Chapter 6
Jake did not shower.
He did not change.
He did not listen when Coach shouted his name.
He vaulted the low fence, grabbed the hoodie from the grass, and ran toward the trees.
Someone yelled behind him.
Marcus, probably.
Jake kept going.
The woods swallowed the stadium noise within thirty yards.
He stopped.
“Noah!”
Nothing.
Then—
A heartbeat.
Not his.
Jake turned left.
He could hear it.
Fast.
Too fast.
He ran.
He found Noah on his knees beside the creek.
One hand was pressed against his side.
The other gripped a tree root.
Jake dropped beside him.
“Noah.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are literally never fine when you say that.”
Jake pulled Noah’s hand away.
Blood soaked the side of his shirt.
Jake’s stomach turned.
A narrow cut crossed his ribs.
Around it, the skin looked burned.
“Silver?”
Noah nodded.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“Did he do this?”
“There were two.”
Jake looked around.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Can you lie convincingly?”
Noah almost smiled.
“Apparently not.”
Jake pulled Noah’s arm over his shoulder.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“My house.”
“No.”
Jake glared at him.
“I have reached my daily limit on that word.”
They made it halfway before Noah stumbled.
Jake caught him.
Noah’s face pressed briefly against Jake’s neck.
That growl vibrated against Jake’s skin.
Even injured, Noah immediately looked mortified.
Jake stared.
“Seriously?”
“Not now.”
“You do growl when you’re excited.”
“I’m bleeding.”
“And somehow still proving my point.”
Noah laughed, then winced.
Jake tightened his arm around him.
“Don’t make me funny. Apparently it injures you.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Good. Heal faster out of spite.”
At Jake’s house, they cleaned the wound in the upstairs bathroom.
The cut refused to close.
Noah explained why.
“Worked silver.”
Jake held the first-aid kit.
“You keep saying things like I took Werewolf 101.”
“Silver by itself is just metal. Hunters carve it, treat it, use old compounds. It interferes with healing.”
“Can it kill you?”
“Yes.”
Jake’s hands stopped.
Noah looked at him.
“But this won’t.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been sure about a lot of terrible things.”
Noah reached out and covered Jake’s hand.
“I’m sure.”
Jake nodded.
He hated how scared he was.
That realization brought another one with it.
He cared about Noah.
Not theoretically.
Not because he had found him.
Not because this was exciting.
He cared whether Noah lived.
Later they sat on Jake’s bedroom floor with their backs against the bed.
Noah wore another borrowed shirt.
Jake had decided not to calculate how much of his wardrobe now belonged to a werewolf.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
Noah rested his head against the mattress.
“Everything is a lot.”
“Start with your family.”
So Noah did.
Not legends.
People.
His grandmother Mara, who swore in three languages when angry and made enough food for twenty people whenever four were coming.
His uncle Peter, who had never shifted and hated camping.
His cousin Lena, who could shift but was allergic to dogs, which Jake considered one of the funniest pieces of information he had ever received.
His mother, Elena, who had spent Noah’s childhood teaching him when to run, when to stay quiet, and how to recognize the symbols hunters left behind.
They were not a mysterious wandering clan.
They were mechanics, nurses, teachers, warehouse workers, grandparents, cousins, people who argued about money and weddings and whose turn it was to call Aunt Sofia.
Some were Romani.
Some had married into the family.
Some carried the wolf.
Some did not.
The hunters did not care about distinctions.
“They call all of us contaminated,” Noah said.
Jake’s jaw tightened.
“Then they’re idiots.”
“They’re organized idiots.”
“Those are unfortunately the dangerous kind.”
Noah smiled.
Jake looked at him.
“Why did you enroll?”
Noah’s smile vanished.
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“The paperwork was already there.”
Jake sat up.
“Explain.”
“I went to the office because I thought a crowded building might be safer for a few hours. Mrs. Henson called me Noah Bennett before I gave her a name.”
Jake felt cold.
“That means somebody enrolled you.”
“Yes.”
“The hunters?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
Noah looked toward the window.
“To keep me somewhere predictable.”
Jake stood.
“We need to tell somebody.”
“Who?”
Jake opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Noah nodded.
“That’s the problem.”
Jake paced once across the room.
Then stopped.
“My mom.”
“No.”
“There’s that word.”
“Jake, absolutely not.”
“She’s not a hunter.”
“You don’t know who they can reach.”
“I know my mother.”
Noah’s voice softened.
“I know.”
Jake looked at him.
“You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
Noah’s eyes dropped.
“That’s what scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because alone, they can only take me.”
Jake understood.
If Noah stayed—
Jake.
His mother.
Marcus.
Everyone became leverage.
Jake sat again.
“Then we make sure they don’t take anybody.”
Noah turned toward him.
“You really believe you can fix everything.”
“No. I believe I can annoy a problem until it regrets meeting me.”
“That I believe.”
They smiled.
Then Noah leaned closer.
Not enough to kiss.
Enough that Jake noticed.
Jake’s voice dropped.
“You smell anything?”
Noah’s expression changed.
“Yes.”
“What?”
Noah moved closer to Jake’s neck.
Jake did not move away.
“Rain,” Noah whispered.
“Still boring.”
“Pine.”
“Still forest.”
“And wolf.”
Jake’s pulse jumped.
Noah pulled back.
Jake caught his wrist.
“Wait.”
Noah looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then guess.”
Noah hesitated.
“My family has stories.”
“About?”
“Wolves who wake other wolves.”
Jake frowned.
“Like biting?”
“No.”
“How?”
Noah’s gaze held his.
“Recognition.”
Jake felt a chill.
“You recognized me?”
“Maybe.”
“In the woods?”
“No.”
“When?”
Noah looked almost embarrassed.
“When you touched me.”
Jake remembered the first moment beneath the fallen oak.
His hand on Noah’s shoulder.
Noah waking.
Their skin touching.
“That caused this?”
“I don’t know.”
Jake leaned his head back against the bed.
“Fantastic.”
Noah smiled.
“What?”
“I find one naked guy in the woods and apparently catch werewolf.”
Noah laughed.
Jake turned his head toward him.
Their faces were inches apart.
This time neither looked away.
Then something struck Jake’s bedroom window.
Both jumped.
A dead bird slid down the glass.
Tied around its leg was a thin silver wire.
Noah went white.
Jake stood.
Below the window, carved into the porch roof where neither of them had heard anyone climb, was a symbol Noah recognized immediately.
Three intersecting lines.
Noah whispered, “They know where I’m staying.”
Jake looked at the silver wire.
Then at Noah.
“No.”
Noah frowned.
Jake’s fear hardened into something else.
“They know where we’re staying.”