And what he had gained.
His eyes flared red in the deep, dark night.
Through my horror, I said the only thing I could.
Alpha.
the third year/not yet
SOME NIGHTS I dreamed of the moon and blood and Mark dragging his broken body toward me.
Other nights I dreamed of kissing him on a warm summer afternoon.
“You say his name, sometimes,” Carter told me once.
“Who?”
“Mark.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Gordo. Sure you don’t.”
“I will fucking turn your tongue to silver if you don’t shut up, Carter. I swear to god.”
He grinned at me, waggling his eyebrows. “Is it those kind of dreams? You know, the ones where you and Mark are all rubbing on each—you know what, I just realized that’s my uncle and I’m going to stop talking now.”
Kelly gagged.
Joe stared out the window.
Goddamn Thomas for leaving me with these assholes.
THERE WERE stretches of days and weeks when we’d be spinning our wheels.
We ate shitty diner food in Bonners Ferry, Idaho.
We slept in a ramshackle motel on the outskirts of Bow Island, Alberta.
The wolves left massive paw prints in the dunes of the Great Sandhills.
We drove along lonely stretches of road in Nowhere, Montana.
Some days we didn’t speak for hours and hours.
Then there were the other days.
“WHAT DO you think they’re doing right now?” Kelly asked, feet up on the dash. His head was against the headrest, face turned toward his brother.
Carter was silent for a long time. Then, “It’s Sunday.”
“I know.”
“There’s tradition.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Carter.”
He said, “Mom’s probably in the kitchen. There’s music playing in the background. A record on her old record player. She’s dancing. Slow. And she’s singing along.”