Wolven

8. wolves of the woods

If I had a clearer memory of that stumble I'd taken in the woods weeks ago, I might have been shaking less to see it watching us from the shelter of the brush. And anyway, it was different seeing a wolf in broad daylight than under the shadows of night. Nor was I the one alone this time. Clay stepped immediately in front of me, the bulk of him blocking my view.

I peered around him despite myself. Could it be one of the wolves I'd seen that night?

"It's really there, right?"

I tried to catch his expression. He didn't look intimidated at all—certainly not as much as I felt. He actually looked a little irritated, like he'd been intruded upon by a pest. But he didn't move. He just stared at the thing.

"Clay, it's a wolf," I said.

"I know it's a wolf," he muttered. "She won't hurt us."

"How do you know that?" I whispered, feeling my heart begin to pound down into my stomach. I wanted to run, but I wouldn't even know where to go, and Clay seemed to be locked in a staring contest with the animal sitting in the bushes. I looked up at his face: his narrowed eyes, his twitching jaw, his pressed lips. What was he doing? Challenging it? I turned my gaze to face it, but found only disinterest in its face.

"The fuck do we do?" I tried Clay again. He looked over his shoulder at me.

"We keep walking," he said, beginning off again. He cast one last look at the wolf before turning his back. "She'll leave us alone."

The wolf twitched an ear but made no gesture that it was going to follow. So as Clay continued down his self-made path, I turned to follow him. The wolf watched as we walked away.

"How do you know it was a she?" I asked him, catching up to his shoulder. He was walking much more determinedly than he had been earlier.

"I just do," was all he replied.

I peeked over my shoulder. No sight of the wolf.

"You're not afraid of it following us?" I laughed in a gasp, trying to keep up with him. He was really fast when he wanted to be. "It's okay to be scared, you know. I mean, we're in their habitat, so we're kind of the assholes, if you think about it. Not that I mean wolves are assholes, I like them a lot from a distance. They don't scare you at all?"

"No."

Clay didn't first notice when I stopped. He'd rolled on a dime, just like the morning after the party. The Clay that had invited me out to a hike had vanished—and the Clay that replaced him wasn't nearly as appealing. After all, if I wanted to hang around a moody, masculine mess, I'd have stuck around Tristan.

When he finally noticed I'd fallen behind, he turned to me with a startled expression. He actually raked the forest with his gaze before coming back to close the distance between us. Even the sudden return of softness to his face wasn't fair.

"Yeah, hi," I said, crossing my arms and taking a step back. He took the hint, gluing his feet among the roots. "What's your issue?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You were being all fine until just now," I told him. His intense gaze refused to meet mine; I looked over my shoulder to look down the path we'd come from, but there was nothing there for him to focus the rage I saw brewing in his eyes. "Was it the wolf that made you angry?"

He was silent for a moment. And then, in defeat, "I'm not angry."

"So you are scared," I insisted. "They're the same sometimes, but that wolf is probably more afraid—"

"Jade," Clay sighed, taking my hands. I was riled up myself, gesturing like I did when something rattled me and I was too proud to admit it. His hands were a warm reminder for me to breathe. "I'm not scared, and I'm not angry. Really. It just threw me off, is all. I'm sorry."