On Fire

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I’m ready,” Derek said, as he finished his second glass of wine.

Then Ms. Argent put one hand on either side of his face, smiled into his eyes, and kissed him. Her lips were so soft, and so warm, and it felt so good. So amazingly good.

He had to be careful. But he was losing himself in the kiss and images flashed through his head, animalistic and fierce; he wanted to do all kinds of things to her and he didn’t dare. He was going to lose control. He was going to hurt her. But he couldn’t stop kissing her.

She trailed her mouth across the hollow of his cheek to his ear and whispered, “I love this. I love how dangerous it is. It excites me.”

And then she pulled away. “Oh, Derek,” she murmured, and she looked into his eyes, as if searching for something. “I just . . . I know we said we’d take it slow. That we’d have coffee,” she murmured. “And instead we had the wine, and it’s loosened my inhibitions, and you’re just so incredible.”

She licked her lips and smoothed back her hair. “Okay. I’ll behave.” She pursed her lips. “So, ah, what else do you like to do besides swim?”

Kiss you, Derek thought. Then something felt wrong. His stomach cramped. The back of his throat started burning. And his eyes stung. He tried to ignore it. He wanted to kiss her some more.

His stomach contracted. His throat filled with acid. He was going to throw up.

Oh, God, I can’t barf in front of her, he thought.

He got to his feet. She moved away, her brows knitting.

“I’ve offended you,” she said. “I’m sorry, Derek.”

“No. I’m just not feeling well,” he told her. “May I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. It’s down the hall. Do you need something? A glass of water?”

He started to say yes, but he didn’t know what was happening. He was lurching down the hall, his stomach churning. He was so embarrassed that he wanted to die. He felt so sick that he wanted to die.

He lifted the lid on the toilet, fell to his knees, and threw up. He fumbled for the sink faucet and turned it on full blast so she wouldn’t hear him. He flushed the toilet, too, and then he vomited some more.

It couldn’t have been the meat. Werewolves could smell bad carrion and knew to stay away from it. Maybe the mayo was bad. Or maybe it was just nerves.

He felt so unbelievably stupid. He threw up some more, wincing from the pain and grimacing because he was barfing so incredibly loudly. She had to be hearing it. Way to ruin their whole evening.

I was just about to have sex for the first time in my life. I know it.

And instead he was in Ms. Argent’s bathroom, puking his guts out. How was he ever going to face her again? Wiping sweat from his forehead, he lifted his head and studied the tiny rectangular bathroom above her shower stall. Too small. Maybe there was a back door and he could just sneak out and never see her again. No more pool.

There was a rap on the door. He shut his eyes tight and hoped it was locked. If she came in there and saw him, smelled it . . .

He didn’t say anything. There was another knock.

“Derek? Would you like a glass of water?”

He was taken aback. She was being cool about it. Not asking him if he was okay—because he obviously wasn’t—and not treating him like a kid.

“Yeah,” he rasped. He laid his forehead on the seat and let out a sigh. The worst seemed to be over. He healed quickly. Whatever had been in his system would be dealt with in short order.

Unless it’s something poisonous to werewolves, he thought. But like what? He hadn’t smelled anything like wolfsbane.

“Just a minute,” he said.

He rose from the toilet, flushed it again, then went to her shower stall and opened the window above it. The crisp night are refreshed him a little. He turned the water at the sink and scooped some into his mouth, then swooshed it around and spit it out. Then he opened the door and held out his hand for the water glass without looking at her.

He drank it down, poured himself another, and drank that, too. He didn’t want to mess up her towels, so he cleaned around his mouth with toilet paper. Then he dampened some more sheets and wiped his face.

She was waiting for him in the living room with a concerned expression. He wished the floor would open him up and swallow him.

“There’s a virus going around at school,” she said. She was holding some car keys. “Do you want to meet your sister? I can drive you anywhere you want to go.”

Mortified, Derek shook his head. She was booting him. No surprise there. He was totally disgusting.

“I’ll call her on my cell,” he said. He put a hand on the knob of the front door. “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he blurted out, speaking so softly he wasn’t sure she would hear him.

“Oh, please, don’t, Derek,” she said. “These things happen. Maybe it was the roast beef.”

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”

She cocked her head. “How do you know?”

Smooth, he told himself. “Well, you’re not sick,” he said.

She grinned at him and put her hand over her flat stomach. She had really nice boobs. He was ashamed of himself for noticing them at a time like this. He’d thought he’d get a chance to see them, touch them. He had totally blown it.

“Ah, but I have a cast-iron stomach,” she said. “It takes a lot to make me feel sick.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t, um, that nothing happened to you.”

She cocked her head. “You really are the sweetest, you know? I had no idea you were so thoughtful. Few men are.”

There it was, her calling him a man again. Was she just trying to let him down easy? Would he really ever see her again, except at school?

“Let me drive you somewhere,” she said.

He felt as if she was treating him like a kid. He had a license. He just didn’t have a car. He wanted to make sure she knew that, but he knew it would sound stupid. Just about anything he told her would sound like he was trying to prove himself. Besides, he didn’t want her to come near him, smell him. He was gross.

“I’m going to get some air, and then I’ll call my sister,” he said, trying to sound decisive.

She jingled the keys. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“Yeah. I am.” He opened the door. “Thanks for everything.” He was so crushed.

“See if there’s a car you can borrow,” she said. “A friend’s, maybe? We’ll try it again. Maybe tomorrow?”

Whoa. He almost shouted for joy. He couldn’t believe how cool she was being. She was going to give him another chance.

“Um, after swimming?” he asked. She had to be at the pool. It was her job.

“Yes. But don’t overdo it,” she said. “You might be coming down with something.”

“Okay, thank you,” he said in a rush. He turned away as he opened the door, in case there was something on his face or clothes. But he was so happy he wanted to throw his arms around her and cover her with kisses.

“Good night,” she said sweetly. With his back to her, he felt her fingers trailing through his hair. “Let me know that you get home safe.”

That sounded like an adult talking to a kid. Then he reminded himself that his parents checked in with each other like that. It was a normal thing to do when you cared about somebody.

She cares about me. After I threw up in her house, she still wants to be with me. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. And how understanding she was being.

“I don’t know your phone number,” he said.

“I’ll call yours and then we’ll have each other’s,” she said.

He gave her his number. She punched it in and his phone rang. He didn’t have a jazzy little ringtone like some people had. It was just one of the boring generic sounds that came with the phone. He wondered what her ringtone sounded like.

“Got you,” she said. “Think I’ll keep you.”

Derek went hot all over. He tried to act flirtatious like her and smile back, maybe reach out and do . . . what? He had no idea how to act like that. He hardly ever even spoke at school. She didn’t know that about him. All she knew was that he swam and he had an older sister named Laura. Maybe now she was beginning to realize that that was all he had going for him.

He wished with all his heart that he hadn’t thrown up. He didn’t want to leave. What if she changed her mind between now and tomorrow? Was she just being polite and pretending to still be interested in him? Maybe she thought he was a douche kid who couldn’t hold his liquor. He wanted to tell her that he was part of an incredible, amazing world filled with beings she wouldn’t be able to believe were real. That when he transformed into werewolf mode, he could run ten times faster than he could swim, and that his endurance was amazing. Shifted, he was so strong he could lift her with one hand and carry her in his arms for miles.

He wanted to tell her that the howl of a werewolf was better than any ringtone, any song, on earth. Standing beneath the full moon with others of his kind—his pack, his moonborn family—he felt such an incredible sense of belonging that there weren’t even words for it in human language.

She knew how to connect with humans on a level that baffled him, but if only they were both werewolves, he would know exactly what to do and say to offer his loyalty and form a bond with her. Like wolves, werewolves mated for life. He imagined running through the forest with her, the magical light of the full moon glowing down on her pelt. Did she want him to be her boyfriend? The behavioral cues of humans were ambiguous and difficult to comprehend. But the instinctual gestures of werewolves were direct, honest, and definite. If they were werewolves, he would be able to display his dominance and attractiveness, preen for her and impress her.

Maybe someday, he thought. That would be the happiest day of his life.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.

He swallowed down everything he was thinking and feeling as reality came crashing down on him. She was human, and he needed to relate to her on a human level.

“I-I’m . . .” He didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry I was so repulsive? Are you just being nice to me to salvage my ego? Do you really want me to come over tomorrow?

He was afraid to ask her anything. Afraid she would simply laugh at him.

“I’ll see you,” he said, lifting his chin a little, trying to look unfazed.

“Can’t wait,” she replied. She bent forward as if to kiss him but he jerked, and she shifted away from him.

I smell, he thought.

The door clicking behind him sounded so final. Please, please give me a second chance.

Putting his hands into his pockets, he began to walk down the street. He looked in the direction of her apartment. A light came on in a window but he wasn’t sure it was part of her unit. Werewolves had good spatial skills—they were able to assess the shape and size of rooms, dens, and enclosures, notice entrances and exits. But when he tried to remember the layout of Kate’s apartment, all he could think about was the hall and the bathroom—the longest walk of his life.

Without being fully aware of what he was doing, Derek broke into a jog. He hadn’t swum long enough to burn off all the adrenaline from the day, and now he was loaded with tension, both physical and emotional. The evening breezes around him seemed to spark his nerve endings, and he sizzled and burned until he felt like he was on fire.

Ms. Argent, he thought. He couldn’t let himself think her first name. It was forbidden territory, even though . . . even though . . .

Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe we weren’t going to have sex.

He kept running, easing his anxiety, feeling cut off in the human world from his pack. His cell phone was in his pocket and he gripped it tightly, preparing to call his sister. But he’d never tell her why he was done early, and she’d tease him unmercifully even if she’d didn’t know the details, because the date had obviously been an epic fail. Right now, he couldn’t bear any more humiliation. His and Laura’s relationship was both very similar and very different from those of human siblings. They sparred and jabbed for dominance and position, but a deep loyalty ran between them. In the world of Beacon Hills, they were strangers in a strange land. In Laura’s mind, she visited her human friends and crushes, but she lived with the pack. So maybe she wouldn’t tease him too much.

He kept running, listening to his breath, feeling the rise in his pulse. He wanted to throw back his head and howl, seeking his kind, expressing the confusing and complex layering of his human emotions. Instead, he ran faster, savoring his strength and endurance. He wasn’t even sure where he was going.

Farther and farther away from Ms. Argent.

Beacon Hills Hospital loomed ahead on the other side of the intersection, and he placed himself in the grid of the town. When the light turned green, he trotted across. Glancing to the left, he saw a little boy and a couple walking out of the hospital. He detected the odor of sickness. It was coming from the woman. The man and the boy were walking slowly on purpose, to keep pace with her.

“So what does it mean?” the boy asked. Derek could hear him perfectly. “Does it mean she’s all better?”

“Yes,” said the man, but Derek detected the quaver of a lie in his voice.

“‘Remission’ means that there’s no evidence of new disease,” the woman said.

The boy was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “How’s that different from ‘all better’?”

The added smell of distress rolled off the woman. Derek knew she was the wife, the mother, and that she was afraid. She didn’t want to upset the boy with the truth.

That she was probably dying.

“It’s not different,” she said finally. She took the little boy’s hand. Most boys his age would protest and refuse to hold hands with a parent, but this one clung tightly. All three of them were frightened, but they were drawing a little comfort from each other. Some. But not enough.

A car alarm chirruped as it was disabled. The man went to the passenger side of a Toyota and opened door. He held out his arm to the woman.

“After you, Mrs. Stilinksi,” he said.

“Thank you, Deputy Stilinksi,” she replied. She gripped his forearm as she cautiously bent her knees and sat on the seat.

The boy thrust open the backseat door and sat behind her. Derek watched as he straightened his fingers as if to touch her hair, then pulled them back and made two fists in his lap. His foot beat out a staccato against the floor, a nervous tic. The boy was a bundle of nerves, just like him.

The man got behind the wheel and the little family drove off. The stench of sickness lingered in the air. Humans got sick easily, died even more easily. The thought of Ms. Argent dying made him stumble. What if there had been something wrong with the meat? What if she decided to eat some more of it?

He hung a U and broke into a run, not waiting for the light to change. Cars honked and beeped as they swerved around him. He ignored them, reminding himself not to run too fast or draw attention to himself. But his need to make sure that she was all right as strong as his need to breathe.

He got to her door and raised his hand to knock. Then he heard her talking.

“I confirmed it, and I don’t think we should wait to hear back from them,” she was saying. “You know what happened. We need to make it right.”

He didn’t know what he was talking about, and he was curious, but he figured it wasn’t his business. The urge to protect his own still poured through his veins, and he stood panting on her porch, unsure of what to do. He was just about to leave when he stumbled into a metal trash can that hadn’t been there before.

“Hello?” she called, and the door opened. She was standing in a red satin robe. Her feet were bare.

She blinked, startled. “Derek,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He was covered in sweat, and she was lovely. He ran his hands through his hair, unable to explain, at a loss for what to say.

“Oh, God,” he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

He turned to go, and she put a hand on his shoulder. Molded her fingers around his muscles, and ran her thumb back and forth along the indentation where bone met sinew.

“Hey,” she said. “Hey.”

He peered up at her, wishing he could just talk to her, tell her everything he was feeling, hoping, fearing. In the parking lot, everything had felt intense and dire; but now, seeing her and knowing she was all right, he didn’t know what he had thought he was doing, racing back here.

“I’m—” he said. And he didn’t know what he was. He was almost in tears.

He towered over her, even at sixteen, and she gazed up at him took one of his hands with both of hers.

“You’re feeling better,” she guessed.

He nodded.

She opened the door wider and drew him across the threshold. “You can take a shower,” she said. “And I have an extra toothbrush.” She laid his hand on her collarbone and trailed her fingers along it. She kept looking at him, as if willing him not to fly apart.

“Okay?” she said.

Wordlessly, he nodded. His moved his hand.

And Ms. Argent shut the night out, and brought him into her den.