23. You're in charge?
Just when I start to take my first step toward the road, he grabs my arm and pulls me back so hard I crash into his chest. First I'm confused—what's going on—but then I hear the rumbling of motor noises.
Before I can react, he pulls me behind a tree, keeping me in front of him as we both peer around the trunk.
My back is pressed against his chest, both of us watching the same direction as the noises intensify.
Four military convoys pass the street in front of us at breakneck speed.
"What are they doing here?" I whisper.
I hear him mutter curses under his breath. "Looking for us."
"And by 'us' you mean..."
"You, Communicator. And the pack."
"Oh."
I can feel anger vibrating through him. He still holds my arm but lets it go, gripping the tree above my head instead. His hand makes a fist against it.
"You stay here. I'll take care of this," he says simply, moving around me.
I step in his way. He tries to get around me, not even looking at me, only focusing on the street. His eyes have that shimmer now, and I can feel my instincts kicking in—telling me to get out of his way immediately.
"Wait," I say with more energy, putting my hands on his chest.
I know I don't have the power to stop an angry wolf, but I also don't want... I don't want him to get hurt.
Fuck, what is happening to me? Since when do I care about wolves who kidnap me and manipulate me into helping them, only to use me as bait?
"Those filthy little humans, I—"
"Look at me," I say again, and without thinking, I take his face in my hands.
He immediately pulls his head back and looks at me in shock. "You're getting really comfortable, Communicator."
"Yes, I am. You said I'm in charge." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
He goes completely still, then slowly focuses on me. Really focuses. Then he takes a deliberate step closer, close enough that I have to drop my hands from his face. He follows my hands as I ball them into fists by my sides. Then he looks up again.
"Is that so?" His voice is low, almost amused. "You're in charge?"
"That's what you said."
"I did." He tilts his head slightly. "So tell me, Communicator. What would you do now that you're in charge?"
There's something in his tone—not quite mocking, but definitely challenging. Testing me.
I lift my chin. "I have a plan."
I have absolutely nothing. Nothing. In fact, I feel like my mind has never been this blank.
His eyebrows rise slightly. "Oh really? A plan?" He takes another small step closer. "And here I thought you were only interested in running away."
"I don't run away."
"No?" The corner of his mouth twitches. "Because from where I'm standing, that's all you've been talking about the last few days."
"That's not—" I stop, frustrated. "I wanted to be free. There's a difference."
"Free meaning ignoring the world's problems and living for yourself? You chose the wrong profession then."
"That's not—" I stop again. "You used me as bait. Twice."
"Yes. While also protecting you. And yet here you are, stopping me from handling a threat." His eyes haven't left mine. "With your grand plan."
"It's a good plan."
"I'm sure it is." He's definitely amused now. "Does this plan involve something more than standing here getting caught?"
"Of course it does."
"Care to share it with your humble protector?"
I scramble for something, anything that sounds like an actual plan.
"We..." I start, then pause. "We wait."
"We wait." He repeats it flatly.
"Yes. They're obviously searching in a pattern. Military convoys don't just randomly drive through forests. They have routes, timing. So we wait, figure out their pattern, then move when they don't expect it."
I'm just rambling now.
I know getting caught was part of his strategy, but going after a military convoy seems like the perfect recipe for escalation. And I truly don't want any more people to get hurt.
He studies me for a long moment. "You have no idea what you're doing."
"I know exactly what I'm doing." I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.
"Really? Because it sounds like you're making this up as you go."
"Sometimes the best plans are spontaneous."
"Spontaneous." He shakes his head. "Right."
"Do you have a better idea? Besides charging after four military vehicles like some kind of..." I gesture vaguely, "angry wolf stereotype?"
"Angry wolf stereotype?"
"You know what I mean. All growly and violent and—"
"Effective?"
"Escalating and stupid."
"Careful, Communicator. That almost sounded like concern."
"It's not concern. It's... practical. You're my protection, remember? Can't protect me if you're dead."
"How touching."
"Shut up."The words hang in the air between us. I wait for his reaction, my shoulders tense.
Really should consider thinking before talking.
But he just shifts slightly. "Your communicating skills are lacking."
I blink. That's it? No anger, no pushing back?
"That's rich, coming from you," I manage.
"Is it?"
"You barely say three words at a time."
"I use them efficiently."
"That's not—" I stop, frustrated. "People need context. Information. Actual explanations."
"I explained everything you needed to know."
"When it suited you."
"Yes."
"That's not how communication works."
"How about this then: shut up, Communicator."
I freeze. Did he just—? "Did you just tell me to shut—"
"Yes." He says it so calmly, like it's perfectly reasonable. And then he yanks me behind the tree again, his hand covering my mouth and my protests.
I move against him but then I realize he's completely focused on something. Something I can't hear yet. I calm down again.