Between Two Wolves and a Hard Place (8 page)

The woman swipes my credit card and hands it back to me. "We just opened up last fall. I'm Anita, by the way."

"Hello!" I shake hands with her over the counter, her infectious smile bringing back my own. "Kiera. I love your bakery."

She gives me a cute little shrug. "Thanks! I love it too. I hope to see you around."

I nod, pick up my coffee and bear claw, then move back to the window. You wouldn't get this kind of contact with a random barista in New York. Or if you did, it would be because they'd been instructed to be friendly in their corporate training.

I sigh and sit. Art. Glass. What to do? I cycle all of my favorite artists' work through my mind, but I don't want to be derivative. Whatever I create has to reflect where I am in my life, who I am right now, what I'm going through. And what is that?

I munch on my bear claw and moan, then immediately cover my mouth and blush, looking over my shoulder. Anita clearly heard, and looks past the customer standing in front of her to give me a grin and a thumbs-up. I beam back, then turn around. The pastry really is amazing. I wash my bite down with a sip of coffee, then force my thoughts back on track.

What feels most real to me right now? Loss. Anger. Shame. Those are the first words that come to mind. Marv standing in the hotel doorway, offering me fifty bucks if I'd let him take me from behind. That memory causes anger and the closest I've ever felt to hatred to blossom with me. How could he? How could he treat me that way? And to think, I spent years with him. Defending him. Standing up for him. Paying for his rent. Making excuses for him.

I force myself to relax and take another bite. Why did I stay with Marv for so long? I stare out the window. Why? I munch slowly, trying to answer the question. Nothing comes at first. But I can tell that whatever reason kept me shackled to his side, it made his betrayal all the more galling. It was connected. His betrayal was unexpected. Shocking. It revealed a side to him that I'd never imagined existed. Like a monster emerging from the dark.

I freeze, coffee halfway to my mouth. Like a monster emerging. Like Dean turning into a wolf. It clicks then, and with painful clarity I realize what kept me by his side: he was predictable. Safe. I thought I understood him, and that he had no surprises in store for me. I felt superior to him. In control. I thought, erroneously, that he would never scare me. Surprise me. Turn into a monster.

I set the cup down with a rattle on its saucer. My heart is racing. I fled Dean and Drake, and blocked them from my mind. I thought I'd moved on, but I hadn't. That evening in the woods had haunted my every decision, right up to picking a despicable man I thought would never surprise me.

And yet he had, and had proven to be a worse monster than Dean ever could be. Tears prick my eyes, and I laugh bitterly at myself beneath my breath. I was a fool. A blind, ignorant fool. All these years I've fought to avoid being hurt, and I only set myself up for the greatest devastation of all.

I finish my bear claw and coffee, but the pleasure in their taste is gone. Feeling raw, vulnerable, I rise to my feet and slip back outside, not wanting to let Anita see my pain. The cold spring air feels good on my face, and I set out for a walk, not caring what direction I go in. South, and soon the road curves away from the river and Honeycomb Falls and into the woods.

Marv proved to be a monster, but I'm the one who was purposefully blind to his faults. I'm the one who refused to see what was right before my eyes. I can't totally blame Marv for acting according to his nature; the true blame lies on my shoulders, and in my deluded denial.

But no longer. I won't hide from the real world any more. I won't deny what I wanted, what I needed. Immediately an image of Dean and Drake appears before me. My truest, oldest friends. I ran away from them, terrified, and while that's understandable, is it fair? I wrestle with that question. Is there a way to a second chance? The thought sends a shiver through me, and an image of a slavering wolf flashes before my eyes. My throat clenches, and I hug myself tight.

Dean isn't a monster. He's a shifter. Can I trust him? Trust him to keep control of himself? I don't know. I don't know the Dean of today. He looked so dark and lost in Fool's Gold. And that Leena. She seems more his style now.

My walk takes me past that grand old estate, Honeycomb Hall, hidden out here on the outskirts of town. I'm pleased to see how well-kept it looks. Growing up, we all knew to avoid its grounds, where the witch Mama B held sway. Is she still around? I see a number of cars parked in the circular driveway, and what looks like a lot of activity on the grounds. An archway is being erected, with wreaths of flowers everywhere. Is somebody getting married? I remember Anita's wedding cake and grin. Whoever they are, they're in for one delicious wedding cake.

I turn and head back. Thoughts of my art, of Dean and Drake, and of Marv swirl through my mind. The past. The present. But what about my future? Can I change? Can I confront my fears? Can I become stronger, wiser, more self-aware? Can I rise from the ashes of all my disasters, and recreate myself?

Like a phoenix, I think, and then stop. Rebirth. The phoenix. Red glass. Flame and fire. Ashes and death. New life. Hope and freedom. Victory in defeat.

My whole body shivers with creative joy, and I realize: this is it. This is the theme I'll work with. This is what speaks truest to me, this is where I am.

I need forgiveness, I need growth, I need to rediscover love. My old, haunted self must die so that a new, braver, more honest version can live.

Energy fills me, making me wanting to run, to leap and laugh. Yes! I rush back to Honeycomb Falls, cross over the trestle bridge, take a hard right down to Conway Studios, and grab my bike. I need to get started. I need to start sketching, start creating. I ride my bike back to my parents' house, rushing along sidewalks and darting across streets, and despite the cool air I'm bathed in sweat by the time I get home.

I grab my dad and, explaining everything to him in fits and starts, get him to help me load all my glassblowing equipment from his garage into the back of his car, and then drive it down to my new studio.

He helps me unload, bemused and happy for me, and doesn't even protest when I hug him as tightly as I can, and then usher him out the door. He knows my creative moods. He knows how I get. With the door closed, I grab my sketch pad and sit with my back to the wall that looks out over the river. With charcoal and pencils I begin to sketch, free-flowing, not holding anything back, page after page of designs, whirls, swirls, forms and figures.

Time passes. When I finally blink and look up, the sun is setting behind the mountains to the west, and the shadows stretch long across the cement floor. There's a crick in my neck, and my butt has gone numb. I'm surrounded by countless drawings, an outpouring of creativity that I haven't felt in over a year. I grin and stand with a moan, then stretch, fists pressed into the small of my back, and wander over to the wall to flick a switch and turn on the lights.

Rebirth. That's what my new line will be called. But I have to embody the concept for the art to feel true. And what does that mean? It means I need to clear the air with Dean and Drake. I need to apologize. I need to ask for their forgiveness, and tell them how I feel.

I dig out my phone and pull up Drake's number. I bite my lower lip. He's going to be furious with me. At my nerve in asking for another meeting. At my utter lack of shame. But I have to call. I have to speak to them both.

Just then, my phone lights up and rings. It's Drake's number. I nearly drop the phone in my surprise, and then press it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Kiera?" His voice is tight, almost breathless.

"Drake?"

"We need to talk."

"I - yes! I was just about to call you. How did -"

"The three of us. Dean's here with me. We need to see you. Now."

"Now? Yes. Perfect." I feel bewildered. What's going on?

"Are you at the studio?"

"I am. Come over."

The door opens, and Drake steps in, lowering his phone, Dean right behind him. My heart seizes up. They're here. Their eyes burn into me, so intense they seem to glow in the gloom, and fear and desire cause my heart to stop.

Chapter 10

Like that, they're both suddenly there, in the flesh, staring at me, their eyes consuming my body. I have a ridiculous urge to turn and run. But where would I go? Drake closes the door behind him, and for a long, aching, terrible moment we simply stand there, staring at each other.

And good god, they're delicious to look at. Both of them could be underwear models. No, what am I thinking? They exude far too much primal, dangerous energy to ever just stand around in undies. They would scare and arouse people beyond measure if they were seen naked on subway billboards. Oh no. These two men are wolves, primitive and alluring and oh, what am I thinking? Say something!

My throat is parched, so I gulp and give my silly wave. "Hi."

Drake snorts and Dean stalks across the large room to one of the windows, where he looks out at the Conway. I watch him go, and feel even more uncertain. Why does he look so angry?

Drake runs his hand through his hair. "Thanks for seeing us."

"Are you kidding? I was about to call you. I have so much I need to say."

Dean's got his back to us, fingertips resting on the windowsill. His stillness draws the eye. When did he grow so hard? The Dean I knew was prone to moods, could even be called taciturn, but was easily drawn into laughter and goofing around by Drake and me. This man - he looks like he's forgotten how to smile.

"Yeah? Why was that?" Drake steps closer, and I step back. It's not that I'm afraid of him. Rather, it's that I don't trust myself close to him. Don't trust my hands not to rove. To explore.

I lick my lips. "I've realized a lot of things. Today. Things I didn't understand. About myself. About you two."

Drake lowers his chin and crosses his arms. He's not mad. He's not closed off and cold. He's receptive. He's listening. So I take the plunge.

"I - I ran away from you both. You know that, but I didn't realize it. I buried my past. Honeycomb Falls. Even my parents. I took it all and hid it at the back of my mind."

"Because of me," says Dean, his voice harsh.

"I - yes." It's hard to say. To admit. I want to soften my words. But the truth is hard, and it needs to be spoken. "You scared me. I was young. I didn't know what was going on. I felt vulnerable. So I ran. And I've been running ever since. Venice. Seattle. New York. Never staying anywhere for long. Avoiding anything that reminded me of you two. Of anything dangerous. That I couldn't control."

Dean turns to stare at me, and his gold eyes catch the faint evening light and seem to glow. I shiver. He's not a man. He's not a human. He's a werewolf. Dangerous. Both of them. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be alone with them -
no.
I force those thoughts down and take a deep breath.

"And I hooked up with a guy. Marv. Who was your complete opposite. I thought I could control him. And in the end, I was wrong. Dead wrong." I give a bitter laugh. "He stole everything from me. Hurt me worse than I thought was possible. He shattered my world, and stole my art. So I did what I always do. I ran away. But this time I came home."

They're both listening intently, as if nothing in the world is more important than my words. Dean pushes off the windowsill and approaches. I fight to not step back. My heart is racing. The tension between us is so thick I feel like I'm underwater.

"And..." It's hard to speak. To string words together. I just want to drink them in. " I realized I can't run anymore. I'm going to fight him. I'm going to create new art. And win the Harrowgate nomination. But..."

They're moving closer. Anticipation builds in my chest. I know what's coming. I can feel my pussy getting wet. A sweet ache is building within my core. They're listening, but their wolves are doing much more. They're moving in for the kill. And I want to be caught. I don't want to run anymore.

"But?" prompts Dean, voice soft.

"But to make new art, I had to dig deep." My voice is little more than a whisper. The three of us are moving now. I'm backing away, but it's not running. It's a dance. They move subtly, flanking me, and I keep edging back, turning first to face one and then the other. The shadows are growing darker, their eyes brighter. "And discover my truth. Where I was. What I wanted."

Drake steps close enough to reach out and touch my hair, move a curl behind my ear. His skin on mine sends excitement bubbling through me. "And what do you want?"

Dean is close to my left. The wall is only a few paces behind me. I want to say the word
rebirth
. Instead, I hear myself say, "You."

"Kiera," says Dean, and lord have mercy. I've never heard him say my name like that, so low and rough and sexy as hell.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and one last step takes me to the brick wall. I press my back against it.

"Shh," says Drake, leaning forward and pressing his nose to my neck. "You smell so fucking good."

My pussy is throbbing, my heart fluttering like a bird caught in a net. I feel so raw, so vulnerable - and so aroused. I'm losing control. And it terrifies and excites me beyond measure.

Dean's hand is on my hip, his other hand sliding across my tummy. An explosion of butterflies within me greets his touch. My skin is tingling, and heat is blossoming inside me, a fountain of lust and desire. I can't believe I'm standing here in the near-dark with them both. The two boys I grew up with. The two teenagers I fell in love with. The two men I've fought so hard to avoid, and all because I couldn't handle how intensely I needed them.

Wanted them.

All this time.

Drake's lips brush across my neck, and I shiver, raising my chin and closing my eyes. Each kiss brands my flesh. He kisses, and I can feel the sharp edges of his teeth. I want him to bite me. I want to hear him growl.

A hand cups my chin. Dean. He turns my face toward his. I open my eyes and see his golden ones, so filled with need and something else. Hesitation? Fear?