The Awakening

Twenty-four

I SLAPPED ONE OF the knives into Tori’s hand and told her to run. She did, sprinting ahead, her long legs soon leaving me behind, which was not what I’d meant. But we had enough of a head start. We just needed to get—

I glanced back at my pursuer and missed the curb. I stumbled and tried to recover, but my injured knee gave out and I sprawled onto a strip of grass. I dug in with both hands, ready to scramble up, but the girl landed on my back and the wind flew from my lungs.

We fought—if you could call my frantic kicking and flailing a fight. Soon she had me pinned on my back, knife at my throat. That stopped me.

“I—I—I—” I swallowed. “I’m sorry. Do you want my jacket? My shoes?”

Her face twisted in disgust. “You don’t have anything I want, blondie.”

She wrenched down my hood and yanked a handful of my hair. I winced and bit back a yelp.

“Red streaks?” A humorless laugh. “You think that makes you tough? Makes you cool?”

“N-no. If you want my shoes—”

“They’d never fit me. I wanted your friend’s jacket, but she’s long gone. Nice friend you’ve got there. Never even looked back.” The girl eased up, knife still at my throat. “It was a taser, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“What she did to me back there. She tasered me, then my girls. I bet you thought that was funny.”

“N-no. I—”

“I said I was going to teach you a lesson, and since you don’t have anything I want…”

She lifted the knife until the point was an inch over my eye. I saw that tip coming down and went nuts, writhing to get free, but she had me securely pinned with her arm on my neck, cutting off my air as I struggled, and all I could do was watch that point coming straight for my eye. A whimper burbled up from my gut. She laughed and lowered the blade to rest on my cheekbone.

The tip pressed in. I felt the jab of pain, then hot blood trickling down my cheek.

“This is no life for pretty girls, blondie. A cute little thing like you? I’ll give you a week before some player has you turning tricks. Me? I’m lucky. I don’t have to worry about that.” She tilted her face, showing me her badly scarred cheek. “I’m going to do you the same favor.”

The knife bit in, digging deeper. I closed my eyes against the pain, then felt the girl leap off me with a snarl of rage.

As I scrambled up, I realized it wasn’t her snarling. And she wasn’t leaping off me—she was sailing up, eyes wide, knife dropping point down in the earth as Derek wrenched her into the air. He swung her straight at the wall.

I screamed “No!” I thought it was too late, much too late, but at the last moment he checked himself, so abruptly that he stumbled. The girl flailed and kicked. Her foot made contact. Derek didn’t seem to notice. He looked around, saw the fence and, with a grunt, heaved her over it. She crashed onto the other side.

I was almost on my feet, unsteady, shaking. He grabbed my collar and yanked me up.

“Move!”

I found the fallen knife and snatched it. He shoved me forward so hard I stumbled. Then I started running. He got in front, leading me. We’d gone about a quarter mile when he spun, meeting my gaze with a look that made me shrink back. He grabbed my upper arm and held me still.

“Did I tell you to stay put?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did I tell you to stay put!” he roared.

I glanced around, afraid we’d be heard, but we were behind a row of stores, all the windows dark.

“Yes.” I kept my voice low and even. “You did. But you also told me to watch out for Tori, and she took off.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Tori. If she walks away, let her. If she steps in front of a bus, let her.”

When I looked up at his eyes, I saw the terror behind the rage and knew who he was really mad at—himself, for almost throwing that girl into the wall, just like the boy in Albany.

Saying nothing, I pried his fingers from my arm. He pulled back, clenching and unclenching his hand.

“If she takes off, let her go,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t care what happens to her.”

“I do.”

He stepped back, rubbing absently at his forearm. When he saw me watching, he stopped.

“It’s an itch,” he said. “A normal itch.”

“Have you had any other symptoms? Fever or—”

“No,” he snapped. “Don’t change the subject. You need to be more careful, Chloe. Like earlier, with that body. You need to think about what could happen.”

He was right. But seeing him scratching reminded me that I wasn’t the only one who’d been careless, who’d ignored a potential threat.

“And what about you?” I pointed as he scratched his arm again. “The werewolf who hasn’t had his first Change yet, but knows he’s developing fast. Yet when you started getting restless, feverish, itchy, it never occurred to you that you might be Changing early? You let it slide…until it starts on the night we’re supposed to escape.”

“I wasn’t going with you guys—”

“But if I hadn’t stayed to find you, Simon wouldn’t have left. You could have botched the escape because you didn’t know what was happening to you.”

“I didn’t.”

“Like I didn’t know I could raise the dead in my sleep. But did I chew you out? Did I even mention how close I came to getting caught because I stayed to help?”

He looked away, jaw working, then said, “I tried to help you, too. And got this.” He gestured to the scratch on his cheek.

“Because I woke up with a guy pinning me to the floor! I know you were trying to keep me from seeing that zombie crawling on me. A good plan, poorly executed. Then you totally lost patience and kept barking orders.”

“I was trying to help.”

“And what if I’d done that to you? Yelled at you to finish Changing before we got caught?”

He looked away again. “I…About that night. I haven’t said…” He squared his shoulders. “We need to get back. Simon will be worried about you.”

We walked about twenty steps in silence, me trailing him. When his shoulders bunched, I knew he was thinking about it again, and I prayed he’d let it go. Please just let it—

He spun on me. “Next time when I tell you to stay, I mean stay.”

“I’m not a dog, Derek.”

I kept my voice steady, but his jaw tensed, green eyes flashing. “Maybe not, but you obviously need someone to look after you, and I’m tired of doing it.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Didn’t we agree to stop bickering?”

His face darkened. “This isn’t—”

“You’re mad at yourself and you’re taking it out on me.”

I meant to be reasonable, but he exploded, coming at me so fast I backpedaled and hit a chain-link fence.

“I’m mad at you, Chloe. You took off. You got in trouble. I had to rescue you.”

He kept coming at me. I pressed against the fence, the links whining in protest.

“And stop doing that,” he said. “Backing away, giving me that look.”

“Like you’re scaring me? Maybe you are.”

He stepped back so fast he wobbled and caught himself, and the look on his face—It vanished in a second, the scowl returning.

“I’d never hurt you, Chloe. You should know—” He stopped. Paused. Then wheeled and started walking away. “Next time? Handle it yourself. I’m done taking care of you.”

I wanted to fly after him, yell that I hadn’t asked him to take care of me, didn’t need it, didn’t want it. Not if this was the price—his rage, his guilt, his scorn.

Tears prickled. I blinked them away and waited until he was far enough that he wouldn’t turn on me again. Then I followed him to Simon.

Tori was already there. She didn’t say a word to me, as if mentioning what happened would mean explaining why she’d left me behind.

No one said much of anything. We were all too tired and too cold. Our new spot was a delivery bay. Safe, but the north wind blew right in. We huddled against the walls with our thin blankets pulled around us, and tried to sleep.