“Here,” Luke murmured after I’d walked half the length. I paused and felt a tug on the bag. He led me off to the side and gently nudged me down onto some old hay.
“If I wake up to bugs crawling on me, I will not be happy,” I whispered waiting for him to settle next to me.
When he lay still, I used my hands to find him. He lay on his back and I pressed close to his side. His warmth became a halo around me.
“I promise, I will keep them off of you,” his low voice rumbled under my ear as I settled my cheek on his chest. Too bad he kept his shirt on. Skin to skin, I tended not to dream at all. I flattened my hand on his shirt and let my fingers thaw.
“I’m glad you’re warm,” I mumbled, my eyes already closing. At least I wasn’t freezing. My stomach hurt, my legs ached from all the kicking and moving I’d done during the fight, and my arms just felt like they would fall off. Dreaming might not be the worst.
“Though she’s a pleasure to be around, we’ve noticed she’s very aggressive with others. I wanted to suggest an outlet for her energy.” The daycare administrator handed my father a slip of paper. We sat in her office, just the three of us. My legs dangled from the chair, and I idly swung them back and forth. Moving helped. I didn’t feel so mad then. I arched my neck to look at the paper. It had a picture of a man kicking and some words. I didn’t care about the words, though. I liked the picture. I liked kicking.
The dream shifted.
The other kids congregated around the playground equipment, laughing and chasing each other. I stood back, watching them play with a smile, but not joining. Whenever I tried, they stopped playing to lie around. Sometimes a few of them even took naps. Meanwhile, something inside me grew, tightening my skin to the point of discomfort, to the point I grew angry. So I stood on the outskirts, never really joining, and they let me be though they threw an occasional friendly wave my way. Everybody liked me. They couldn’t help it. I made them feel good.
A new boy walked over to one of my classmates and took the ball from her hands. Her lips quivered, but she didn’t cry. Instead she walked away. I felt indignant for her and watched the boy stalk away from the group to play sullenly with the ball. I frowned at him.
With most of my classmates further away, I approached him knowing my skin wouldn’t tighten too much.
“Why did you do that?” I demanded.
He looked up at me with narrowed eyes. Anger, hurt, and uncertainty flooded me.
“Why are you so mad?” I asked. Usually the people around me were happy. But even happiness, when I soaked up too much, made me feel tight inside.
His eyes opened a little wider before they narrowed again. He balled his fist and swung at me.
I blocked just as my instructor had taught me. The boy dropped the ball to try another swing. I blocked again. He gave a growl of frustration and started swinging wildly. I continued to block the blows, flowing into the different stances and moves, enjoying the movement. The emotions poured off him, and I unwillingly soaked them up, but what we did helped burn them out of me. Soon I could see him tiring and took two quick steps back. I didn’t want to drain him. I liked that he didn’t lie down like the other kids did. He was different, and playing with him helped me. I felt deflated in a good way. I bowed to him as I’d been taught.
I smiled at his shocked expression. “Do you want me to show you how to block next recess?”
He nodded his mop of sandy blonde hair. I felt the tears hiding behind his grey eyes and reached for his hand, willing to help him again. I took his hurt away as the teacher walked over to us to scold us for fighting.
“We weren’t fighting,” I explained. “We’re training. He’s my partner now.” I wouldn’t need to stand alone anymore.
The teacher shook her head indulgently and shooed us inside.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
“Isabelle. What’s yours?”
“Ethan.”
* * * *
“We’re less than an hour away,” Luke called over his shoulder. The move twisted the healing bite on his neck. I hated seeing it, probably as much as he hated the cut on my stomach. His injury, at least, healed faster.
I nodded in response, but otherwise kept scrunched behind Luke. Heavy wet snow blanketed the ground. The wind bit into my skin, chilling it until it stung. I couldn’t tell if I felt so cold because of the temperature, which barely hovered above freezing, or because of a fever. My stomach had hurt when I woke and I worried that the moldy air, or dirty clothes I wore, might have caused an infection.
“Shit,” Luke swore and swerved.
I lifted my head from his back, but didn’t see anything. Turning, I saw a werewolf running behind us. Before I could panic, Luke opened the throttle, and the bike screamed down the road, distancing us from our pursuer.
“They know,” he yelled back at me.
No kidding. I clung to Luke, watching our pursuer. Only three roads into the pack’s territory and ultimately to the Compound. One came in from the north, one from the southwest, and another from the east. We’d abandoned the eastern route when we’d run into them last time. When they’d found me south of here, we’d kept heading north hoping they’d think we’d switch from the obvious. There was no turning around anymore. We were too close. They now knew our direction and would be ready.
The lone wolf stopped running and stood in the middle of the paved lane, no doubt communicating to the rest of the pack. The bike screamed down the road. I didn’t dare try peeking around Luke to see how fast we went. If the wind had hurt before, it really tore at me now. We rode for another ten minutes without sighting anything. Then, hell opened its mouth and started spitting at us.
