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“Cold?” Caelan gestured to the backseat. “There’s a blanket in there.”
I scanned the quieted brush line. “I’m fine.”
Rubbing my arms, I tilted my chin toward the heavens. Out in the suburbs we saw a multitude of stars when the power went out, and even then the glow of civilization masked all but the strongest starlight. Caelan came to stand beside me, but his eyes didn't range the stars. They stayed fixed, with a tender intensity, on me.
“Some people live their entire lives without ever looking up,” I began, elbowing him. He took the hint and glanced skyward. “My favorite paintings feature night subjects. We're all underneath the same stars, but the way we view them, it's incredible, the imagination that stems from flickers of someone else's ancient history. I wonder sometimes if van Gogh or Munch had the ability to know the stars as we do, would their starry nights change?”
“Don't know much about painting,” he admitted, brushing a mosquito off his neck. “But I think we all understand the night in our own way. I don't see poetry up there or math or science or mystery. I wasn't raised to think that way or ask those questions, but I still feel affection for it, in a way I can't explain.”
He wasn't stargazing anymore.
There was a soft jingle, then the cool metal of keys touched my palm. “Run away, please.” When I returned the keys, his hand lingered on mine. He lowered his head, tilted my chin with a finger to search my eyes. “Why won't you run, Marcy?”
“I won't be his puppet.” And I refused to let Caelan sacrifice himself in the process, but the thought I buried beneath the starlight. “He's inside my head. He's inside my body, this smooth undercurrent pulling me under. I don't know how to fight or if it's even possible, but I do know he wants me alive. That makes this the right choice, doesn't it?” I asked, the words sour on my tongue.
His hand fell back to his side. “You're a survivor, Marcy. You'll find a way through. You—”
“Stop.” I reached for his hand, pulling him off the trail, hoping he would listen. “I know what has to happen. Be with me.”
Near the trail front, where ample sunlight warmed the earth and gave hungry saplings and weeds a chance to grow, the walking was tough. We slipped and tripped, moved through the dark without a flashlight, a couple of stupid humans. It made me smile whenever he'd curse or grab me for balance.
It was nice to be normal for a change.
The knotted forest floor softened under the weight of pine needles and open spaces. The still night magnified the sounds of us crashing through. Animals scattered, darting away into hidden depths, all except one. I pushed past hissed urgings, ignored the cat’s every appearance. I tried several times to show Caelan, but he never saw those eerie green eyes leering out from the gloom.
The deeper we went, the more my heart beat, louder and louder, a pounding aching in my skull that broke through the underbrush with us. Caelan slipped into the clearing ahead of me, covered in leaves and scratches. As I emerged, he caught me around the waist, drawing my rising chest against his.
His eyes were amber, warm, reflective in the moonlight.
Between his gaze and the cast crushed between us, I felt visceral and alive. The musk of riverbed roots, the gasp of a dying breeze, the gleam of blood on his scratched cheek. Every detail seemed more important, more fascinating, than the one before.
My fingers found his heartbeat and it was hammering like mine, flooded with emotion and the unshakeable understanding that he was mine and I was his.
“Where are we?” he asked in a husky whisper too loud for this unhallowed ground. Beyond his shoulder stood the thick black trunk and barbed limbs of the locust tree. New weeds had replaced the ones I'd dug up in my quest for answers not long ago.
“My last memory of home. Won’t see it, but come sunrise there’s real nice view of the river that way,” I told him, gesturing into the dark.
“Mmhm.” His hand slid off my waist. “Have you ever danced in the moonlight?”
Mindful of positioning, I lifted my cast. “Won’t this get in the way?”
“Not a problem.” We’d left our phones in the truck; the music we had was the night in all its raw, bewitching glory.
A voice raked its claws across my mind, an unending echo of nonono!
Caelan drew my hand in his and guided it around his neck.
He ran his hand through my hair, gathering it to one side. His eyes were bright but dark, his skin warm, humming, electric, as we swayed—a sign of the wolf waiting hungrily underneath—but he fought it back, chose humanity with a single, stirring kiss.
He put weight behind his kiss and left ideas on my tongue, suggestions of want, need, desire, touch. His control was surrendering to heavy-eyed instinct; he couldn’t help himself and I loved that and touched him with the same wild abandon.
Mirelle! A shadow at my feet hissed. Do something!
So I did. My lips fell on the crook of Caelan’s neck. I nipped him, teasing, not hard enough to break skin. His hand dropped onto my waist, pulling my body against his with a growl that woke something inside me and had it clawing to break free.
The sheriff ran his hand along my spine, up to my neck, the cat screeching profanities at my feet as he did so. Caelan must not have heard, because it didn’t stop him from doing it a second time, in reverse.
His fingers brushed the gun. His expression shifted to a puzzled frown. “What are you fixin’ to do, Marcy?”
