“But you and Pietr turned under a ful moon,” I protested.
“Da, because our birthdays fel at that time. The change activates after the first ful moon of our seventeenth birthday. We feel increased desire to change under the moon, but Alexi believes it is because instinctively we know the light is better and easier to run and hunt by. We are the result of scientific tampering, not magic.”
“Says the tea-leaf-reading werewolf. How is Alexi?”
“Alive.”
I shivered at how cool y she dropped the single word.
“Next?”
“Imprinting.”
I heard the smile disappear from Cat’s face. “Next?”
I repeated myself.
“Are you referring to Stephenie Meyer’s books?”
“Yes,” I said. A little unwil ingly.
Cat chuckled. “There is no shame in reading enjoyable books. But this topic is better discussed later.”
“Got it.”
Since we’d learned the CIA had tapped the Rusakovas’ phone we were careful about chatting. Cat readily answered things she felt the CIA knew from the Soviet files. Or things that drove them insane—like sales on clothing, who needed to wax, and suitable caloric intake for girls, werewolf or not.
Some nights I thought I could almost hear agents groan.
“Would you like to speak to Pietr?”
My heart hammered at his name. “Of course.”
There was a shout and the clunk of one phone clicking off as another was picked up.
“Allo,” he said, his voice a rumble in my ear that made my blood rush and my vision blur.
“We need to talk.”
“We are talking now.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
He chuckled, a deep noise that wel ed up from somewhere undeniably close to where growls were made.
I flopped back on my bed, curling the pil ow to my stomach and taking a deep breath.
“Va chem dayla? What’s the matter?”
“I need you to stop kissing her,” I admitted.
“Oh.”
“I know we were going to wean her away gradual y, but every kiss … it hurts me. I need her to get the hint sooner.”
“Wil she not push harder?” he asked, his voice going soft. Gentle as snowfal .
“Ugh.” I sighed. “Maybe. But she’l get the hint. Soon. Once she knows you don’t real y want her anymore—”
“I haven’t wanted her yet.”
The breath caught in my throat. “She’l move on,” I guaranteed.
“You’re certain?”
“Once a girl knows a guy doesn’t want her, she’l find someone who does.”
He was quiet a moment. “That sounds—logical.”
“Good. Um. Horashow.”
He chuckled again, the sound washing over me, warming the pit of my stomach. “Dobray nohch,” he said.
“Good night,” I replied.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day Pietr did not once kiss Sarah. Watching, I realized avoiding her lips was difficult. Stooping to get his backpack, her lips were in his way. Grabbing something from his locker, she nearly fel in sliding between him and his notebooks. Sarah’s lips were as predictably present as acne the day of a dance.
I wondered how often people got kissed because it was easier to give in than dance away.
Pietr shot me an exasperated look after he nearly toppled into the girls’ bathroom avoiding Sarah.
I stayed firm, and Pietr returned to watching the clock whenever Sarah was near.
Time meant everything to Pietr Rusakova because it was so quickly running out. The bonuses to being a werewolf: strength, agility, quick healing. The downside? A short life span and a time-bomb-style countdown ticking away in your ears and getting louder when you made your first ful change.
Pietr was dying.
And he knew it.
He’d once told me time didn’t matter when he was with me. The way he kissed me, I believed him. Every bit of me wanted to make time stand stil for him.
In the cafeteria I opened my bagged lunch and pul ed out my sandwich and carrot sticks. Fishing out the yogurt I decided how to start. “It’s almost here, you know.” I pul ed the foil off the yogurt and dug around the bottom with my spoon to mix the berries in. The best stuff was always on the bottom. I paused. Did yogurt and society at large have that in common?
“What?” Pietr cocked his head in speculation.
“Oh. Hal oween,” I said.
Amy choked with laughter, setting her milk down. “You are so transparent!”
“What?” Pietr focused his attention more keenly on me.
Sarah giggled.
I shrugged.
Sputtering, Pietr declared, “She’s right!” He reached across the table and jabbed my shoulder. “You’re fishing—about your birthday, da? ”
“Nooo,” I insisted.
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Pietr quipped, reloading his fork. “Wait.” He set the fork down. “You said before that you always host some sort of birthday bash.” His eyes narrowed.
I looked down.
“Oh,” he said, realizing as he looked at my lunch.
“Crap.” Amy’s mood spiraled.
Dad’s factory had been in the papers and on the local news again recently. Anytime a business that had been around so long started widespread layoffs, it was talked about. It only made sense we’d be cutting out unnecessary expenditures. Like my birthday party.
“I’ve had sixteen of them already,” I pointed out, brushing it off. Though I’d brought it up.
Amy stared at my sandwich. Living in the trailer park like she did, her dad already out of work, she was as powerless in this as I was.
Pietr grinned as he chewed. “I’l have to keep Catherine out of the kitchen for the sake of the guests, but Max suggested a Hal oween party.… More to celebrate is always better.”
I didn’t ask but hoped there might be a hidden meaning to his words. Perhaps more to celebrate had something to do with finding their mother. Or being free of Sarah. Either way, I’d welcome the news.
“If you don’t mind your birthday being celebrated early, I can convince my family to hold it in conjunction—”
“What a stupendous idea!” Sarah said, pul ing out one of her more recent vocabulary additions. Since the accident she’d developed a fascination with words, often finding ones I’d misplaced. A fascination with words, and with Pietr. “I’l help.”