Hemlock (14 page)

almost like whoever was driving knew they had spooked me—but it stil folowed.

Another turn put me squarely in the upscale part of downtown, the three-block stretch that was occupied mostly by smal galeries and boutiques. Being Sunday evening, the stores were empty and dark. Even the coffee shop was closed.

Gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white and my wrist throbbed, I debated my options. I could go home. I could go somewhere completely random, like the mal. But I couldn’t lead them to Kyle. Maybe they weren’t Trackers.

Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe—

Without thinking, I hung a left so suddenly that horns blared and tires squealed. Potter’s Lane was little more than a passageway connecting two streets—used exclusively for pedestrians—but I knew it was just wide enough for Dragon to squeeze through.

Jason had tried it the one time I’d been stupid enough to let him drive Tess’s car.

I heard an ear-grating crunch and hit the brakes just long enough to safely look in the mirror. The sedan had tried to folow, but it was too wide to fit between the brick buildings. The front of the car had crumpled like tinfoil.

A cacophony of horns sounded behind me as I headed for Kyle’s.

Kyle’s.

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and rang Kyle’s doorbel a second time.

I glanced nervously up and down Salinger Drive. The Harper house was the last door on a sleepy, dead-end street. The homes in this neighborhood weren’t as large or as new as the ones by Jason’s place, but they were stil a far cry from the apartment I shared with Tess. A lot of them were owned by people who worked in Hemlock’s medical research industry, like Kyle’s parents.

A few lawns down, a group of kids chased one another in a game that looked like a cross between tag and hide-and-seek, but otherwise, the street was quiet. Stil, I was filed with so much nervous energy that my skin itched. I kept expecting another black car to rol down the block, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me, even though the only eyes I saw belonged to the three slightly creepy garden gnomes that hung out in Mrs. Harper’s flower beds.

A shadow moved toward the door, just visible through the frosted glass, and then, suddenly, Kyle was in the open doorway, staring down at me with an expression that hovered between surprise and annoyance.

“Are your parents home?”

He blinked, like it took him a second to process the sentence, before saying, “No. They’re out.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Great. I need to stash Dragon in your I breathed a sigh of relief. “Great. I need to stash Dragon in your garage.” Before Kyle could ask me why or object, I was down the driveway and behind the wheel. After a couple of minutes, the garage door slowly roled up.

I left the car in the spot usualy occupied by the Subaru Kyle’s dad drove and walked through the door that connected the garage to the kitchen.

Kyle was waiting inside. Arms crossed, he leaned against the stainless steel refrigerator. The last rays of orange light filtered through the window, throwing highlights over his hair and casting his face in shadow. “And the Toyota had to be in the garage because . . . ?”

I bit my lip. “There was a car hanging around outside my apartment building. I think it was folowing me.”

The change in Kyle was instant. One second he was the boy I had been friends with for years, and the next he looked like someone hard and dangerous. He pushed away from the refrigerator and started for the door, tension roling off him in waves.

“It’s okay.” The anxiety emanating from Kyle made it hard to find my voice, made me a little breathless. “I lost them on the way over. I just didn’t want anyone to spot Dragon in your driveway.”

I tried to say it matter-of-factly, like this was the sort of thing that happened to me every day. I didn’t want to feed Kyle’s anxiety with my own when his was already thick enough to choke on.

“Why would someone be folowing you?”

I pushed my hair back from my face, not missing the way Kyle’s I pushed my hair back from my face, not missing the way Kyle’s eyes darted to the stitches on my forehead. “Derby showed up at the hospital. I told the police that I didn’t know the identity of the wolf that saved me, but he didn’t believe me.”

Kyle cursed under his breath. “They were folowing you because of me. Because they thought you’d lead them to a werewolf.”

“Maybe not.” It was cold in the kitchen, but that had nothing to do with why I was suddenly trembling. Even just talking about what had happened in the hospital set my pulse racing. “Derby didn’t just ask me about the werewolf.” I realized I was talking about Kyle in the third person and shook my head. “About you,” I amended. “He also warned me not to tel Jason what happened to me after I left the club. Derby has some sort of
plan
”—the word was like cotton in my mouth and I had to struggle to spit it out

—“for Jason, and he’s worried I’l screw it up. He made it sound like he’d hurt Jason if I told him.”

Kyle’s eyes blazed. “What sort of plan?”

I sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. That was the worst part: not knowing why Derby was so interested in Jason. “I have no idea, but I don’t think he wants to start a bowling league.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, I waited for the ghost of a smile to cross Kyle’s face. It didn’t.

“Are you going to tel him?”

“How can I?” My stomach twisted. If I told Jason, and Derby folowed through on his threat, I’d never forgive myself.

Kyle stared intently at a spot on the wal just beyond my Kyle stared intently at a spot on the wal just beyond my shoulder. “So Jason gets off scot-free. He doesn’t have to deal with any guilt, because he’l never know what happened to you or that he could have stopped it.” Kyle clenched his fist, like he wanted to hit something, and let out a low, mirthless chuckle.

“That’s just great.”

I took a hesitant step toward him. “Kyle—”

He shook his head. “Forget about it. It doesn’t matter.”

It obviously did, but not knowing what to say, I stupidly said the first thing that popped into my head. “Where are your parents?”

“They went to my aunt’s. They won’t be home until late.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Were you avoiding me?” I asked just as Kyle said, “It’s okay if you don’t want to be alone with a werewolf.”

“I was trying to give you space,” Kyle answered just as I said,

“I’m not worried about being alone with you.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

He looked so miserable and lonely that, suddenly, al I wanted to do was find a way to make it better. Make him better. I crossed the few feet that separated us. “Ummm, Kyle?”

“Yeah?” he muttered.

“You’re kind of a bonehead.” He opened his mouth, but I rushed on before he could say anything. “If I’m seeking you out—

like, you know, say,
calling you
—I don’t need space.” Then, before I could change my mind or worry that he’d pul away, I hugged him.

hugged him.

Every muscle in his body stiffened and my heart stutter-skipped, but I didn’t let go. I turned my face so that my cheek lay against the cotton of Kyle’s shirt, and I pressed my palms flat to his back.

It’s still Kyle
, I told myself, breathing in the scent of his deodorant and the laundry detergent his mom used and the slightly cinnamon smel from his favorite gum. Underneath that was a new scent—something that reminded me of forest earth and cedar trees

—but I didn’t let myself dwel on that.

I didn’t let myself think of brick wals and brown fur and bright red blood or the way Jimmy Tyler’s screams had echoed in my ears.

After a long moment, Kyle put his arms around me and rested his chin against the top of my head.

“I’ve missed this,” I admitted, voice slightly muffled against his shirt. When Kyle and Heather had started getting serious, we’d imposed a mutual ban on things like hugging. Even after they’d broken up, the ban seemed to have stayed in place.

Kyle pressed a kiss to the crown of my head and my face inexplicably flooded with warmth as something fluttered in my stomach. “What was that for?”

He shrugged against me. “For not bolting,” he said, voice rough.

Kyle puled away and I felt unsteady and a little lost. He headed for the door but I stayed rooted in the spot.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “No use standing in the kitchen al night.”

I folowed him downstairs but stopped with my foot on the last step.
What’s wrong with you?
I asked myself.
You’ve been in
step.
What’s wrong with you?
I asked myself.
You’ve been in
Kyle’s room hundreds of times.

Kyle turned. “Mac?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t explain that my hesitation had nothing to do with the fact that he was infected and everything to do with the fluttery feeling I’d gotten when he wrapped his arms around me.

Mutely, I folowed him to his room.

Kyle switched on the desk lamp. The bulb flickered and then cast a warm glow over the familiar wood-paneled wals, plaid curtains, and movie posters. A year ago, Kyle had convinced his parents to let him turn the basement rec room into a bedroom. His bed and desk were near the door. He’d set up the other half of the large room as a sort of lounge with a forty-two-inch TV—the predecessor to the flat-screen upstairs—and a sofa that was probably older than he was.

I sat on the edge of the unmade bed and suddenly thought of Heather. I’d never asked for details, but she must have been down here. The thought of Heather and Kyle in his room—on his bed—

made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t totaly understand and definitely didn’t like.

Kyle grabbed the swivel chair from his desk and roled it toward the bed. “You must have questions.” He sat down and leaned forward, watching my face intently, like he was the one looking for answers.

It took me a minute to realize he was talking about the fact that he was a werewolf. Not exactly an easy thing to forget—at least it he was a werewolf. Not exactly an easy thing to forget—at least it shouldn’t have been.

“Have you told your parents?” I asked, forcing myself to focus.

He shook his head.

“Are you going to?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted eventualy.

“How did you get it? And how long have you had it?” I swalowed.
How long have you been keeping things from me?

Kyle took a deep breath, like he had picked up on the question I hadn’t asked. That was one of the differences between him and Jason: Kyle always gave just as much weight and consideration to the things I didn’t say as to the things I did.

“I got it from Heather. About five weeks ago. I didn’t know she was infected and we were fooling around and then arguing and then she . . . sorta . . . she started to shift and she . . .” He ran a hand through his hair.

I blushed. “Bit you? Scratched you?” It took thirty days from bite or scratch to first change. In a way, though Kyle had contracted LS over a month ago, he’d only been a ful-fledged, shape-shifting werewolf for about a week.

He nodded. “Scratched.” He spun in the chair and slowly puled up his shirt. “She picked it up in Seattle when she was visiting her cousin.”

I clenched my teeth and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of five livid scars running from his upper back to the waistband of his jeans. Without thinking, I reached out and touched one of the marks. I gently ran a finger down it—almost the same way Jason had traced the gash on my temple.

had traced the gash on my temple.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, voice coming out strangled. I was going to kil Heather Yoshida.

“It did. Not so much now.”

I stared at Kyle’s scarred, ruined back, and my eyes filed with tears. Someone should have protected him. I should have protected him. Angrily, I brushed the tears away. It wasn’t fair to cry when he was the one who had been hurt. “Did she do it on purpose?”

Kyle let his shirt fal back down. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

He turned to face me and his eyes widened. “Are you
crying
?”

He sounded a little panicked, like the sight of a crying girl was scarier than anything that had happened over the past forty-eight hours.

I dropped my gaze to my knees and clenched my fists.

Kyle roled the chair closer, so close that my legs were between his. “Mac?”

I shook my head. So far, the tears hadn’t falen, but if I looked at him—if I thought about how much it must have hurt and how scared he must have been—it would be like a dam breaking.

Kyle reached out and gently tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. The expression in them was sad and a little broken.

He swalowed. “Don’t cry for me, Mac. Please don’t.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine. “I’m not worth it.”

My heart skipped several beats and then raced to catch up. I felt like I had stepped off a cliff and was plunging forty thousand feet. “Kyle, I—”

feet. “Kyle, I—”

I was stil fumbling for the right words when he pressed his lips to mine.

It wasn’t hesitant or awkward or the way you’d kiss your best friend. It was soft and sure and ful of heat. And it was the easiest thing for my lips to part, for me to reach up and pul him closer as his hands gently cupped my face and then trailed down my neck and along my shoulders.

Somehow, we both ended up on the bed, my back pressed to the mattress and Kyle leaning on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush me. A low growl trickled from his throat—a sound that had nothing to do with his being a werewolf.

“I have,” he said, between kisses, “been wanting. To do that.

For two years.” He gently brushed the hair back from my face, caressing my temple with the pad of his thumb.

It was ridiculously hard to think when he kissed me. I swalowed and tried to get my pulse back under control. “You never said anything.”

He gazed down at me and the spark in his eyes sent shivers—

the good kind—along my spine.

“I thought you’d freak and bolt.”