle of his lower abs. There is absolutely no trace of cut or scar where my skate slashed his skin.

He lets his shirt drop, and a cocky smile smears across his lips.

"So, that's number one."

"What is?"

I shrug. "I'll call it The Perks of Being A Werewolf. Chapter one: Super-Speedy Healing Powers."

"Yeah? And what's number two?"

I know by his tone that he's mocking me, but I continue the list more for my benefit than his.

"A Weird Schnoz," I say, trying to keep composed. "I mean, you realized my pills were poisoned just by sniffing my hair."

His eye twitches. "I wasn't sniffing—"

"Tracing...fine, whatever." I brush back my hair, "Okay, so let's start with that. What is tracing exactly and what does it mean?"

"Tracing?" he shrugs. "Can't say I know the mechanics of it, but by sniffing you, I stored your scent."

A snort escapes me, and he groans, obviously annoyed. "It's just a precaution! Hell, you should thank me, if anything! I can track you now, which will come in handy if you're, oh I don't know, about to die again."

"I'm going to pretend not to be creeped out by that."

"Why are you creeped? It's a totally natural thing! Almost every predatory animal has the ability to sniff out their prey."

His face falls when mine crinkles, and his look carries that same annoyance he had when he was searching through my bathroom cupboard. The look reminds me of my sister Katie. She gets the same twitchy stare whenever something doesn't go her way.

"How old are you?" I blurt, but I'm not really sure why I want to know. He doesn't seem much older than I am, but then again, he looks like a rabid animal with his messy hair tied back. I bet he hasn't touched a razor in a month.

"Nineteen."

I open my mouth for another question, but he cuts me off with a growl. "Do not ask me how long I've been nineteen."

"Touchy much?"

"Like I said, vampires don't exist." His eyes are hard as stone, body shifting towards the forest.

I step forward, trying to level myself with him. He's still staring off towards the dark trees under a blanket of white.

"Why won't you tell me what happened?"

His eyes flicker to mine, just as bright as the first time ours connected in the cafe.

"I should just show you," he says, propping his hands above the band of his jeans, "but it's easy to confuse a memory with a story. It's better you figure this out on your own."

"Whatever. I should have my memories back tomorrow anyway." I mutter this beneath my breath, low enough for only myself to hear, but Beck perks up at the statement. Does he have super-sonic hearing too? How many other abilities does he have?

The corners of his eyes are tight, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think he was glaring. When he opens his mouth, a loud bang sounds from behind him, and the area we're in is flooded with yellow light.

Silhouetted in the open bar door, is a tall body with shoulders so wide I'm surprised he can even fit in the frame.

"Beck, what the hell you doing out here?" the voice is deep, with a harsh raspy undertone that makes my own throat feel scratchy.

"I told Rhys I was taking a smoke break."

The man grunts, "Get your ass back inside. You've got tables waitin."

"I'm comin! Gimme a minute!"

"Thirty seconds," the man says, and then the closing door rattles behind him.

Beck's body shudders as he decompresses with a fierce exhale.

"Wait for me," he says in a low voice after he steps in close to me. "I'll meet you when I'm off shift."

"So, I'm just supposed to fiddle with my phone until you get off work?"

"I'm serious. Don't go anywhere." He groans, eye twitching with his signature sign of annoyance. "You never know what's lurking in the dark."