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"A big metal box with a folding backseat should be safe enough, don't you think?"
He peered at the truck, as if measuring the distance. Then he scooped me up and carried me to it.
BACK AT THE hotel, the first thing I did was call Joey's office. He wouldn't be in, of course, but that was the point--I could leave a complete message without him hanging up on me.
Couching it in suitably cryptic terms--in case his voice mail was monitored--I let him know that we'd figured out what was going on. The mutts had taken Noah and now they were holding him hostage, demanding something from Joey for his release. Joey was dealing with that and proceeding with extreme caution... meaning he didn't want two Pack enforcers in town, throwing their weight around and endangering his half brother's life.
Now that we understood the situation, I assured him we'd proceed with equally extreme caution and that we could help resolve the situation. I didn't expect him to take us up on the offer. What I was really saying, as politely as possible, was, "We know why you want us to leave town, and we aren't going."
Next we tended to our injuries. Neither of us had any broken bones, and that was all that mattered. Being a werewolf meant a lifetime of fighting, and like those who spend their life in the boxing ring, we've learned to ignore the bumps and bruises and cuts. Check for broken bones, clean the cuts, get some rest and we'd be good to go tomorrow. We had to be--unlike professional boxers, we couldn't call off a match because we weren't up to it. Werewolf healing helped with that. Twenty-four hours later, the only remaining signs of my encounter with the beast were a tender spot on the back of my head and one on my ribs.
We went to bed after that. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I didn't stay that way, though. Although Clay remained perfectly still beside me, I could sense he was awake and after a quick, dreamless nap, I looked over to see him staring at the ceiling.
I lifted up onto my side. Too deep in thought to notice me, he kept staring. I glanced over him to see his right hand clenching rhythmically at his side, arm muscles pulsing under the pitted scar tissue.
"Is it bothering you?" I asked.
"Hmm?" He followed my gaze to his arm, and made a final fist, then stopped flexing. "Nah, I don't feel it anymore."
"I mean is it bothering you?"
He was silent a minute, then he brushed my hair back over my shoulder.
"I ran away tonight," he said after a moment. "When I first smelled that thing, I ran."
Protests and reassurances sprang to my lips, but I knew he wasn't looking for that.
He continued. "I remembered what it did to you the night before and all I could think about was getting you out of there."
"Which under the circumstances was the smart thing to do."
"Yeah. But the reason I ran instead of fighting?" He lifted his arm and flexed. "It doesn't affect my fighting in wolf form. It's just a slight weakness in one of my legs, easily compensated. My first instinct, though, was to second-guess myself and flee. That's not good."
"But--"
"Under the circumstances, it was the right choice, and that would be fine... if I could say I made an informed decision."
"Which is tough to do when a three-hundred-pound beast is bearing down on you." I caught his look. "Yes, I know you don't want excuses. The point is that you don't have the confidence you did four years ago. Personally, I don't think that's such a bad thing. If you're still jumping on the back of raging beasts, you have more than enough confidence for my tastes."
He went silent, his gaze returning to the ceiling.
"It's not running from that beast that's disturbing you. It's the possibility that you might do it with a mutt. If enough of them confront us, your first instinct will be to hustle me out of there. If I'm just your mate, that's not a problem--you're getting me out of harm's way. But if I'm Alpha, I shouldn't need to be shuffled off, and if it looks like you're doing that, then the implication is that there's a problem."
"Yeah."
He went quiet again. I waited, knowing I'd prodded enough.
"With my arm... it's ongoing," he said. "I'm still working it through. With you in line for Alpha, though, it highlights another issue, one I've been avoiding."
When he didn't go on, I did prompt him, but he only slid his arm under me and pulled me close.
"It's nothing. I'm tired and I'm rambling."
"If something's bugging you..."
"I'll deal with it."
I paused. "And I can't help?"
