Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Allan’s room is down the hall from mine, so we walk back together. Behind us, my sister talks with Elijah and Holly, their voices faint. I lower mine when I say, “Have you spoken to Kate? I know she felt really bad about . . . before.”

He stiffens a little and tries for a smile, but it comes out strained as he says, “That’s cool. I know . . .” He clears his throat. “What happened back then . . . It just happened. If I’d known where it would lead, I would have talked to her first. I certainly wasn’t trying to trick her.”

“About what you expected in a relationship?” He looks over, and his gaze searches mine.

“That was the problem, right?” I say. “You wanted more than she was ready to give. Relationship-wise.”

“Is that what she said?”

“Sure.” I frown. “Did you think it was something else? It wasn’t. She really did like you. Just not as a long-distance boyfriend.”

He laughs softly, relaxing. “That’s what she said. I just wasn’t sure if she’d heard . . . anything else that changed her mind. I definitely did come on way too strong back then. Your sister is just . . .” He shrugs. “When a girl like that shows interest, you go for it. Gotta take your shot while you can. I overdid it, and I’m sorry she felt bad.”

We walk a few more steps. Then I say, “About that guy she’s with.” “Elijah?” The corners of Allan’s mouth twitch. “You don’t like him

much, huh? It must be weird, him being a non-Pack werewolf. He seems cool, though. They make a cute couple.”

“They aren’t a couple.” I shake my head. “Kate hasn’t been herself lately, especially with guys. She ended it with her boyfriend, and now he’s blowing up my phone because she won’t talk to him.”

“Better get used to it. Your sister is kinda unforgettable. Guys aren’t going to get over her in a heartbeat. I sure didn’t.”

Footsteps sound, but it’s only Holly, and she doesn’t see us as she heads the other way to her room. Kate and Elijah’s steps go up the stairs.

Are they dodging curfew?

I push back a dart of annoyance and turn to Allan. “If you’re still interested in her, just hold on. This thing with Elijah is only Kate goofing around. It’ll pass.”

He shakes his head. “I’m looking forward to getting to know Kate again but only as a friend. Kate’s . . . She’s like a flame. Once you see it, you can’t stop looking at it, can’t stop wanting to get closer.”

“But then you get burned.”

“Nah, not that. She just isn’t right for guys like me. I’d constantly be waiting for her to find someone more exciting, more high-energy, more like her. Around Kate, I feel like a plodder, as if she’s revving on all cylinders and I’m struggling to keep up, wishing she’d slow down.” He glances over. “You know what I mean.”

I do. He isn’t the only one who feels dull and plodding in Kate’s company. She doesn’t try to overshadow me, but she does, simply by existing. I cannot help but fade beside the flaming whirlwind that is my sister. Is that what bothered me, seeing her with Elijah? He has that same spark,

that same energy.

But this isn’t a competition. Even when she was dating Brandon, she

always had time for me. It was after she stopped dating him that the problem started.

“Anyway,” Allan says. “You don’t need to worry about me being on the losing side of a love triangle. I’m glad to see her again. Glad to see both of you. This camp seems a whole lot more interesting tonight than it did this morning. From what I’ve seen, though, Elijah is far more her speed, and I have no intention of getting in his way.”

I walk into my room and flip on the light. A grunt sounds from the other side, and Mason lifts his head from the pillow. It takes him a moment to find his scowl. When he does, he rumbles, “Turn off the damn light. Some of us are sleeping.”

“It’s ten thirty.”

“Well, dying takes a lot out of a guy. Now turn it off, and go chase sticks until you’re tired.”

I flip off the main light . . . after I find and flick on a penlight from my bag.

Mason groans. “Aren’t you guys supposed to have night vision?”

“Yes, but I need some small illumination to activate the rods in my eyes. The door closes tightly and blocks what little light might come from the hall.”

I strip my shirt off. He grunts and flips over, facing the wall. I shake my head at that and then pull off my shorts and climb into bed.

“I’m decent now,” I say as I slide under the sheet. “And you don’t need to worry anyway. I keep my boxers on.”

“You better. You also better keep on your side of the room. If I wake up to find you anywhere near me, we’re going to have a problem.”

“You really have a very misinformed view of werewolves, don’t you?” Another mutter. As I see his expression, my eyes narrow. “You aren’t

worried I’ll devour you in your sleep, are you? You’re warning me to stay on my side and keep my boxers on.” I shine my penlight at him. “Is this about me performing rescue breathing on you?”

He turns over, eyes shaded from my light. “I’m just saying—”

“It was rescue breathing. To save your life. I wasn’t playing Prince Charming, waking you with a kiss. Even suggesting that I was thinking about anything other than reviving you is immature, ridiculous and insulting.”

“I didn’t say you were gay.”

“And that’s not why it’s insulting. I don’t care if you think I’m gay. I care if you think I’d take advantage of someone in that condition.”

His head lifts, his expression in shadow. “So you are gay?” “Are we really going there?”

“It’s a simple—”

“I have no idea what I am,” I snap. “And it doesn’t matter. I was saving your life, and I haven’t even gotten a thank-you.”

“You have no idea what you are?” He pushes up onto one elbow. “What kind of bullshit is that? Do you date guys, girls or both? Do you hook up with guys, girls or both?”

“I don’t have time to date, and I don’t have any interest in ‘hooking up.’” “But theoretically . . .” he says.

“Theoretically, I have no idea because I haven’t met anyone who interests me.”

“So you’re ace?”

“I don’t think so, but again—and I’ll keep saying this—I don’t know. I’m certainly not going to hash out my sexuality with you. If you’re homophobic

—”

“I’m not.”

“Could have fooled me,” I mutter. “I will be interested in whoever I’m interested in, and I can guarantee, with one hundred percent certainty, that I am not interested in you. You are safe from my appetites of all varieties.”

Three seconds of silence tick past. “So you do have appetites?” I groan and flick out my penlight. “Good night, Mason.”

I wake to the click of the door opening. I wasn’t sleeping. Not really. It’s been a roller-coaster day, and every time I start to drift off, I remember something I might have done wrong, something I might have said wrong, and I jolt awake, gut twisted by anxiety imps. So when the door opens, I’m conscious enough to know it isn’t Mason rising to use the bathroom. I can hear his steady breathing in the silence.

The door creaks, new hinges sticking. Light slips through the opening, and I open my eyes, confirming that Mason is in his bed, sound asleep. Just as I think that, his breathing hitches and his eyelids flutter, predator’s instinct kicking in.

His gaze meets mine, and his mouth twists, as if he’s going to snarl something about me watching him while he sleeps. Then he stops, and his eyes slide toward the door.

Footsteps pad inside. Bare feet, moving as carefully as the intruders can manage, but to me, those steps are as loud as boot thuds. A whisper, cut short as the speaker is shushed.

Mason’s eyes slit as he watches. I focus on my other senses. Hearing tells me there are three people in my room. Scent suggests they’re all male. None are anyone I’ve met in more than passing.

Fellow campers, presumably here to play a midnight prank. Put our hands in water hoping we’ll piss the beds. Stick a harmless snake in our beds and stand back to watch the fun. Juvenile stunts, and I’d have hoped we’d be past that at our age, but apparently not.

Mason stays still, watching and waiting. I almost pity the pranksters. They’re just hoping for a fun gag to laugh at over breakfast, and Mason is going to make them wish they’d never opened that door. I’ll be stuck playing

mediator, making sure the situation doesn’t get out of hand.

I sigh under my breath. Maybe I should have just left Mason for dead. Of course, then he’d have risen as a vampire, and these guys would be in danger of more than black eyes and bruised egos.

They start to close the door only to discover it would plunge them into darkness. They leave it open a few inches.

One whispers, “The blond,” and all three creep to my bed. I try not to sigh again. At least if I’m the target, Mason won’t interfere, and we can just get this over with.

I might be rolling my eyes, but I’m accustomed to the immaturity of teenage boys. I learned that when I found myself somehow assimilated into the popular clique at school. It wasn’t where I wanted to be, but it saved me from dealing with the jocks. I’ve always had trouble with jocks. They used to mock me for being small; now they harass me to join their teams. Dad had the same thing—if you start looking like an athlete, suddenly you’re an asshole because you won’t support your school by joining a team.

One good thing about being at a private school is that the jocks and the popular guys are not necessarily the same people. So, while some people in my clique can be juvenile and self-absorbed, it’s a safe place for me. Which means I know guys like these, and now I just have to suffer through their prank.

They step up beside the bed. My eyes are open the barest crack. “Anyone bring a silver bullet?” one says.

I tense so fast I’m surprised they don’t notice.

According to the lore, you only need a silver bullet for one reason: to kill a werewolf.