Page 11 of Hunted

Three blinking dots appeared. A minute passed. No response. My chest hurt. I closed my eyes. But if I didn’t say anything, and something happened to her—

Ellie: There was a story on the news the other day about people falling to their death off the overpasses.

Hayden: That’s it. I’m officially deleting the internet.

My sister sent a string of heart emojis.

Hayden: How often does that happen? Do you feel like it’s something to put on the list?

I blinked at the sudden stinging in my eyes. Anxiety had lived in my head for as long as I could remember. You name it, and I’d tried it. Meditation. Mindfulness. Yoga. Goat-yoga. To be fair, that one had been fun. I mean, who didn’t love a bunch of miniature goats climbing all over you while you unblocked your chakras? But goats aside, at the end of the day, I still had anxiety. The next time I heard some well-meaning person tell me or someone else with anxiety they needed to relax and live in the moment… well, let’s just say I wasn’t going to be responsible for pouring the contents of my reusable water bottle over their head. God knew my dad, Zane Crowe, had heard enough thoughtless comments over the years telling him to just think positive already and take long walks in the sunshine when it came to dealing with his depression.

Spoiler alert: Long walks in the sunshine were good for everyone. But if it were that easy, none of us would ever have to live with mental health conditions.

And now between my insomnia, the nightmares, and having to worry every time I turned around that Matteo Rossi would be there to kill me, I was a wreck. Hayden and I kept a list. It was a strategy one of my therapists had helped me develop. We talked through my anxiety attacks, tried to separate real safety concerns from catastrophizing. The list helped me organize what was my brain spinning me in circles from things I could reasonably control. Digging a moat around the house was out. So were repeat brain scans every month to make sure the hallucinations and headaches weren’t actually due to some undiagnosed brain tumor. But bi-yearly blood testing and a physical made the cut. And once Meera and I became targets due to our work on the ALDD project, we decided it would be good for the entire family to have an extra sparring practice once a week at the community center gym. Hayden also made a point to check in with me by text once a day, in her protective Valkyrie way. And I loved her for it.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Ellie: No. Sorry. Bad morning.

Hayden: When do you talk to Cal?

Ellie: We have our next session in a few days. I’ll make an emergency appointment if things get bad. For right now, I can handle this. I had another nightmare. It set me off.

She sent more heart emojis.

Hayden: I have to go. Talk later?

I sent back a Bunnicula meme, knowing it would make her smile. I picked up the acorn squash. Scowling, I took a quick selfie with the two of us and texted it back to River.

Ellie: Butternut. His name is Butternut. This is an acorn squash. Cucurbita pepo. Which you know perfectly well.

River: Ah, my good morning ‘I would kill you if I stood but a little higher from the ground’ text from Ellie Crowe.

Ellie: It may not be wise to mock the one who you begged to make you corn chowder this weekend.

River: I can behave.

Ellie: Doubtful. And for someone who came within two one hundredths of a point of being valedictorian of our high school class, one would think you could identify common members of the squash family.

River: If they’d let me make up that AP Biology quiz I missed, we would have tied. Which btw, was not on squash.

Ellie: You say that now.

I bit my lip.

Ellie: Are you coming over later?

Three blinking dots appeared. My heart fluttered in my chest the way it always did, even six months into whatever this was, every time I saw his name appear on my phone screen.

River: Midnight.

* * *

THE VANILLA JAR CANDLES I’D LIT shortly before midnight flickered softly. From my desk against the wall, they provided just enough light to cast a warm honey glow over my bed beneath the window. Outside, an October thunderstorm rattled the windowpanes. The room was warm, my bare skin flushed where I arched on the bed, my arms extended up over my head, secured to the bedpost by River’s belt.

I twisted in the restraint, feeling the bite of the leather into my wrists.

Above me, River smirked. “For someone who claims she doesn’t want to be a wolf, you certainly like to do wicked things to me at the full moon.”