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“I—I think it’s some kind of talisman,” I said. “My mom gave it to me, to ward off bogeymen—ghosts, I guess. ”
“Huh. ” He stared at it, then shook his head and handed it back. “Better keep it on you then. ”
I stuffed it into my pocket, down at the bottom where it would be safe. Then I took off my sweatshirt and pushed up my sleeves. No blood had seeped through, but he still made me wash my forearms.
“Okay, now can we take care of the guy who was actually in the fight? There’s a lot of blood. It seems to be mostly from your nose. ”
“It is. ”
“You got hit in the chest a few times. How are your ribs?”
“Maybe bruised. Nothing critical. ”
“Shirt off. ”
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He sighed, like now I was the one fussing too much.
“If you want me to leave, so you can look after it yourself…”
“Nah. ”
He pulled off his sweatshirt and folded it on the counter. There wasn’t any blood below his collar, where it had dripped from his nose and lip. I guess that’s to be expected when you’re fighting with fists, not weapons. He said his ribs on the right were sore to the touch but, to be honest, I wouldn’t know bruised from broken. He was breathing fine, and that was the main thing.
“Okay, your nose. Is it broken? Does it hurt?”
“Even if it was broken, there’s nothing you can do. ”
“Let me check your eyes. ”
He grumbled, but didn’t resist. The bloodshot corner was already clearing, and I couldn’t see any cuts. He’d have a shiner, though. When I told him that, he just grunted. I wet a fresh paper towel.
“You have dirt in your cheek. Let me—”
“No. ”
He caught my hand before I could touch his face. He took the cloth and leaned over the counter to wipe the dirt out himself. I tried not to wince as I watched. The gravel had gouged his cheek badly.
“You’re going to need to get that checked out. ”
“Yeah. ” He looked at himself in the mirror, his expression unreadable, until he noticed me watching, then turned away and stepped back from the mirror. I handed him another wet paper towel and he cleaned his neck and collar, freckled with dried blood.
“Still got that deodorant?” he asked.
I retrieved it from my jacket pocket and set it on the counter. He kept washing.
“In the playground,” I said, “when you were negotiating, you weren’t serious, right? About going with them? It was a trick. ”
Silence stretched for way too long.
“Derek?”
He didn’t look up, just reached over and got a fresh towel, his gaze averted.
“Did you hear anything they said?” I asked.
“About what?” His gaze still on the towel, he folded it carefully before throwing it into the trash. “Hunting humans for sport? Eating them?” The bitterness in his voice cut through me. “Yeah, I caught that part. ”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with you. ”
He lifted his eyes, gaze shuttered. “No?”
“Not unless being a werewolf transforms you into a wolf and a redneck moron. ”
He shrugged and ripped off more paper towels.
“Do you want to hunt humans, Derek?”
“No. ”
“Do you think about it?”
“No. ”
“How about eating them? Do you think about that?”
He shot me a look of disgust. “Of course not. ”
“Do you even dream about killing people?”
He shook his head. “Just deer, rabbits. ” When I frowned, he went on. “For the last few years I’ve been dreaming of being a wolf. Running in the forest. Hunting deer and rabbits. ”
“Right. Like a wolf, not a man-eating monster. ”
He wet the paper towel.
“So why would you ever let these guys take you to—” I stopped. “The Pack. Is that what you wanted? Tell them you’ll go, and after they release me, tell the Pack the truth and use that as a…an introduction? Meet them? Be with your own kind?”
“No. That doesn’t matter to me. Dad says it does to other werewolves. It mattered to the other boys—they hated anyone who wasn’t one of us. Me? I don’t care. The only reason I’d want to meet a werewolf would be the same reason you’d want to meet a necromancer. To talk, get tips, training, whatever. Preferably from one who doesn’t think hunting humans makes good sport. ”
“Like this Pack. They kill man-eaters and they don’t seem that thrilled about man hunters. Is that what you thought? You could go to them and they’d help you? When I asked if you were listening to those two goons, that’s the part I meant—about the Pack. What they’d do to you. Killing werewolves with chain saws and stuff. ”
Derek snorted.
“You don’t believe it, then. ” I relaxed, nodding. “No one would do that. Cut someone up with a chain saw and pass around photos? Those guys were just trying to scare you. ”
“No, I’m sure there are photos. And I’m sure those guys believe the Pack carved up someone. But the photos must be fakes. You can do that kind of stuff with special effects and makeup, can’t you?”
“Sure, but why?”
“For the same reason you just said. To scare people. Liam and Ramon think the Pack really did it, so they steer clear of its territory. Doesn’t seem like a bad idea to me. ”
“But would you ever think of it yourself?”
That look of disgust returned. “Of course not. ”
“But you considered entrusting your life to people who would? Werewolves who play judge and jury for their own kind? Torture and kill other werewolves? Knowing that, you’d go to them, pretend you killed humans, and hope they’d go easy on you because you’re a kid? Or were those odds okay with you? If they decided you didn’t deserve to live, maybe they’d be right?”
I meant it as sarcasm. But when his answer was slow coming—much too slow—my heart hammered.
“Derek!”
He trashed the wet paper towel. “No, I don’t have a death wish, okay?”
“You’d better not. ”
“I don’t, Chloe,” he said softly. “I mean it. I don’t. ”
Our eyes locked and the panic buzzing in my head turned to something else, my heart still hammering, my throat going dry….
