Chapter 77

Rowena

I watched in horror as Eric began to fall.

“Eric!” His name tore itself from my throat as a ragged scream, my fingers digging gouges into the side of the car. He couldn’t fall here, not like this. I wouldn’t let it happen.

Despite Emma’s protests, I shot to my feet, prepared to leap over the car… only for a shrill whistle to cut through the chaos, freezing me in place. The sound seemed to come from somewhere off in the woods, although I couldn’t quite place the direction.

Almost as soon as the onslaught had begun, it ended—the warriors’ movements stuttering to an abrupt halt as their unfocused eyes snapped toward the source. Then, without any hesitation, they turned and bolted.

They disappeared into the trees, and then they were just… gone.

For a split second, a stunned silence fell over the parking lot. But I didn’t linger long enough to even collect my bearings. With my heart lodged firmly in my throat, I shoved away from the car and sprinted toward Eric’s crumpled form.

“Eric?” I fell to my knees beside him, hardly even noticing the cut of the pavement through my jeans. “Eric, are you alright?”

A ragged cough spilled from his lips as he struggled up onto his hands and knees. “I’m fine,” he muttered, although that couldn’t have appeared further from the truth. “I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt—”

“I’m fine.”

Emma appeared at my side a moment later, her eyes wild as she looked around. “We have to go,” she said. “They could come back at any moment.”

I nodded, standing and reaching for Eric. “Lean on me,” I said, taking note now of a deep red blossom of blood forming through his shirt sleeve. “You’re losing a lot of blood.”

Emma’s eyes widened even further, if that was even possible. “You weren’t bitten, were you?” she breathed.

I felt my heart stop. Eric froze, too, his blue-eyed gaze slowly raising to meet mine. But he shook his head. “No. I just hit my shoulder when I fell.”

For a moment, Emma and I glanced at each other. It was hard to tell through the blood, but… It was a possibility. Biting was supposedly how Wolf’s Fury was spread.

But there was no time to waste.

“Come on,” I said, looping my arms around Eric’s waist and helping him to my feet. “Let’s get home.”

…

The kitchen was silent as I cleaned Eric’s wounds; thankfully, our parents were out for the night on some trip, otherwise Eric would have been forced to go to the hospital.

He didn’t protest as I carefully disinfected and cleaned him, simply watching me with those piercing blue eyes of his as I worked.

Once I had finished securing a bandage over the laceration on his arm, I pulled back onto my haunches and chewed my lip.

“Eric…” My voice cracked. “We need to get you to one of those secure medical facilities. If you were infected—”

“I wasn’t.”

His words seemed so sure that it left me almost reeling. Staring up at me through the sweaty tangle of his blond hair, Eric simply shook his head and repeated himself with an almost eerie calm in his voice.

“I wasn’t infected, Rowena. You have my word on that.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but then closed it again. He seemed so sure of himself, far surer than I ever felt about anything.

“Promise?” I whispered.

Without a word, Eric reached up to curl his fingers around mine—his touch reassuring and solid as he brought my hand to his lips. He pressed a lingering kiss to my knuckles, letting his eyes slip closed for a brief moment.

“I promise,” he replied.

I felt my heart stutter at the sensation of his lips against my skin, something stirring deep inside of me. Without even really thinking, I threw my arms around him, pulling him close. A soft grunt escaped his lips, but he didn’t pull away; rather, he dug his fingers into the small of my back just above my hips and pulled me even closer, burying his face in my belly.

With trembling hands, I reached up and stroked his soft hair, running my fingers through its lengths. My heart seemed to pound erratically at the back of my ribs as something hidden and primal surged inside of me, urging me to bend down, to press my lips against his…

But the moment was short-lived, because a soft gasp echoed from the doorway before I could do it.

Turning, I was met with Emma’s accusing gaze.

…

I laid in my bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling. The only light was that of the small night light that I always kept plugged in by the door, casting the room in a dim blue glow.

It had been hours since everything had happened. I had showered and changed, brushed out my hair and washed my face, but I still felt… dirty. Unclean. Because I had been caught.

Emma, who was sharing my bed tonight, laid beside me and stared up at the ceiling as well. Neither of us had spoken about what she had seen in the kitchen, not yet at least. But I knew it was coming.

Sooner, it seemed, than I had hoped.

“Tell me the truth,” she said suddenly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I want to know the truth.”

I sucked in a deep breath through my teeth. “I don’t know what—”

“Don’t play stupid, Rowena.” Emma sat up and looked at me, her eyes dark and brooking no argument.

Fuck, I thought to myself. There was no use in lying now; she had seen what she had seen. Finally, with a sigh, I sat up and scooched back against the headboard, drawing my knees up to my chest.

“It’s… It’s true,” I finally whispered, my voice trembling as I spoke. “Eric and I…”

“Rowena!” Emma hissed, bolting to her feet in shock.

I shot my hand out to grab her wrist. “We never had sex!” I insisted. “Just…” I shook my head, swallowing. “I don’t know what’s happening, Emma. It’s like… like we can’t control ourselves around each other. Like we go feral.”

There was a long silence, and I fully expected Emma to rip her hand away from mine and bolt out of the room.

But she didn’t.

Instead, with a sigh, she sank back down onto my bed. “You’re sure you’re siblings?” she asked. “You two don’t exactly look… similar.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat. “Of course we are. I’ve seen my mom’s ultrasounds.”

“Childhood pictures?” she asked.

That was when I fell silent—because it was true. I hadn’t seen any. None before the age of two or three, at least.

“My parents say I was a sickly baby,” I replied slowly. “So they didn’t take any pictures, just in case I didn’t make it.”

Emma was silent again. When I looked up at her, her brow was in a deep furrow. Slowly, I released my grip on her wrist, and she didn’t get up and leave like I still expected her to.

Finally, after not saying anything for some time, she lifted her gaze to meet mine.

“Rowena,” she murmured, leaning closer, “if a mother is at risk of losing her little girl, don’t you think she would want to take even more pictures to remember her by?”