Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cassie didn't mean to sleep once she was safe inside the tornado-wracked kitchen. But somehow in the middle of hugging the microwave—which informed her that it would be speaking to its lawyer about being spell-pressed into werewolf fights—she managed to sit on the floor, and slump against the refrigerator.

And that was it. She went out like a dropped anvil.

She didn't even stir over the sink collapsing. Or when the microwave somehow maneuvered her body, until she was curled up on a heap of dish towels and pot holders and aprons. It even managed to drape a tablecloth over her, by roping in the help of the refrigerator. Like a bizarre version of Cinderella , with kitchen appliances instead of birds.

And so, when she finally did wake, there was no crick in her neck. There were no aching bones. In fact, she felt more rested than she had in ages. Like she had slept all night.

Then she checked her phone, and realized.

She had.

She'd been asleep for hours .

It was well into the morning. Scarily well into the morning.

Because apparently, Seth had not returned. He hadn't messaged, he hadn't called. There was no sign of him anywhere. And that meant one of two things: either he was sound asleep too, as peaceful and happy as a clam. Or he had been captured, and was being tortured by the werewolf super bullies from hell.

And she had to know which.

So even though her kitchen was a bomb site, and everything was really bad, and there was still goddamn werewolf blood under her fingernails, the first thing she did was make an Are They Okay potion. She threw it together, in the only intact pot she could find, so impatient about it that she burned herself twice. Then once it was finally, finally done, she poured some on the hallway mirror, to see what it revealed.

Though it still wasn't exactly clear. All it did was give her the sight of Seth, grabbing a tree and trying to haul himself forward. Like he was straining against something, somehow. Like some instinct was making him act weird. Before that same instinct forced him back, back, to what was definitely his dad's old hunting lodge.

And that was good, in one way.

It meant he wasn't dead. And that the Jerks didn't have him.

But at the same time, something bad was very obviously going on. Something that meant flying to him as soon as she could. So she made sure the microwave was all right and back in its place on the countertop. And she whipped up a general tidying potion to sort some of the wreckage that was her house. And finally, for good measure, she set a protection spell around everything. Just a quick Repel You If You Come Near type of thing, that probably wouldn't hold.

But it was enough.

Then she grabbed some werewolf killer, just in case, and the still slightly busted but usable Hoover, and she went for it. She tried to fly, across her yard. At first with one foot still sort of on the ground, kind of propelling her forward and keeping her anchored—like a kid on a skateboard. But then with more confidence.

She picked up a bit of speed. Wobbled, but managed to right it.

Went a little high again, and somehow got it under control.

And suddenly she just felt it, instinctively. It came over her in a great wave—how to sort of pull to make it slow, and tilt to make it go in the direction she wanted to. What to do when it wasn't going fast enough, so the speed increased.

You had to kind of urge it with both feet.

Like the Hoover was some kind of very oddly shaped horse.

And when she got that, and acted accordingly, the whole thing simply surged forward. It darted between the trees, fast enough that she came fairly close to crashing. An oak was suddenly in her face, and she had to bank hard to the right. But even that seemed to come easier.

Everything was suddenly easier.

She wove between branches, and swooped over fallen logs.

Went higher on purpose, just to see if she could. Then she plunged back down, so steeply it almost made her feel sick. Suddenly, her stomach was in her throat. She went to scream and couldn't, because every bit of air in her was abruptly somewhere else. Though she wasn't entirely sure that was a bad thing.

It felt pretty incredible.

She found herself laughing over it giddily.

But it was when she reached the hunting lodge that the truly astonishing thing happened.

She saw the building looming up from between the trees. And instead of carefully coming to a stop, she swooped down. She made a staggeringly steep arc, all the way across the scrubby yard in front of the place. And while the Hoover was still in motion, she simply climbed off.

Only "climbed off" was probably the wrong way to put it.

It was more like she sprang off in a graceful leap, like she floated, like for once hers were the feet that had wheels. She didn't even stop when she touched the ground. She strode toward the house, Seth's name on her lips.

But before she could get there, his voice stopped her.

"I can't come out right now," he said.

And that was good, because it meant he was alive.

But it was also bad, because why the hell did he need to stay inside?

"Seth, if you're injured so much that you don't want me to see, you really should," she tried. Yet still, he didn't emerge. There was the sound of shuffling, and maybe sighing, and then finally he answered.

"I'm not that injured. In fact, I'm totally fine. So you can go now."

So you can go now? she thought, incredulously. Then had to insist.

"Think I'm gonna need a little more proof-of-life type stuff there, buddy."

"Honestly, I'm alive. And I'm gonna stay alive."

"That sounds exactly like the kind of thing someone who isn't going to stay alive would say."

Silence then. A long, long silence.

So long in fact that she started to feel more than nervous.

She almost walked right up and burst right in. But just as she was about to, the door abruptly swung open. And Seth stepped out, looking surprisingly not dead in the slightest. There were no wounds anywhere, no signs that any body part was falling off. He just seemed kind of sweaty and panicked. Jittery—like something had happened that he didn't like.

Though she couldn't help wondering what that something might be. Or why he hadn't checked on her the way she was checking on him. He didn't even seem that concerned about her being here, despite how dangerous they both knew the woods might be right now.

All of which was odd behavior, for a friend.

But maybe less odd if he didn't feel as friendly anymore. If maybe something had happened to embarrass him—like, say, his old, cool buddies sneering at the idea that she was his girlfriend. And him blurting out that thing about belonging.

God, even she couldn't believe he'd said that thing about belonging.

He probably meant to say something less romantic-sounding, and is now mortified and certain you're going to take it the wrong way , she thought, and oh this all fit just a little bit too well. It immediately made her think of that time in high school when she'd realized that Seth had moved on from her. She had run right up to him to gush about the latest episode of Hannibal , and he'd looked at her so awkwardly. He'd fumbled his words, as those three assholes had laughed.

And that was what this was like.

In fact, it was so much like it she couldn't help but blurt words out.

"Look, you should just say if they made you change your mind about being friends again. Because I'm not going to wait around for your hints and weird responses to my questions this time. I won't keep coming over and checking out how you are, while you do nothing, and then look at me like I've grown three heads," she said.

And sure, it made her heart feel like it was throwing up to do it.

But it got something out of him besides this weird awkwardness. He took a step forward, expression suddenly a little more desperate. And he sounded it, too, when he spoke.

"Cassie, that's not how I'm looking at you, that's not—I did try to check on you—I wanted to come to—" he stuttered. But before he could finish any sentence that made sense, he seemed to jerk. Like he'd been slapped. And for some reason, he stumbled backward through the door.

Then he tried to close it.

All he left was an inch-wide gap to peer through.

"Okay, you know what? I gotta go. I'm sorry they mortified you with all that girlfriend talk. Maybe you'll grow up one day and get over them teasing you out of liking me. And until then, look at me as your local pharmacist. I dispense your medicine, that's it," she told him, more calmly than she really felt.

Because inside, everything was screaming.

It felt like tears were bashing on the insides of her eyes. She had to turn before he saw.

But oh god, he was opening the door back up. He was calling after her. "Cassie, come on, you can't possibly believe I would listen to those guys. I mean, they tried to kill you. They tried to kill me," he said, and okay he had a point there.

Though maybe less of one when she put it in the context of past events.

"Maybe that was just a ruse. Part of a new prank."

"Oh my god, it wasn't a prank. I swear, I didn't even know they were in town. We haven't spoken in years, I told you," he protested, and as he did she heard him crossing the porch. She heard him trying to come to her. So before he could do it she whirled around, ready to yell at him to stay where he was.

But she didn't have to.

He got within thirty feet of her and just dropped . He went right to his knees, clutching his guts. Like at the gorge—only worse somehow. Way more intense. Like he was straining against something, or straining toward something, or some other action that she couldn't quite name.

He looks hungry , she thought.

And to her shock, she got that witch tingle. The one that told her she was correct.

Even though that seemed bonkers. Because why wouldn't he be allowed food? Was he injured in some way she couldn't see or sense? It was possible, she supposed—and enough that she found herself taking a step forward. She reached out a hand, thinking she would help him back into the dingy old lodge behind him.

But that just seemed to make things worse.

He jerked back, eyes wide, the moment she moved toward him.

And he clutched himself again. Like being near her turned his stomach.

"Oh holy fuck, don't come any closer. In fact, move farther away," he stumbled out, as he tried to wave her back with his free hand. And when he did, another portion of her fear and disappointment slid away.

Though it left a lot of questions behind.

"Okay, I am going to need you to tell me why you want me farther away," she said, and knew right down to her bones that he was going to prevaricate. She could almost see him straining to come up with something that wasn't quite the whole truth.

But maybe seemed close enough that she would back down.

"It's not because I hate you somehow, I swear."

"Yeah, I can see that. However, I still need you to explain."

"But it might go away soon, and then I won't really have to."

"You will always have to. Because look what happens when you don't—I fling myself through the woods, beside myself at the thought that you're hurt. Or worse: I start imagining you've abandoned me forever, again."

That got him, she could tell.

His face twisted in agony the moment she said "beside myself," and then again when she said "hurt," and even more so when she said "abandoned me forever." Oh, he could hardly stand it when he heard that last one. He had to really fight to keep himself from saying whatever this obviously embarrassing truth was.

And in the end he just couldn't win. He couldn't hold it in. "For god's sake, Cass, it's none of those things. I would never abandon you again. It's just that getting fucking horny makes me turn, all right?" he burst out, all in a half-growled rush. Like he was saying the worst thing the world had ever known. Like he had committed some harrowing crime. He even made a mortified moaning noise as soon as the words escaped. Then he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, like he couldn't stand to see her expression.

Even though she kind of had no idea what the problem was.

All she felt was confusion, the second she grasped what he had said.

Because, actually, hadn't he almost told her that before? He'd said emotions and hormones did it. This was only one step further. And even if it wasn't, well. It didn't seem like a big deal. "That doesn't seem like something you needed to keep from me," she said. But his response was just a mirthless-sounding laugh.

Then he dropped his hands, so she could see exactly the extent of his despair.

"Yeah, well, just wait until you hear what's making the horniness happen."

"So it's something so disturbing I will scream?"

He sighed, in a bone-weary way. "Probably, yeah."

"What do you mean, probably?"

"I mean definitely," he said. "In a friendship-ruining way."

And okay, now she was worried. Now she was starting to think she couldn't handle it. Like maybe it was something so repulsive nobody on earth could accept it. Even though the options for a repulsive thing were pretty limited with Seth. She remembered him vomiting in the aisle during the five-fifteen showing of The Last House on the Left . And he'd never even made it all the way through The Hills Have Eyes .

Because he loved being scared by horror movies; he truly loved it. But he hated watching stuff like that happen to women. I'm in it to watch them fuck baddies up, he had once said to her.

So what did that leave, really? What disgusting thing could it be?

Something incredibly weird , she thought. And to her horror, a possibility came to her.

"Oh god. If you tell me you need to stop coming around because you are super into frog-fucking, and all the ones that hang out under my porch are making you mad with lust, I will just lose it. I will not be okay with it," she said.

And her only consolation was the way he rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, I don't even know how your mind went there first."

"Because you acted like the thing that makes you horny is the worst thing ever."

"Yeah, and I meant in an emotional way. Not in a go-to-prison way."

"You're not going to go to prison for making love to a frog, Seth."

He let out an indignant sound. Threw up his hands. "Don't say it like this is actually a thing I want to do."

"So then just tell me what is making you lose it enough to stop seeing me."

" You are. You are what is making me lose it."

She could see as soon as he'd said it that he hadn't meant to. That he'd just gotten lost in the argument, and frustrated enough that he hadn't been able to help blurting out the words.

But she couldn't comfort him about it.

She was too busy trying to swim through a sea of What The Fuck .

And when she finally reached some kind of shore, it wasn't a good one. It was a suspicious one. A very suspicious one. "Oh, I get it. This is a joke, right?" she said.

Much to his irritation. "What sort of joke could it possibly be?"

"The one where those jerks pop out and start laughing the second I believe this ridiculousness. Even though I swear to god I never will. And even if I somehow could, you know full well that I would not be into it. That I'd die before I started mooning over you," she said—and hated that it felt like a lie.

But loved that she'd managed to say it anyway.

And loved even more that his expression said he believed it.

"Okay, for starters, the idea of you mooning over me is so ridiculous I want to laugh my ass off. In fact, I would be laughing my ass off, if I didn't have to be extremely serious when I say: absolutely none of this is a joke. None of it. This is just the truth. Everything I'm telling you is just the very humiliating truth."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Even though it's absurd."

"Yes, it is absurd. But then so is being a fucking werewolf."

"Being a werewolf is not enough to explain this, and you know it."

He went to protest then. She saw him do it. She saw him wind up whatever he wanted to fire back with. But he stopped, and he blew out a breath, and kind of shook his head. And she knew what he was thinking:

Fine, you have a point there .

Though the realization didn't exactly hold him for long. He seemed to consider for a second, and then she saw his eyes gleam. And she knew he'd come up with another way to make this madness work.

"Okay, so what about if I have other mitigating circumstances," he tried.

And she couldn't help going with him on that, just a little bit.

"What kind of mitigating circumstances, exactly?"

"Well, you know. I haven't had sex in a while."

"A few years of no fucking is not going to cover this, Seth."

"Yeah, but I don't exactly mean a few years. I mean more than that."

"Well, how many are we talking here?"

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. And the expression on his face was pure reluctance and embarrassment, she knew it was. But it didn't make his eventual answer any easier to swallow. "All of them," he said.

As if that could ever possibly make sense, instead of being so ridiculous she almost didn't get it at first.

She started to ask him what he meant—and then it hit her.

And oh god, he just could not be serious.

"There is absolutely no way you are telling me you're a virgin," she said. But here was the real kick in the pants—he didn't even take it back. He saw how hilarious and impossible she found it, and stayed the course. He doubled down.

"Is it really that hard to believe, considering what I am?" he asked.

Even though that did not work as an explanation, on any level at all.

"Yeah, what you are now . But you weren't a werewolf in high school. When you were fucking homecoming king and captain of the swim team and half the school had a crush on you. I once saw a girl try to hit you in the face with her boob. One of your fan club called me at work five years after I moved away to ask me if I would ask you to marry her. You were a god to those people."

Okay, hot shot, get out of that one, she thought at him.

Then watched him have the nerve to actually try.

"That might be true, but I was still a dork inside."

"What, so much of one that you didn't bone Missy Taylor after prom?"

"I didn't even want to take Missy Taylor to prom. Never mind bone her," he said, and his voice went convincingly high and strained and indignant when he did.

But there was still a problem.

"Well, you know what? Even if you didn't, and never have with anyone, this still makes no sense at all. Because doinking someone isn't the only way to alleviate intense werewolf horniness. I mean—just jerk off, like everybody else," she said, in as withering a tone as she could muster. She even demonstrated at the end with a lewd gesture. Like what she was saying was the most self-evident thing in the world.

Then she saw his expression.

The way his eyes slid upward, away from hers. How he flushed a brilliant red—like her mocking him had really hit him in his embarrassment bone. Even though (a) she had only done it because the very idea was obvious proof of his lies, and (b) oh dear god, it meant he wasn't lying. It meant he wasn't lying.

And now she had to put her hands on her knees to absorb the impact of that.

"Ohhhhhhh my god, you're saying you can't do that either. You're saying that you cannot masturbate. That you have not mas turbated in eight years. Eight whole enormous years. Almost an entire decade without so much as a hand on yourself," she said, between the calming breaths she was trying to take.

While he just made things even worse and more undeniable.

"Well, I mean, I have had a hand on myself. Just, you know. Not fully."

"I don't think the extent is really the issue I'm having with this, Seth."

"So tell me what the issues are," he asked, desperately.

But all she could come up with was: "That it should help. If being horny makes you wolf out, that is the cure." Even though she knew it wasn't going to fly. She knew he was going to have a terrible, terrible answer. And sure enough, he was already shaking his head.

"Oh yeah, you would think so, right?" he said, in such a falsely cheery way her heart dropped. And it dropped harder when he continued. "Ha ha, no. No, that is not how it works at all. If I get riled up, it happens. If I try to relieve being riled up by being with someone or being with myself or being with any number of appliances I might have made out of ice packs and sandpaper, it happens. There are no circumstances where it doesn't. Except living like a member of the Jedi Order."

Oh god, he's a space monk , she thought. Even though she knew the truth was somehow worse. "To be honest, I think the Jedi Order gets more than ice and sandpaper," she admitted reluctantly. But not as reluctantly as he conceded.

"Yeah, I do too. I was just trying to make myself feel more cool."

"You deserve to, considering you've almost reduced your dick to sawdust before today. I mean, good god, is that a real thing you tried? Or were you just exaggerating to make my eyes go enormous?"

He seemed to hesitate. She saw his tongue touch his upper teeth.

Before finally, "First, tell me which answer sounds understandable."

Because he was ridiculous, oh god, he was the most ridiculous man to ever live.

"Okay, so now, see—all of this is making everything sound so understandable that I have to wonder why on earth you didn't just tell me. Because I would have totally grasped ‘Being a werewolf means that having sexual feelings of any kind makes me turn into a beast, and so therefore I have repressed all my urges to the point where literally anything can make me deranged,'" she pointed out.

And he had the decency to look sheepish. "Yeah, but when you say it, it sounds reasonable."

"Well, what way were you thinking of saying it that didn't?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Every scenario I ran in my head just wound up with me saying terrible, friendship-ruining stuff. Like how strongly I was affected when you rubbed your hands all over my chest, and called me amazing. Even though, I swear, I didn't intend to feel that way. I didn't even fully know it was happening—that this was the thing causing it all—until after the fight. But then I looked back, and I realized," he said, and now a lot of things were becoming startingly clear. In fact, one of them made her roll her eyes at herself, it was that obvious.

"So that's why you had that spike, at the gorge."

"Oh yeah, for sure."

"And it probably explains the weirdness when we watched the fairies."

"I was super glad when they suddenly started trying to kill us."

"Then when I rubbed potion on my shoulder…"

He snapped his fingers. Pointed at her. "Definitely also a top contender for reducing me to a drooling mess."

"And the fight, when there was all that grabbing of me—"

"It wasn't just the grabbing. Though I'm loathe to say what else it was," he said, embarrassed enough again that he looked at his feet. It was okay though. He didn't have to explain. She already knew enough to fill in the answer for him.

"The protectiveness. The possessiveness," she said, and he shot such a look her way.

It was practically a gasp in the form of a facial expression.

"Damn, how did you guess that?" he asked.

Then she just couldn't resist. All her emotions had been running so high and hot for way too many hours. She had to break it with a joke. "Oh well, I read about it in National Geographic ."

And of course he gave her his biggest goofball look. All big earnest eyes and excitement.

"Holy shit, no way. I can't believe it said that in there," he said.

Like the adorable little dipshit he was.

"Because it didn't, doofus. I got it from every movie, TV show, romance novel, and piece of fan fiction ever. Like with most of this stuff, no human scientific journal on earth has ever gotten it right. But Fated to Be His Sexy Mate sure did," she said—and his amused reaction was how she knew they were really back to being friends. Because this weirdness was a thing, and they'd had this blip. But he could still laugh at her teasing him, over being a fool.

Then bat it back at her.

"Right right right. And where can I get a copy of this, again?"

"I would tell you, but I'm afraid it might make you rampage through the bookstore. And as much as I like you, I'm not willing to sacrifice said store for you."

"All I heard was you still like me. Even after I confessed all of that," he said—and he did it just as lightly as everything else he had just told her. Like that was nothing, too. Even though the words sunk through her like warm syrup the second he spoke them. She almost clutched at her heart. And it took everything she had to focus on the problem at hand, in reply.

To not gush all over him, like a soppy fool.

"Of course I do. Literally the only thing you did wrong here was not tell me—but even that, I understand. Because, to be honest, if something made me horny for you completely against my own will, I'd be mortified at the thought of telling you too. In fact, the very idea is making me cringe, just thinking about it. So, you know, don't worry. I get it," she said. Then when he still looked a little tense, she added something more. "And you know what? We're gonna fix it."

Though she didn't realize how possible that actually was, until the words were out. Because the second they were, she got that tingle. She got that urge to start boiling and brewing and baking. To figure things out, in a way that gave her more satisfaction than anything in her life ever had.

And it was good that it did, too.

Because oh, his reaction .

The look of pure warmth and openness and gratitude all over his face. The way he stepped forward, like he wanted to wrap her in a hug. And the thing he did, when he realized he couldn't.

He made a heart with his hands. And pointed right at her, to make sure she knew who that heart was for.

Because sure, he could have said it with words.

But she could tell that tears would have made them unclear.