“You’re one person. You don’t have to take on the weight of the world and you definitely don’t have to feel responsible for me.”
“Why not? You’re taking responsibility for me.”
He works his jaw and says, “I’m atoning. It’s different. You have nothing to atone for.”
“Fucking bet?” I mutter.
His keen hearing catches the words but Grayson does me the courtesy of letting it go. “Are you cold?”
He sets my arm on my lap and turns to the empty fireplace.
“Do you think those beasts are scared off by fire?” he asks, grabbing a few sharp pieces of wood from the pyramid pile and layering them in the fireplace.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think they’re scared of anything. Or not much. They’re too far gone.”
“Do regular wolves keep their awareness when they change?”
His back is to me so it’s unmistakable to miss the way his shoulders tense, muscles knotted with tension.
“Yeah, they do.” I think. “It might be different for bitten versus born but it’s like a symbiotic relationship. The wolf is a part of you, and you’re a part of it, and when you shift, you work together. Your instincts heighten but you maintain control. In most cases.”
“Then those things are totally lost. There was nothing in that thing’s eyes.” Grayson builds his fire in steps.
Pressure builds in my chest as Grayson strikes the match and tosses it into the dried kindling. All the elements were already there, waiting for the friction, waiting for something to change. The fire lights and the glow brightens as the flame catches.
Once it’s lit, he stacks larger logs over the crackling flame and rises.
The same thing will happen to us.
“Such a Boy Scout.” I press my fist to my mouth against another yawn.
Sleeping is a bad idea. I have to watch Grayson and make sure he isn’t going to change again. The risk is as present and thick as the air.
He must have the same thought because he settles himself on the opposite corner of the room with his spine to the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest.
“It’s not the worst thing I’ve been called.” He wraps his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. “It’s good to know how to do these things and how to save yourself if you’re ever in a bad situation.”
“Did you learn all this after you were bitten? Or before?”
I force it out because what use is there in playing ignorant? I was there. I remember the meteor shower and the scent of his fear and cologne mingling with the fresh blood clearly.
His eyes glaze over now, a fog rolling out over a clear ocean. Grayson tilts his head to the side like he’s listening to a conversation I’m not able to hear.
“Voices?”
He’s gone for another long moment before shaking his head, his eyes still dull. “Like you said. It’s got to be the headache.”
“It’s not going away yet?”
I grab for a blanket wadded into the corner of the couch. It reeks like the man who owns his place, a combination of stale smoke and Ivory soap. Practical, stark, simple.
“It’s more like an ache now instead of a blast. I’d say it’s progress,” Grayson says.
My bones weigh a thousand pounds and keep me stuck in the couch, the blanket draped over my legs. I glance at the open window we still haven’t addressed.
“It’s progress,” I agree.
The fire has caught on now and merrily crackles along the pieces Grayson stacked. It’s not enough to chase away the chill in my bones. If anything, it lulls me into a sense of safety I have no business feeling.