Hitchhikers (Wolf Point #1)

-47-

Kayla and I stumble back to the warehouse, clinging to each other. We don't bother taking off our coats; we are nearly frozen. The blanket goes around us and we huddle closer together, making a tiny warm space with our breath under the covers.

Our clothes, when we had found them lying in the snow, were frozen into stiff shapes that we had to shake out, chattering our teeth and breathing clouds into the air. Giggling. We were laughing at each other's nakedness, the weird way our clothes had frozen and how mine were mangled. My undershirts now flap against my skin where the seams ripped, the buttons gone. The laces in my boots had snapped, and now I kick them easily off my feet and curl my toes up under the blanket.

Without words, Kayla and I draw closer, pressing ourselves against each other, warmth rising. She smells cold and clean, pure and wild, that faint lilac scent musky and inviting. Our lips touch – hers are wet and warm, mine chapped and cold. The scents are stronger, piney forest and earth, a flower ready to bloom. Her fingers find the gaps between my clothes and my skin, and guide my hands to do the same. My rough hands travel over her smooth body, hovering over the cold places until they warm to my touch.

It becomes a game, a push and pull. I am hesitant to hurt her, and she takes advantage and pins me to the bed. Her hair tickles my face, breath clouding the cold air between us.

Smiling, she leans in.

When she is only an inch from my face, I lurch up and nip her on the nose. She growls, smiling, and her mouth presses against mine.

A new kind of hunger takes over me, and all it craves is her skin on my mine. I want to be inside of her clothes, inside of her. My shredded pants are too tight. As if sensing this, she rips at my shirt with her hands, and with her legs wrapped about my torso, she uses her feet to push my jeans off my hips.

My mouth finds that small cut on her neck, made by a claw and not teeth. It tastes like copper and salt. She pulls back and looks at me. Then she grins, grabs two fistfuls of my hair, smashes her forehead to mine.

Her hands move down my face, my neck, over my shoulders, and grip my arms.

(you killed them you killed them for me)

I tighten my grip on her. Press my face into her neck. I want to hold onto this feeling, this idea that someone might care about me, and never let it go.

* * *

We are still lying in each other's embrace when Candi arrives home, announcing her entrance with a gust of cold air and a slanted ray of sunshine.

"Well, don't you two look cozy," she sneers.

Kayla and I move apart guiltily. I sit up, wrapping my buttonless shirt around myself. "This is my cousin, Kayla," I tell Candi.

"I'm sure she is."

I can't look either of them in the eye as shame heats up my face. Instead I busy myself, putting on my sweatshirt and jackets and gloves. Kayla reads my mind and begins dressing and packing up as well.

We are a mile along on the cold road when Kayla finally says, "It was time to leave that place, anyway."

I don't know what to say to her. I don't know if she's as ashamed as I am. What was I thinking last night? Kayla is my cousin. My cousin. I kissed her. I...

Her hand slips into mine.

"This is meant to be," she says. "It's everyone else who says it's shameful. Not me. Not you."

She means that if we both think it was okay, then it was. But I'm not sure I do think it was okay. I was on a high from fighting and I was cold and needed warmth.

Kayla's hand slips from mine. "Besides, who cares what some prostitute says, anyway? Like she's got a strong moral compass."

At first I imagine Kayla has said this to hurt me. My fists curl up inside my gloves. She doesn't know, I tell myself, forcing my fingers to straighten out. She doesn't know about all those nights I spent in the company of others. Of course, I don't remember most of those nights, and the only payment I ever got for anything I did was money I stole on my way out the door, or a shared meal, or a hot shower.

It's much warmer out today than it was last night. Still, it can't be much more than twenty degrees out, and my clothes are drafty. I follow Kayla without much thought. We're headed in a different direction than the way we went last night. We aren't following the trail of the wolves that attacked us. I can smell that trail leading off into the northeast. A shudder runs through me

chase hunt kill

but it fades quickly enough, although Kayla turns to give a quizzical look. I don't look at her but briefly, and train my eyes on the snow-crusted ground.

(Kayla?)

(Yes?)

(Can you hear every thought I think?)

(...)

(I'll take that as a yes?)

"No," Kayla says without turning toward me. "I can't hear everything."

Our boots crunch crunch in the snow. I walk fast enough to catch up beside her.

"So what can't you hear?"

She looks at me sideways. "It's not like what you think."

"No? You can tell what I'm thinking right now?"

"We're not telepathic," she explains. "We're linked."

"That clears it up," I mutter.

"We're linked. You and I. This link... I'm not entirely sure how it works. I can tell how you're feeling, and sometimes what you're thinking, especially if you're thinking it at me."

"Okay... so why is it just you and me who are linked? Is it a pack thing?"

"Not exactly."

And even though she doesn't say it, I can hear it:

(it's a mate thing)

I fall back behind, and try not to broadcast my thoughts to her, but since I don't really know how not to broadcast my thoughts I can't be sure she isn't hearing them. What I'm thinking is

(mate? like sex?)

I flash back to the disgusted look on Candi's face, when she saw the two of us in bed together.

(is Kayla my mate? did I do this? could I have stopped it?)

After a long time of walking and silence and thinking, my thoughts turn from Kayla to the bigger problem. Why did this other pack attack us? Why did Kayla stop me from chasing them and killing every last one? I could have done it. I felt that power in those short moments when I was a wolf and fully aware. It would have been safer to kill all of them.