Could this be that wolf? Was he just using sign language?
I haven’t spoken that way in a while, but I still recognize it.
Would communicating in his preferred method help me get out of this?
Testing my theory, I ball my fingers into a fist and give a jerky twitch, signing a hesitant,“Yes.”
His eyes widen, a smile spreading across his boyish face.
“You know ASL?” This time, he’s more intentional with his hand signs, but still speaks out loud.
“Yes,” I both say and sign, hoping this connection might get him on my side long enough for me to escape.
I’m not fluent, but I recall enough to get by. My undergrad required two semesters of language courses, and I opted for American Sign Language.
The werewolf takes my assent as a go-ahead to have a full-blown silent conversation. His hands move too fast for me to comprehend, especially when panic still twists my concentration toward fleeing.
But he’s not making a grab for me. In fact, when I take a moment to actually look at him, I realize he’s doing his best to tone down his intimidation factor. Keeping his distance. Tilting his head, as if to make his neck vulnerable. Even standing slightly to the side, possibly allowing me an escape route.
Also, he’s trying to talk to me rather than capture me.
With shaky hands from the adrenaline still coursing through me, I sign to him,“Again. Slow.”
He grins with chagrin. “Sorry. I got excited.”
When he speaks the words, along with his signing, my memory makes the connections, and I try to store them away so I can better communicate with him.
“I’m not part of the Bear Valley pack anymore.”
I suck in a deep, shocked breath, barely daring to hope.
If he’s not in the Bear Valley pack, he might not know I ran. Or he might not even care.
“You’re in the pack here? In Pine Falls?” I try to remember how to sign all the words as I ask the question aloud but end up fingerspelling a few I can’t recollect. Maybe when I’m not so stressed, I’ll recall more.
He nods. Then, after a pause, he asks, “You left Cory?”
Hoping this won’t end whatever this temporary truce is, I nod. Firmly.
I left him, and I’m not going back.
The werewolf studies me for a moment, and then his eyes burn with fierce intensity. “Good.”
“Good?”I sign, my brows dipping in question.
Of course,Ithink it’s good. But I didn’t expect this reaction from a former pack mate.
The wolf nods. “Cory was an asshole.”
He signs the word that was definitely not covered in my college elective course, pairing the curse with a disgusted expression.
And I find myself smiling in response.
Pointing to his hands, I gesture for him to repeat himself. Wanting to add it to my vocabulary.
The werewolf gives another wide grin and complies.“Asshole.”
A laugh born of relief and morbid humor chokes me, and the wolf shares chuckles with me.
