Strong enough to withstand the curse turning our brethren into monsters.
Tears prick my eyes and when the scent fades and the sounds disappear, I stop, breathing hard. Imagination is a terrible thing.
Imagination can have a perfectly sane person conjuring up nightmarish wolves who lose themselves to whatever the madness really is. I huff out a laugh and slap my hand against the nearest tree to ground and steady myself.
“You’re insane.”
My voice steadies me, but in the shadow of the words, I remember Dad’s disapproval. His empty placations of more time.
When I stretch, the sky lights, a shower of stars gilding the treetops in silver. Meteors jet overhead in a blast of energy.
I know the perfect spot.
Because I’m already outside the parameters of my neatly ordered existence, I jog into the woods. My heart races. My pulse is thunder.
The stench of blood barely registers before I slam into something hard and warm, then topple backwards. I hit my tailbone hard. Those same stars leap in front of my eyes when my teeth clack.
“Ah, shit. Are you okay?”
A male voice cuts through the haze. I’m on my feet in an instant with my arm stretched uselessly between us.
Someone grips my hands to steady me and the brush of calloused palms over my skin sends an immediate lurch in my bloodstream.
“Hey, it’s okay. What are you doing out here?”
Distance and silence stretch between us, both freezing, the young man making no move to break the hold. My first sweeping glance of him is clinical, a boy around my age, maybe a little older.
Tawny skin stretches tight across his cheekbones, his eyes dark pools. Even in the darkness, his pain registers.
My disconnect shatters as my heart comes into play immediately.
His scent stings my nostrils and my gaze drops unerringly to his side and the bite mark on his shoulder, the deep groove of claw marks on his side.
“You’re hurt.” I reach for him and he takes a step in the opposite direction, his hands a shield to protect him from me.
The movement knocks him off balance. He clamps a hand to his side. “I…it…I’m sorry.”
“Why would you be sorry?”
“For knocking you down.”
A wolf marked him, bit him. I scent it everywhere on him, a rich and pungent brand.
He lists to the side with another groan and hits the nearest tree trunk with a heavy thud.
“I’m the one who ran into you. And you need help. What happened? Who are you?”
“Grayson Scott.” He bites out his name like it’s all he can manage.
Shit, he’s losing a lot of blood. The heat rolling off him singes my fingers when I reach to help keep him upright. Then a chill splits me in two.
Oh my god. The reek of a cursed one lingered in the area minutes ago. He’s injured… What if Grayson was attacked by the moon-mad werewolf? If I really did hear one, and he’s been bitten?—
Then it’s only a matter of weeks until the curse takes him under and he goes rabid. My pulse spikes. The urge to run is sharp enough to taste but I can’t just leave him.
He’s going to turn eventually. What the hell will I do with him then? Is it better to get help now, or to leave him out here to fend for himself?
Instinct moves me forward. I slide underneath his shoulder and take the bulk of his weight.