Chapter 5
By Friday, Jake had developed three new skills.
He could hear his mother opening a bag of chips from upstairs.
He could identify Marcus by smell before Marcus entered a room.
And he had become spectacularly bad at pretending Noah Bennett did not exist.
The third one was the problem.
Noah had been at West Ridge four days.
Half the senior class had already noticed him.
Jake knew because he could hear them.
“He’s hot.”
“Who?”
“The new guy.”
“Bennett?”
Jake shut his locker harder than necessary.
Marcus leaned against the one beside it.
“You okay?”
“Fantastic.”
“You just assaulted school property.”
“Locker started it.”
Marcus stared at him.
Then his eyes moved over Jake’s shoulder.
“Oh.”
Jake did not turn.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Marcus.”
“The new guy.”
Jake turned.
Noah was walking toward them.
Marcus grinned.
“Oh, this is interesting.”
“Nothing is interesting.”
“You know him.”
“No.”
Noah stopped directly in front of Jake.
“We need to talk.”
Marcus’s grin widened.
Jake closed his eyes.
“Thank you, Noah.”
“For?”
“Making that lie survive almost four seconds.”
Marcus introduced himself.
Noah shook his hand.
Jake watched.
Marcus looked between them.
“So how do you guys know each other?”
Jake said, “Church.”
Noah said, “Woods.”
Silence.
Jake looked at Noah.
Noah looked at Jake.
Marcus said, “I have several follow-up questions.”
“Later,” Jake said.
“No, I think now is ideal.”
Noah leaned toward Jake.
“The man from Tuesday is back.”
Jake’s humor disappeared.
“Where?”
“Parking lot.”
Marcus frowned.
“What man?”
Jake grabbed Noah’s elbow.
“We’ll explain.”
“We absolutely will,” Marcus called after them.
The hunter’s SUV sat at the far edge of the visitor lot.
Nobody was inside.
Jake and Noah watched through a stairwell window.
“He wants us to know he’s here,” Jake said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make me run.”
“Still not running.”
Noah looked at him.
“You have a football game tonight.”
Jake blinked.
“You remembered?”
“You’ve mentioned it fourteen times.”
“That seems high.”
“It’s low.”
Jake smiled.
Noah did not.
“You shouldn’t play.”
“Why?”
“Because something is happening to you.”
“That’s precisely why I should play. If I suddenly stop doing everything normal, my mother will have me at a doctor before halftime.”
“A doctor might be useful.”
“A doctor discovering I can hear his heartbeat from across the room feels less useful.”
Noah looked out the window.
Jake nudged his shoulder.
“You coming tonight?”
“To the game?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Jake shrugged.
“Because I asked.”
Noah studied him.
Then: “Okay.”
Jake hated how happy one word made him.
Friday night football at West Ridge was less a sporting event than a town religion.
The bleachers filled before kickoff.
The band played too loudly.
Parents wore school colors as if personally responsible for the outcome.
Jake stood on the sideline beneath stadium lights and tried not to hear everything.
That was impossible.
Conversations layered over one another.
A toddler crying.
Coach swearing.
Cleats striking concrete.
Somebody opening a soda twenty rows up.
Then Noah arrived.
Jake knew before he saw him.
That rain-and-pine scent slid through everything else.
He turned.
Noah stood near the fence wearing Jake’s gray football hoodie.
The one from the woods.
Jake smiled.
Noah looked down, realized what Jake was staring at, and mouthed:
What?
Jake shook his head.
Nothing.
But something warm settled beneath his ribs.
The game started badly.
West Ridge went down seven in the first quarter.
Jake spent most of it on the sideline.
Then their starting receiver took a hard hit.
Coach pointed.
“Miller!”
Jake ran in.
The first play was simple.
Ten-yard route.
Jake lined up.
The defender across from him shifted his weight.
Jake heard his breathing.
He smelled adrenaline.
More unsettlingly, Jake knew which direction the guy was going to move.
The ball snapped.
Jake cut left before the defender committed.
Open.
The quarterback threw.
Jake caught it.
Twenty-three yards.
The crowd erupted.
Jake heard Noah laugh somewhere near the fence.
The next drive was worse.
Because Jake was better.
Too much better.
He dodged a tackle before he saw it coming.
Caught another pass one-handed.
Ran faster than he ever had in practice.
By halftime, Coach was staring at him like Jake had been secretly replaced by an athlete.
Marcus cornered him near the bench.
“What the hell?”
“I’m having a good game.”
“You’re having somebody else’s good game.”
Jake grabbed his water bottle.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Does this have anything to do with Woods Boy?”
Jake choked.
“What did you call him?”
“You two met in the woods. I improvise.”
Jake glanced toward Noah.
Noah was no longer watching the field.
He was staring behind the bleachers.
His body had gone rigid.
Jake knew that posture.
Hunter.
Jake put down the bottle.
“Cover for me.”
“For what?”
“Bathroom.”
“You’re running toward the opposite side of the—”
Jake was already gone.
He slipped behind the equipment shed and followed Noah’s scent.
That sentence should have bothered him more than it did.
Behind the bleachers, the stadium noise became muffled.
Noah stood alone.
“Where is he?”
Noah turned.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Getting tired of that sentence.”
“I smelled him.”
“The hunter?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Gone.”
Jake scanned the darkness.
Nothing moved.
Noah stepped closer.
“You need to leave.”
“I’m in the middle of a game.”
“Jake, your eyes changed.”
Jake froze.
“What?”
“During that last play.”
“What do you mean changed?”
Noah stared at him.
“Gold.”
Jake laughed once.
Noah did not.
“Oh.”
Jake backed against the concrete support beneath the bleachers.
“This isn’t happening.”
“It is.”
“I wasn’t bitten.”
“I know.”
“You said it was your family.”
“It is.”
“I’m not related to you.”
“I know.”
Jake looked at him.
“Please stop saying you know like that makes this better.”
Noah stepped closer.
“I’m trying to understand.”
“You’re the werewolf. Understand faster.”
Noah laughed.
Jake stared at him.
“What?”
“You called me a werewolf.”
“You turn into a wolf.”
“You’ve spent all week correcting me when I call them fangs.”
“They’re still not fangs.”
Jake laughed too.
It came out shaky.
The fear was still there.
But Noah was there too.
Close.
Very close.
The stadium lights striped Noah’s face through gaps in the bleachers.
Jake became aware that Noah was still wearing his hoodie.
“You kept it.”
Noah looked down.
“The hoodie?”
“Yeah.”
“You gave it to me.”
“I loaned it.”
“Oh.”
Noah reached for the hem.
Jake caught his hand.
“No. Keep it.”
Their hands stayed together.
The crowd screamed overhead.
Neither moved.
Jake’s thumb brushed Noah’s knuckle.
Noah inhaled.
There.
That low sound again.
Not quite a growl.
Jake’s eyes widened.
“Did you just growl?”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Crowd.”
“That came out of your chest.”
Noah’s face reddened.
Jake grinned.
“Oh my God.”
“Shut up.”
“You growl when you’re nervous?”
“No.”
“Excited?”
Noah tried to pull his hand away.
Jake held on.
“Jake.”
“You do.”
Noah looked at him.
Whatever joke Jake had been preparing disappeared.
Because Noah was not embarrassed anymore.
He was looking at Jake’s mouth.
Jake felt it everywhere.
“Are you going to sniff me again?” Jake whispered.
Noah’s eyes lifted.
“Maybe.”
“That’s incredibly weird.”
“You keep following me into dark places.”
“Maybe I’m incredibly weird too.”
Noah leaned closer.
Jake did too.
A whistle shrieked from the field.
“MILLER!”
Coach.
Jake jerked backward.
Noah covered his mouth, laughing.
Jake pointed at him.
“This is your fault.”
“I literally did nothing.”
“You almost did.”
Noah stopped laughing.
Their eyes met.
Jake ran backward toward the field.
“Don’t leave.”
Noah’s expression softened.
“I won’t.”
West Ridge won by four.
Jake caught the final touchdown.
For six glorious seconds, he forgot hunters, wolves, bloodlines, and the fact that his eyes might be changing color.
His teammates buried him in a pile.
The crowd screamed.
Jake came up laughing.
Then he smelled smoke.
Not concession-stand smoke.
Bitter.
Metallic.
The smell Noah had described.
Jake turned toward the fence.
Noah was gone.
The gray hoodie lay on the ground.
And beyond the stadium lights, something moved into the woods.