Chapter 11 #2
I thought back to what he’d told me about himself.
Graduating at fifteen might not be uncommon for homeschoolers, but owning a house at 18 was. And how had he earned it? By “running wild” as an environmental analyst?
Had he been subtly telling me from the beginning what he was? His interest in the shifter romances I was reading. Debating whether the shifter was smart to come out about what he was versus keeping it a secret until she was ready.
The more I thought back, the more I could see now that I was paying attention. The way he moved. The way he’d caught me so many times. Always right there. Fast—except for the time Mom had been watching.
And how it felt when he held me. So right. So steady. Too perfect.
This hadn’t felt like a normal crush from the start. The intensity. The ache when I couldn’t see him. The calm when I could.
Was that really me?
Or was it him?
It’s Sam, baby.
Mom hadn’t been paranoid or spiraling. She’d known all along.
Sam was a werewolf.
Excitement flooded me. With a muffled squeal, I collapsed back onto my bed, a wide smile on my face, before realization hit me.
He’d bitten me!
My hand went to my neck as I remembered the fear and the pain. Well, maybe the pain had been a little exaggerated by the fear. But still.
The annoyed outrage melted away quickly, though.
The books said werewolves didn’t bite to attack. They bit to claim.
Sam actually chose me.
Me. Clumsy, book-obsessed Clarity, who no one ever noticed.
I wasn’t chasing someone who would drift to another girl. I was chasing my forever.
Wait. I sat up suddenly as I realized how naive I’d been.
I wasn’t the one doing the chasing. Sam was. Slowly and subtly, finding ways to be present in my life, just like the romance books said.
Grabbing my pillow, I hugged it to my chest, loving the careful way he’d approached me.
I finally had my first boyfriend.
The thought barely formed before reality doused it.
What if I was wrong? What if this was all in my head because Mom kept insisting?
I let out a slow breath and decided I needed to be sure before attempting to confirm anything. I needed irrefutable proof.
My thoughts turned to the library book.
I’ve Been Bitten. Now What?
I needed to read it again.
Mom walked out of her bedroom just as I was slipping on my shoes by the front door.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Getting my chores done so I can be at the library when it opens.”
“What’s the rush?”
If she, or anyone, knew that I believed Sam was a werewolf before I had proof, I risked being rejected by society and, most importantly, Sam. So I lied.
“Sam’s coming over at lunch to return the books, and I wanted to grab some new ones.”
I thought for sure she’d ask why we didn’t just go together like last time. Instead, she surprised me.
“Am I allowed to ask who else confessed to you last night, or did I lose that privilege?”
That brought me up short. I’d forgotten about Len.
“His name’s Len. He’s in my grade.”
“Handsome?”
“Yeah.”
“I hear hesitation.”
“I thought he was handsome two years ago, before he started going out with an upperclassman. He lost his appeal after that. But not because he was a jerk or anything. He’s nice. He’s just not…” I shrugged.
“Sam?” she supplied helpfully.
“Maybe. I don’t know. He asked if I had plans on Sunday and, if I did, suggested having lunch together at school instead.”
“Are you thinking about it?”
“I’m more of a crush and burn girl. Once I’m done, I don’t look back.”
“Fair enough. Is he going to have a problem hearing you’re not interested?”
“No. He actually is a nice guy. It still seems weird that he suddenly likes me, though.”
“Maybe it’s not sudden. Guys can have secret crushes, too. Or maybe, seeing someone else interested in you made you more appealing. Some guys just like a challenge.”
We stared at each other for a moment.
“This is the most normal conversation we’ve had in months,” I said.
She let out a heavy exhale. “I know. And I’m sorry about that. Thank you for giving me another chance.”
“Thank you for giving Sam a chance to prove he’s not the monster you think he is.”
She frowned. “I don’t think he’s a monster, Clarity. A werewolf? Yes. A danger to you? Yes. But not a monster. Now, are you skipping breakfast, or would you like chocolate chip pancakes when you’re done raking?”
“Do you even need to ask?”
She grinned, and I went outside.
It didn’t take me long to clean up the lawn, and after eating one of the best breakfasts I’ve had in a while, I headed out to the library.
The brisk temps weren’t quite cold enough to see my breath, but it was close. My nose and cheeks were rosy in the reflection of the library doors by the time I arrived a few minutes before Mr. Clint unlocked the doors.
Through the lobby windows, I watched him approach. His walk seemed off. Stiff, like he’d hurt something.
“Hey, Mr. Clint,” I said when he opened the door for me.
He looked paler than last time, too.
“You’re early,” he said, his tone sounding flat.
“Yeah, I have plans later.”
He looked out at the parking lot.
Taking the hint that he wasn’t in the mood for talk, I went inside and left him to his morning checklist.
The library was quiet in a relaxing way as I settled into a chair with the book I wanted.
It confirmed what I remembered from reading it the first time—a werewolf bit a human to create the start of a mate bond.
The bite wasn’t dangerous. It wouldn’t give me any cool abilities, other than being able to feel what Sam felt and vice versa.
The author addressed the purpose of the shared emotions, stating that it enabled mates to comfort each other.
Sounded sweet, but why did they need to comfort one another?
Also, had Sam used that on me without me even knowing?
I’d thought being around him was just calming.
That he was one of those people with a grounding energy. But maybe it’d been more than that.
The section about completing the bond was interesting. Sex created a mental link, enabling us to talk to each other in our minds. Sounded like fiction. But so had the existence of werewolves. How cool would that be to talk to Sam whenever, wherever?
The book also said mates were for life. No leaving ever. Not that I’d want to, based on all the benefits the author listed, including complete devotion, attention, and consideration.
Sign me up!
I wanted the person I liked to come with a guarantee of forever loyalty.
No bailing after sex. No losing interest after half a lifetime together, or if my body changed.
And real communication on a level that wasn’t just heard, but understood.
I wanted that so much, but not enough to come out and ask Sam if he was a werewolf, obviously.
First, I needed a way to test him. Us.
Once I reached the end, I grabbed the other two books. I wasn’t expecting to learn anything new, and didn’t until the end of The History of Werewolves as Recalled by Bethi Pederson. The author had included a link to the uncut version of the reveal video in the afterward.
Curious, I took out my reader and watched it.
The differences were subtle. This version didn’t cut away from the older woman as she shifted, revealing the news anchor’s stunned disbelief. Why cut those few seconds out? Because the woman’s fear made it more real.
The edited version had also cut off the last bit about the differences between the two types of wolves. The supposed bad ones had black nails.
I frowned, remembering Mom asking about the goth girl’s nails. Was this why she’d asked? She thought the girl was the other type of werewolf? The ones trying to kill Sam’s kind?
Shaking my head, I replaced the books, grabbed another shifter romance, and went to check it out.
Mr. Clint was reading a book about the living dead while ironically looking like one himself.
“Hey, Mr. Clint, you don’t look too well. Have you called the doctor?”
He glanced up at me. “Does that concern you?”
I flushed at his censure—apparently, we weren’t as close as I’d thought—and slid the book I wanted to check out toward him.
“Would it be possible to order some more non-fiction werewolf books?” I asked as he scanned my book in.
He set the book down between us, giving me his full attention. The weight of his gaze felt different. Unsafe. Maybe because of what he’d just said.
“Do you believe werewolves are real, Clarity?”
“You know what, never mind. I hope you feel better soon, Mr. Clint.”
I left in a rush, unable to shake the feeling that something very bad had just happened, which was silly. I’d been going to the library and talking to Mr. Clint for years. He liked me.
Half a block away, I glanced back.
Mr. Clint was watching me through the main doors.