A third howl rips through the air, deeper than the other two and close enough to bounce off the cabin walls and echo back at us.
We scramble out of the jacuzzi simultaneously, a mess of flailing limbs and dripping water. Harper, whose fight-or-flight response apparently includes saving the alcohol, snatches the half-empty prosecco bottle by the neck as she sprints for the door.
We practically tumble inside. Harper slams and locks the french doors. Maren locks the front door, checks it, and then checks it again just to be sure. I stand in the center of the living room, trailing a puddle of water across the expensive hardwood, frantically trying to remember if the getaway details said anything about this cabin being located inactive predator territory.
"Should we call someone?" Maren asks.
"Who?" Harper demands, clutching the prosecco. "The wolf police?"
"A ranger! The cabin owners!Anyone!"
"Um, girls," I say, my voice dropping to a terrified whisper as I point toward the kitchen. "Did one of you leave this side door open?"
***
I cross the room before I can talk myself out of it, and push the door shut. The latch clicks. I twist the deadbolt. My fingers are pruned from the jacuzzi and they slip on the metal before catching.
I turn back.
The three of us stand there in the dark living room, dripping onto the floor, Harper clutching the Prosecco to her chest.
She raises the bottle to her lips and takes a long, deliberate sip.
"What?" she says when she catches us looking. "If I'm going to be mauled, I'm not doing it sober."
"Nobody's getting—"
"Awoooooo!"
The shout erupts from directly behind my left ear. I whip around on my wet heel, my arm jerking backward in a blind, panicked arc, and my elbow buries itself into something.
"Ow—Jesus—"
29
Beth
The lights come on, and I see everything at once: Mason directly behind me, one hand cupped over his nose; Ben by the couch, mouth hanging open; Arthur leaning against the wall, doubled over in a silent wheeze of laughter; and Knox at the light switch, frozen mid-reach, gaze ping-ponging between Mason and my fist.
Four men. Zero wolves.
Harper fumbles the prosecco bottle. It bounces off the armrest of the couch and lands on the rug with a dull thud.
"Benjamin Torres," she says, and the way she says his full name carries the weight of every argument they've ever had and several they haven't gotten to yet.
He grins at her, sheepish. "Hey, baby."
"Don'they babyme! I almost had a cardiac event!"
"Are you surprised, though?" He opens his arms wide, like he's expecting applause, or possibly a hug.
"I'm going tokillyou is what I am." She crosses the room and grabs him by the collar of his flannel and kisses him hard. Then she shoves him back.
"I'm still furious," she says.
"That's fair," Ben says happily.
Maren hasn't moved. She's still dripping, both hands pressed flat against her sternum like she's physically holding her heart inside her chest. "I need everyone to know," she says, "that I genuinely thought I was about to die."
