Gifted (Cainsville 0.6)

She looked up at him. "Are you okay, Lo?"

"No, I'm not. My sister tried to sneak into the forest when there's a mutt--"

"There isn't a--" She swallowed the rest and dropped her gaze again. "Whether there is or isn't, the point is that I disobeyed a direct order."

"From your Alpha."

She shifted. They both understood the difference, even if Mom might not. If she told them to brush after meals, that was their Mom. If she told them to stay away from a potential mutt, that was their Alpha.

"Are you okay, Lo?" Kate asked again. Then she shook her head. "No, stupid question. I know something's bugging you. It's what happened at school, isn't it?"

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. More than a minute, because he'd honestly forgotten about it. His sister had problems at school with the other girls. Kate was smart and talented and--according to the other boys--pretty. But she hung around with Logan and a few of the other kids who didn't quite fit in, and that drove the popular girls nuts, like she wa

s thumbing her nose at them. They could be mean. The last day of school, one of them had tripped Kate, and his sister had hauled off, whacked her and sent her flying. The girl had been too scared to tattle, but Logan had a talk with Kate after that.

"I know I need to rise above it," she said. "Ignore them. Never hit them, because I can really hurt them. And because Mom will get a call, and she doesn't need that."

"Right."

"It won't happen again. But you're still mad, aren't you? I disappointed you."

"What? No." He gave her a rare hug. "I actually forgot all about it, Kate. If I'm a little off, it's just that: I feel a little off. Like you did this summer. I'm running behind. Boys do mature slower than girls."

She laughed at that and hugged him back. "I don't think anyone would accuse you of maturing slowly. All right then, as long as you aren't mad at me."

"About the school thing? No. About sneaking out tonight? Yes."

"I know. It was dumb. I'm a kid. I'm allowed to do dumb things. Isn't that what you said?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just get inside before Mom or Dad catches us or we'll both learn exactly how dumb it was."

An hour after giving his sister proper hell for disobeying an order, Logan was doing exactly the same thing and painfully aware of the hypocrisy. But the puppy had to be fed.

He gave Kate time to fall asleep. Then he put on his coat and boots and climbed out the window. Snow was still falling, already obscuring their tracks from earlier. He had a ways to go, and he really wanted to get this done quickly, so he circled out to the road, which was easier. Any other time, he'd have enjoyed walking on a crisp and clear night with lightly falling snow. The nip of the cold didn't bother him at all, and he walked with his hood down, moving between a fast walk and a jog, depending on the depth of the snow.

He'd hit a good run at a plowed section, and he was ripping along, hearing nothing but the wind whistling past his ears. The snow started driving his way, and he narrowed his eyes against it. The cold wind numbed his ears and nose, and he was truly running "blind," all senses deadened. Just keep moving. A little farther, and then he'd veer into the woods and--

There was a figure on the road.

It seemed to appear from nowhere, but the truth was, he just hadn't been watching where he was going. Not watching. Not listening. Not smelling. He'd had his eyes on the road, and then he glanced up, and there was a man standing ten feet away.

Logan stopped fast. He rubbed his hands over his face, and, when he pulled them away, he caught the scent. His stomach did a double flip.

No, that wasn't possible. It had been a misunderstanding. His parents had caught a whiff of the puppy and mistaken it for . . .

Logan inhaled deeper and swallowed.

And mistaken it for nothing. There was a mutt, standing on the edge of their property.

A mutt, twice his size, staring right at him.

Logan knew he should run. That's what they'd been taught. But he couldn't, and it wasn't fear--it was something deep in his gut that saw a rogue werewolf on their territory and refused to flee. He planted his feet, and lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. And he waited.

The mutt took three steps toward him. Slow and careful steps. As the mutt drew near, Logan realized he was young. Maybe twenty. Still twice his size. Both twins were small for their age, one of the more unfortunate traits they'd inherited from their father, who'd been the smallest in his class until he hit his growth spurt in high school.

The mutt stared at him and then inhaled deeply, his eyes widening.

"You smell like a werewolf," the young man said.