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I’m getting pissed off. “I’m talking to you. What are you doing? Are you okay? I’d ask if you needed a ride, but you’ve fucked up your chance for that. Gordo’s going to kill me. The car belongs to the shop.”
And the man says, “Gordo.”
I stop, a chill arcing down my spine like lightning.
The man says, “When I gave him his tattoos, he screamed. Did you know that? I can’t blame him. It hurts like you wouldn’t believe. But pain is edifying, teaching one the ways of the world. If there was ever a lesson I could have imparted to him, it would have been that wolves aren’t the only things with teeth that tear and rend.”
I take a step back, not knowing it’s already too late.
The man lifts his head. His hands rise to the hood, sliding it back. His hair is white and wispy, fluttering in the cool breeze. The sleeves of his cloak slide down his wrists to his forearms, and I see the tattoos carved into his skin.
He turns his head.
He’s smiling.
“No,” I say. “You can’t—you can’t be here. You can’t—”
He chuckles. “Oh, Robbie. I think you’ll find that I can. Would you hear me, dear?”
I know I can’t win.
Not against him.
Not against this witch.
I can’t beat him alone.
I turn and run, starting to shift. My clothes are tearing as I reach the girder, planning on vaulting over it and disappearing into the woods. The trees will keep me safe. They always have. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, hiding away until it’s safe. I’ve done it once before. I can do it again.
Except I don’t make it.
The air around me starts to burn ozone-sharp. I’m frozen, muscles tensing, caught halfway between human and wolf.
“Robbie,” he says from behind me. “I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere. Look at me.”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Look. At. Me.”
I turn. I try to stop it, but I don’t have control.
He’s standing closer now. I can see the lines on his face, a face so familiar that it takes my breath away. I think wildly that this is what Gordo will look like when he’s older, this is the face of my friend, but it’s a lie, because there’s something in his eyes, something dark and twisted.
He’s still smiling.
He says, “You know me.”
“Fuck you,” I manage to say.
He shakes his head. “You’re going to help me.”
“The hell I will. We’re going to kill you, we’re going to—”
“We,” he says. “We. Your pack? Yes. I suppose you think you will. But your pack isn’t here, Robbie. They can’t help you now.”
I try to move, try to get away as he walks toward me slowly, but I can’t. My feet are stuck to the ground like they’ve taken root.
His tattoos are so bright.
