Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Caleb isn’t sneaky in his glances, but I don’t mind. I like it when he looks at me.
I readjust my position on the couch, shifting so I’m facing Caleb. He cocks his head to the side, a smile beginning to emerge as I shove my toes underneath his thigh. He’s wearing a pair of dangerously short exercise shorts, and I’m taking full advantage of the exposed thighs.
They’re warm, and they act as the perfect weighted blanket for my feet.
“Are you still sore?”
I ignore the question. I thought Caleb would be horrified to learn I’m sore and tender after last night’s activities, but the asshole enjoys it. The knowledge has stroked some part of his absurd male ego.
Caleb huffs, then turns back to his television. We rarely spend time in the living room, and we never watch TV, but Caleb insisted we leave work early to watch a sports game. It seems, despite the shifters’ hatred of our kind, they enjoy our athletics. I don’t understand it.
The TV announcer drones on, but I’m not paying attention. I don’t care for sports, especially American football.
I fight back laughter as Caleb leans forward, fully engrossed in the screen. I’d go as far as to say he looks nervous. It’s a close game, and Caleb is rooting for the losing team. He mumbles quietly to himself as the men line up on the field. I enjoy watching Caleb watch TV. It’s so mundane.
My laughter bursts free when Caleb groans and throws himself against the back of the couch. The announcer is droning on about an interception. Caleb looks about ready to yell at the screen, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed.
“Have you always been interested in watching grown men wrestle?” I tease.
The glare Caleb shoots me is frosty. “Why do you insist on bullying me today?”
It’s a distraction. If I’m not focused on Caleb and his every movement, then I’m thinking about the sharp kitchen knife I hid underneath my pillow while Caleb was showering this morning.
The game resumes. I eye my marking. The dark-red color remains unchanged, which is a good thing. Caleb would suspect something was wrong if it were to darken.
I’m sure it’ll change after I slit his throat.
It still shocks me how little he seems to care about the current color. If I were Caleb, I’d be livid. I’d be demanding to know precisely what he did to cause his mark to darken. I’d want names, dates, and addresses. Everything.
Caleb is too good for me.
I shift, cuddling up against him. He shivers as I slide my hand underneath his shirt, resting my palm against his chest. Our bond seems to hum between us, pleased with our physical contact.
“I’d crawl into your skin if I could,” I whisper.
Caleb doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s a really weird thing to say, Ev.”
I shrug. Caleb’s warmth seeps into me, the man practically a furnace. I’m going to kill him tonight. His warm body is going to grow stiff and cold. I’ll never feel his soft touch or hear his gravelly voice again.
“Did you know that most professional sports players before the exodus were shifters?” Caleb asks.
I didn’t know that, but it’s not surprising. Shifters are more athletic than humans, and it makes sense that they’d use that to their advantage.
“How did packs work when you lived among the humans?” I ask.
Caleb takes a moment to answer. “From what I know, it wasn’t too hard. Most of us lived deep in the country, and those in populated areas disguised their packs as exclusive, invitation-only clubs.”
“It’s just so hard to believe you lived among us for so long and we had no idea you existed.”
“Many humans knew about us,” Caleb admits. “The general population didn’t, but anybody in power was aware of our existence. There were…conflicts between us, and ultimately, we decided it was best to separate.”
“Why not just expose yourselves? Why leave?”
“We didn’t want the conflict,” Caleb says. “It was a complicated situation.”
We finish the game in silence, and I hold back tears as we head upstairs.
We shower together, and I milk every second of it. I take my time washing Caleb, memorizing every muscle and curve of his naked body. I even convince him to let me wash his hair, and I bite my tongue so hard, it bleeds as I work my fingers through the thick strands.
I’m wide awake when we finally crawl into bed, and I stare at the ceiling while waiting for Caleb to fall asleep. The hours pass by at an agonizing pace.
Am I really going to do this? I have to.
This is bigger than Caleb and me. I need to protect the human population as a whole, and if I fail, so will they. I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for the millions of young human children who deserve to grow up in a world not plagued by the constant threat of death.
We don’t stand a chance against the wolves, and we need to fight back while we still can. It’s our only hope. I’m our only hope.
Caleb’s fingers twitch against my thigh. I roll onto my side, facing him.
His chest rises and falls in a slow, even rhythm, and his pupils dart behind his eyelids. He’s asleep.
I reach into my pillowcase, confirming my knife is where I placed it earlier. It is. I drag my finger along the point, hesitating, before pulling it out. The knife is lightweight, and I readjust when my palm grows sweaty.
I have to do this.
Despite my best attempts to remain calm, my heart pounds as I glance at the clock and realize it’s three in the morning. The sun will be rising in a few short hours. I’m out of time.
I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Caleb. His reflexes are too quick, and I should keep as much distance between us as possible. I can’t let him grab me.
Tears blur my vision, and I roughly wipe them away as I stare at Caleb’s sleeping form. His dark eyelashes cast a shadow on the tops of his cheeks, and his full lips are open just the tiniest bit. I want to kiss him and feel his lips on mine one last time, but I won’t take the risk.
My movements are slow and calculated as I plant a knee onto the bed and lean just close enough to reach his throat. I make sure his pupils are still fluttering behind his eyelids, confirming he’s asleep, before bringing the knife to his neck.
I’m sorry.
The blade reflects the small amount of light coming in through the window. Is it coincidental that the hand I’m using to kill Caleb is the same one that holds my mark? The color appears black in the dark, but maybe that’s just how it looks now.
I imagine killing your mate is enough to have it turn as black as night. It’ll be a permanent reminder of what I’ve done. Every day, I’ll look at it and remember Caleb, and every day, I’ll remember how it felt to drag a knife across his throat and watch the life vanish from his eyes.
The humans will paint me a hero.
I watch Caleb, admiring his jawline. It’s strong, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve run my tongue along it. It’s one of my favorite things to do, especially when he’s just shaved and the skin is still smooth.
I bring the knife to his throat, suck in a slow breath, and slice.
I might as well be watching myself through a movie screen.
My hand feels disconnected from my body as the tip of the sharp blade drags across Caleb’s skin like butter.
I apply more pressure, needing to make sure I cut entirely through his jugular, but a hand clamps around my wrist before I can completely slice through the vein.
Caleb’s eyes fly open. He makes a choked noise as he rips my hand away from his throat.
My knife cuts his shoulder, and I manage to yank my hand from his grip and scamper backward before he gets a better hold on me. My back slams against the doorframe, sending a hot spike of pain up my ribcage.
I ignore it.
The knife is still in my fist, and blood seeps from Caleb’s neck and into the sheets below. His mouth is open, but no words emerge as he slams his palm over his throat and struggles to sit up. He’s significantly more alert than I anticipated. God fucking dammit.
I dart out of the room. There’s no banging of footsteps behind me, but I’m not taking any risks. Caleb is awake, and I’m not entirely sure if he’s going to live or die. Either way, I need to get out of here.
The car keys are sitting on the entryway table, and I scoop them up before running barefoot to the car. In my planned scenario, I killed Caleb and had time to get dressed before leaving.
Snow sticks to my bare feet, painful but easy to ignore. Music blares as I turn on the car, but I don’t bother adjusting any settings as I back out of the driveway and turn onto the road.
The engine gives a little whine before bursting into life, and I white-knuckle the steering wheel as I make my escape.
If Caleb isn’t dead, there’s a good chance he’ll send his pack after me within the hour.
I suspect they can travel faster than this shitty vehicle.
It doesn’t help that they aren’t limited to the roads, either.
I turn off the radio, needing silence.
My toes burn as the snow on my feet and legs melts, and I pull my eyes off the road for a moment to adjust the heat. I’d like to make it to the HPAW meeting point without hypothermia.
Caleb’s blood covers my hands, the crimson moisture smeared across the wheel and gearshift. I hate having it all over the place, but I don’t have anything to wipe it off with. I’m only wearing his shirt, and I don’t want to stain it with his blood. I plan to keep it as some sick, twisted memento.
The roads are empty, which I expected, but the snow makes them hard to drive on. At least there’s no ice. It’d be humiliating if I went through all this work, only to crash into a tree and die.
Despite my attempts to keep my tears from escaping, my eyes have other plans. Wetness streams down my cheeks and drips down my neck. I wipe it away, angry with myself. I always knew how this would end.
I don’t get to cry about it now.
Is Caleb dead? No human would survive that injury, but Caleb’s no human. Shifters have exceptional healing. Can he heal from such a traumatic injury, though? There’s no way. Questions continue to swarm my mind, all blending until I can’t possibly make sense of them.
Are the shifter borders guarded? If they are, I’m in for a world of trouble. It’s too late to change course and adjust my plan. HPAW gave me a meeting point, and I’ll do everything in my power to get there.
My eyes continually dart toward the forest on either side of the road. Are the shifters coming after me? They’re fast, and they can cut through the forest while I’m forced to drive on the road.
Caleb is most likely dead.
The realization steals my breath.
Did he follow me downstairs? Were his final moments spent desperately trying to get to me, only to watch as I ran away? I wanted to stay with him until it was finished, but I was startled when he grabbed my hand.
He was too alert.
He still had the advantage.
Did he understand that I betrayed him? Did he have time to put the pieces together?
Hours pass, and the sky is a haze of pinks and blues when I’m forced to pull over at an abandoned gas station. I’m on empty, and I really fucking hope there’s still gas here. There has to be. Shifters might not use vehicles recreationally, but surely they do for shipping and other industrial needs.
The station door creaks as it swings open. The place is untouched, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was still in use. The humans left in such a hurry when the wolves took over.
I find a hat, thick socks, and a pair of slip-on rubber shoes in a small clothing aisle. I don’t hesitate to shove them on. I’m freezing.
There’s a manual gas pump in the back room. It’s small but surprisingly heavy, and my arms burn as I drag it outside. There should be a small maintenance hole cover, and I kick around the snow until I find it.
When I finally pry it open, I’m met with the pungent smell of gasoline. Thank the fucking heavens.
I hope I don’t blow myself up.
HPAW trained me on this, and I follow their instructions as I set up the manual pump and begin pulling up the gas. It takes several minutes for gas to start pouring out, and I secure the hose into the car’s gas tank the moment it does.
There’s no way to know how much is in the tank, so I pump until my arms burn, then remove the hose and start the engine. The gas gauge displays halfway, and I shut off the car to resume pumping. I need a full tank.
My arms are going to be sore.
My annoying tears resume as I work on pulling up the gas, the stress of today bubbling over at the worst time possible. I’m tired and cold and hungry, and I just killed the man I love. Those aren’t the makings of a great day.
Or year. Or even life.
I continue pumping until the damn thing jams. It won’t fucking budge, and I resist the urge to scream as I place all my weight on it. It still doesn’t move.
Piece of fucking trash.
I check the gas gauge again. It’s three-quarters full, which I suppose I’ll have to make do with. I’m meeting HPAW in a small, abandoned town just beyond the shifter border. It was evacuated a little over thirty years ago, making it a good, private spot for HPAW to wait for me.
I should be able to make it there on three-quarters of a tank. I’ll be cutting it close, but I’ll be transported to an HPAW vehicle once arriving.
Caleb consumes my thoughts as I drive. I fluctuate between bone-deep regret and grudging resolve.
I had no choice.
I did this for the millions of innocent humans HPAW protects. Killing Caleb was my only option.
Except it wasn’t.
I shake my head, refusing to let myself indulge that thought as I drive down a now-empty highway.
I avoid driving through the once-populated Canadian cities, sticking to the abandoned highways that go around them. I never learned the exact locations of Caleb’s pack members, and I’d rather not run into a pocket of them.
My gas tank is teetering on empty when I finally pull up to HPAW’s meeting point. This place is a ghost town, and my gaze flickers toward the rooftops as I drive down the main road.
There’s a gunman on the roof of one of the buildings, the man impossible to spot unless you know what you’re looking for.
That’s where I need to be.