Wildfire

Chapter 25

25. Bite

My clothes were completely drenched, right down to my underwear. Even with the heat cranked high in the truck, my body was wracked with shivers and we made it five minutes down the road before Diego pulled over. He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, tossing it wordlessly in my lap.

"Thanks," I mumbled. I was too cold to feel self-conscious as I shucked off my tracksuit bottoms and my hoodie, scrambling into his arm shirt as fast as humanly possible. I wadded my clothes and my socks up into a ball and tossed them in the back of the truck, before huddling down into his shirt for warmth. There was a new layer to the usual scent of earth and musk — like pine, and maybe grass. It reminded me of outdoorsy things, like camping and hiking, but also of warm hugs and hot fires.

When I had my seatbelt strapped on, Diego pulled back onto the road, an unreadable expression on his face.

A nervous feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Was he ignoring me now? Whatever had happened out on that road — it felt like a line had been crossed, and I wasn't sure where I stood anymore. My mind was still reeling from the fact that Diego was apparently suicidal. How much had it cost him to admit that to me?

My eyes strayed toward his side of the truck and I licked my lips nervously, questions threatening to drip from the tip of my tongue. The look on his face reminded me of the night in his apartment, when he'd told me the truth about what he was. Confrontational, wary.

Maybe he was waiting for me to react? But I didn't know how to react... I had too many questions. My head was overfull with them and my tongue tingled with the urge to blurt them out.

Who is she? Why couldn't you save her? Why does it hurt you so bad, you want to kill yourself over it?

Then:

Why did you tell me?

He could have laughed it off and I probably would have believed him. I hadn't been completely sure, only suspicious.

I glanced at him again, starting to notice other things. Little things hidden beneath the surface, like the tired slant to his eyes and the slump in his shoulders, like he was exhausted. Given what I'd learned about werewolf stamina from his miraculous recovery from getting shot, I guessed that his exhaustion was less physical and more mental.

I felt the questions bubbling up my throat slowly sink back down. Did I really want to probe him for information and drag him through that sort of emotional upheaval all over again? It had been a chaotic day for both of us, but as traumatic as being kidnapped had been... Diego had just been forced prematurely into a situation where he was facing his own mortality. And as suicidal as he seemed to be feeling, I wasn't sure he had considered the consequences of what dying would actually mean.

Since when did someone else — a boy, no less — become more important that your own survival? I frowned, a wave of anxiety surging through me. I needed those answers, whether Diego was emotionally ready to give them to me or not. It wasn't just his butt on the line anymore, it was both of ours. His kind had decided to haul me into this mess and the less I knew, the bigger the target on my back became.

I was starting to feel caught between a rock and a hard place, and I had absolutely no idea which direction to go in.

By the time Diego pulled the truck up in front of Centennial Hall, I still hadn't made up my mind. He knocked off the engine and exhaled loudly as he propped one elbow up on the inside of his window. The university campus felt quiet tonight; it had to be around nine or ten o'clock, so people were probably finishing up their study groups and getting ready for bed, or on their way to a party. The parking lot was almost full with empty cars and the nearby streetlights cast a gentle glow on the interior of the truck.