Wolfsong (Green Creek 1)

He smiled, but it was a trembling thing.

I tried to smile back. I don’t know how good it was.

He said, “Guess we have to talk.”

I said, “Yeah. Guess we do.”

We sounded ridiculous.

He sighed. “Look. Hey. Just. Whatever happens. Okay. Whatever you… decide. I need you to know that I meant what I said.”

“When you said what?”

“Everything I’ve ever said to you. Everything, Ox.”

My throat closed just a tad.

“Yeah, Joe,” I said roughly. “Okay.”

He nodded before turning and walking down the dirt road.

I fell into step beside him.

My hand brushed against his. I didn’t know if it was on purpose or not.

I cursed myself for not having enough courage just to reach out and take hold of his hand. We’d done it countless times before. Before he’d—

Just before.

But he decided for us, since the next time we touched, he latched on, curling his fingers against my own. My thumb pressed against the pulse point in his wrist, feeling the nervous, er

ratic beat that bounced under his skin.

I held on as tightly as I could.

THE OLD house was empty when we arrived. The house at the end of the lane was lit up, wolves moving around inside. The humans were in their own homes. I thought maybe Robbie was out in the woods somewhere, but I couldn’t be sure. I was too overwhelmed by Joe.

It was thoughtful, leaving us alone, but they weren’t being subtle.

But then, I didn’t know if werewolves knew how to be subtle.

I didn’t know if I did either, for that matter.

He hesitated briefly, looking up at the house, and I remembered the day he was on my back, that little tornado who said he was sorry for whatever had just made me sad. He hadn’t been in the house since that night. Since Thomas and my mom died.

I dropped his hand and he sighed as we moved up the steps to the porch.

The door was unlocked. I pushed it open, and he followed me inside.

His eyes flashed red as soon as he crossed the threshold, claws and teeth popping out like he had no control over them.

He said, “Shit. Oh Jesus. It’s not. It’s not the same. It’s not like—”

“Joe,” I said sharply, making sure I stayed a careful distance away.

“I can smell him,” Joe snarled through a mouthful of sharp teeth. “He’s been here. He stays here. He’s in the wood. He’s in the walls. He’s—”

It hit me then. “Robbie.”