Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Someone knocked on our front door less than a minute after Mom left. Thinking she’d forgotten her keys, I wiped my face and went to open it for her.
Sam’s brown gaze swept over my face.
I had zero warning before he hugged me. Not a polite, loose embrace, but full body contact with enough squeeze that his pectoral was doing its best to imprint itself on my cheek.
“I didn’t realize we were this close,” I said, blissfully muffled by his bicep.
“What happened? Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice rough.
Did crying upset him? He smelled good. Was that cologne or deodorant? Did I care?
Already addicted and breathing him in, I agreed with Mom’s assessment of his danger factor.
“Clarity?”
His pec jumped under my cheek as his hand moved on my upper back. My eyes went wide as I realized he might be getting the same full frontal impression of me.
Crap. Please only feel my boobs and not my stomach pudge, I thought as I stepped out of his hold.
His gaze traced over my face again.
“What happened?” he repeated.
“Nothing. It was great.”
Was “great” a valid rating for the best hug I’d ever received from a guy? Fine…the only hug from a guy ever.
His worry switched to confusion, and I realized he wasn’t asking why I’d stopped hugging him. He wanted to know why I was crying.
“Sorry, I meant the outcome of the emotional conversation I had with my mom was great. Well, mostly great.” I’d been ungrounded from everything I’d enjoyed pre-Sam. “Did you need something? Milk? Sugar?” I would have offered eggs, but mine were still off limits, unfortunately.
“No. I was just worried about you. Your mom left in a hurry.”
“Oh. Yeah. Her work called.”
“Do you need a ride to school?”
I glanced at the time and shook my head. “Not worth it at this point. I’ll just do my assignments at home. But thanks for the offer and for stopping by to check on me.”
The subtle mid-west cue to end the visit slipped right by him.
“Have you had lunch yet? Do you want to come over and eat with me?”
He was being so nice, and I wanted to say yes, but Mom’s latest break was still too fresh to ignore.
“I’ll pass. I should really start on dinner and my homework.”
He nodded, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and didn’t move to leave. I waited.
“I’m not sure what to do,” he said finally. “I like talking to you, Clarity, but I don’t want to make things worse by coming around.”
My heart tripped so hard that it felt like it was falling and floating at the same time.
“I like talking to you, too,” I said quickly, uncaring that he probably only meant in friendship. “But maybe not this week. My mom needs a chance to calm down.”
“Did she say why she doesn’t like me?”
“She did, but her reasons aren’t your problem. They’re hers.”
I was not going to tell my crush that my mom suspected he and his family were werewolves. No one actually admitted out loud that they believed in werewolves anymore. It was an unspoken rule to keep the peace.
“It was nice of you to introduce yourself today,” I continued. “I’m sorry for how she treated you.”
He shrugged in a laid-back way that made me want to hug him again. Full contact. Pec to cheek. It felt so good.
I cleared my throat.
“Was the pumpkin farm where you were staying?”
“No. A neighbor, but a family friend, saw you there and told me. I’ll see you soon, Clarity.”
I nodded, and he left, walking around the shrubs.
Across the street, Mr. Denkle watched him from his window. Mom had probably called him to keep an eye on the house. Hopefully, she didn’t say why. I really didn’t want to end up a ward of the state.
Closing the door, I went back to my room for the night.
The popcorn I’d eaten for dinner was a distant memory by morning. I skipped a shower, dressed, and packed my things. Mom was in the kitchen when I finally left my room.
“I made pancakes,” she said.
“No thanks.”
“Please talk to me, Clarity.”
“What’s the point when you’re not listening?”
“Do you like him?”
I paused, hand on the door handle. She sounded calm and curious, a reasonable Mom emotion when a daughter started talking to a boy.
“He’s new and interesting. When I ask a question, he does more than respond. He tries to keep the conversation going. I like having him as a neighbor. I like talking to him. And I like looking at him. But I’m a realist who’s aware of her shortcomings.
“If you’re worried I’ll be a heartbroken mess when I find out I’m not the girl of his dreams, don’t.
He’s not my first crush, Mom. I’m sure he’ll be dating someone else in a few weeks if he doesn’t already have a girlfriend.
But if it makes you feel better, I can walk to the library after school and load up on books so I don’t come out of my room until then. I’ll see you later.”
Her sigh followed me out the door.
Before I reached school, a new message popped up on my reader.
Check out the section on werewolves when you’re there. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner.
Shaking my head, I switched back to my portal fantasy and let reality melt away until I reached the security checkpoint.
Once inside, I settled in for the mind-numbing boredom of the public school system and questioned my sanity for rejecting homeschooling when Mom offered it.
I could have wrapped up the curriculum in less than a month, instead of waiting until the end of the winter term.
And I could bet that Grandma wouldn’t care what I ate or who I talked to.
She probably wouldn’t have paranoid delusions about werewolves, either.
On the way to the library, I debated actually taking Mom up on the offer. The reasons to leave outnumbered the reasons to stay. By a lot.
However, the reasons to stay carried more weight.
I didn’t know my grandma. She sent me cards every year but never visited or called. I’d be living with a stranger and potentially facing new rules that I wouldn’t like.
Mom and I only had each other, except for my grandma. If she really was going through something, leaving her would be a shitty thing to do.
And even though I’d only met Sam a few days ago and didn’t really know him, I was reluctant to say goodbye just yet.
As soon as I stepped inside the library, all my unpleasant thoughts faded at the familiar smell of books. I glanced longingly at my usual favorite sections, then veered toward the main desk.
“Hey, Clarity.”
“Hey, Mr. Clint. Do you have a werewolf section?”
The town librarian smiled. “Diversifying your interests?”
“By request. Hopefully I’ll find something interesting.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will.” He led me toward a narrow shelf tucked between outdated magazines and a section of DVDs I doubted anyone had touched in years. “Most of it’s romantic fiction—some horror. These three are non-fiction. If you’re looking for something specific, let me know.”
“Got it. Thanks, Mr. Clint.”
As soon as he walked away, I pulled one of the non-fiction books free, surprised it was actually labeled non-fiction.
Despite all the official retractions and debunkings, some people—like my mom, apparently—still believed werewolves were real. What happened after those videos first aired wasn’t talked about openly anymore.
The fear. The chaos. Neighbors turning on neighbors.
Probably because of the statistics that had followed.
No confirmed werewolf deaths. Not one. Every victim had been human. Every killer, too.
That was when the questions started. Why would werewolves come forward at all if they were real? What did exposure gain them? Instead of a warning, it had been the spark that set everything on fire.
Whatever the truth, the conclusion was the same. People stopped accusing each other, mostly because so many stopped believing werewolves were real. And the ones who still did stopped saying it out loud.
But how cool would it be if they were real?
I looked at the book in my hands. The thin spine had no crease. Obviously, not popular reading material.
The History of Herewolves as recalled by Bethi Pederson.
I read the next title, I’ve Been Bitten. Now what?, and quietly giggled.
The final one didn’t seem nearly as entertaining.
Facts and Myths About Werewolves.
Curiosity won.
Since they were thin and I had some time before Mom reported me missing, I settled into a nearby chair and started there.
According to the author, werewolves looked exactly like humans—of course they did—until they shifted.
Their wolf forms were larger than any natural species.
Bites didn’t turn people. Silver was just a metal.
And werewolves weren’t inherently violent.
The tone was authoritative and detailed enough to be believable.
If Mom had read this book in her curriculum, no wonder she’d jumped straight to werewolf when an abnormally large dog bit me.
Setting it aside, I opened the history book. That one was intensely interesting and brutal. If werewolves actually did exist, I’d feel bad for them. Suppressed for millennia by humans to the point of extinction. Hunted by another faction hungry for power. Scattered. Isolated. Nearly erased.
I understood the loneliness the author was trying to convey too well.
I’d almost forgotten I was reading “non-fiction” until the final chapters, when the author reached the modern world—the “judgement,” the secret war fought in plain sight under the noses of unaware humans, the days before their secret existence ended, and the world's eruption into chaos.
The aftermath was exactly the stuff I’d heard Mom talk about.
Closing the book, I felt even more certain that Mom had been indoctrinated by fear rather than facts.
With low expectations, I opened the final book.
It read like an instruction manual.
The bite wasn’t an attack—it was a way to claim a mate.
Marked mates could sense each other’s emotions.
After intercourse, they could communicate telepathically.