I’m not scared of you, I thought as the rest of my mind went blank. You have no power over me.
For the longest time, I didn’t dream. I just lay there, my body relaxed, my senses perfectly attuned to the world around me, and then a dam broke somewhere in my mind, and in a rush of color and sound, I was gone.
Back in the forest, dressed from head to toe in white, I waited. One by one, my friends came out from behind mounds of snow and tree trunks the color of black cherries, the pads of their paws skating lightly over the frozen ground.
Lake and Devon and Chase.
Anyone else would have gone stiff with terror the moment they saw the three of them, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. I knelt on the ground and waited, unable to shake the feeling that someone else was supposed to be here.
Someone or something was missing. It took me a moment to realize what—who—I was looking for: the wolf from my other dreams, the one I could never quite catch.
She wasn’t there.
The world around me flickered, like someone was trying to change the channel on an old-fashioned TV. Within the span of a single heartbeat, I was surrounded on all sides by muscles and fur. They kept their backs to me and their eyes forward. My lip curled, baring my useless human teeth.
Archer’s trying to get in, and he can’t, I thought, buoyed by that realization. Still, I turned—wary, ready—taking in a three-sixty view of the forest.
Silence.
Pressure built at my temples. Sweat rose on the surface of my skin. I held my position, and as my friends circled around me, their wolf eyes scanned the darkness for signs of life.
Bryn. Bryn. Bryn.
My guards held the perimeter, my name a constant hum in their animal minds.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard a wolf—the wolf—howling, and the sound resonated with me, blood and bones and bittersweet longing. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, I woke up.
“Good morning.”
The words took me by surprise, but I had enough presence of mind not to go for my knife. Years of dealing with frustratingly stealthy werewolves had equipped me with an excellent poker face, and I refused to let a human—particularly this human—know that he’d gotten the drop on me.
“Anyone ever told you that watching a girl sleep is pretty much the textbook definition of creepy?”
Archer inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point. “You were blocking me. I was curious. Shoot me.”
“That an invitation?”
Channeling Lake was second nature, and I felt a snuff of agreement in my head. Both Lake and her wolf approved of the threat, though her wolf half would have preferred if I’d delivered the threat while digging my fingernails into the fleshy part of the intruder’s throat.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Archer replied, completely unbothered. “If any teenage girl is going to put a bullet in me, it’s going to be Caroline when Valerie finds out that all I got out of your dreams last night was two smells and a sound.”
He waited for me to ask him to elaborate, but I didn’t.
“Wet dog, pine needles, and howling.” He shrugged, but his eyes went cold, and he clenched his jaw. “Werewolves.”
I snorted. “You’re scared of Caroline. You hate werewolves. Your pupils are on steroids. Shocking.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “You do realize that those emotions aren’t really yours, right? That Valerie’s messing with you?”
Archer’s pupils spread outward, blocking the color of his eyes altogether. Just like that, it was as if the words I’d spoken were completely uninteresting, like my warning that Valerie was messing with his mind was the most boring thing he’d ever heard. Ignoring me, Archer reached for his back pocket. As a matter of reflex, I went for my knife and wrapped my fingertips around its hilt, but instead of pulling out a weapon, he brandished a piece of charcoal and turned to the wall.
I watched as he began to draw, and after a moment, I let go of the knife. Based on the size of his pupils, I was going to go out on a limb and guess that Valerie had programmed him to disregard anything she didn’t want him to hear, and I forced myself to remember that the man who’d infiltrated my dreams, stalked me, hurt me, and called me a mutt-lover wasn’t the real enemy here.
Archer was just a symptom. Valerie was the disease.
I’d come here to find out what I could about Shay’s connection to the coven and to take Valerie out of commission long enough for the rest of the coven to clear their minds. I hadn’t come here to fight Archer, make him bleed.
Just a taste? Lake asked plaintively. Wouldn’t hurt to show him that messing with you is about as far from a good idea as ideas get.
Lurking in my mind, Devon wasn’t as opposed to violence as he otherwise might have been, and Chase was even more bloodthirsty than Lake—which, as a general rule, was really saying something.
If he touches you, I will kill him.
Coming from Chase, the thought wasn’t a threat as much as a statement of fact. If Archer was smart, if he had any common sense whatsoever, he wouldn’t keep his back turned on a Were.
Human, I reminded myself. You’re human.
“You’re not one of them, little Bryn.” Archer’s tone was completely conversational. “Do you wish you were?”
I didn’t reply, and he turned to face me, stepping aside so that I could see the image of a wolf staring back at me from his makeshift canvas. I recognized her instantly: larger than some, but not full grown, light fur giving way to darker markings around her face.
“I may not have gotten into your dreams this morning, kiddo, but I’ve been there before. You flashed back to a memory of the werewolf who raised you, and the marks he left on your body were suddenly larger than life. You ran with your pack, and then you dreamed about a female wolf—a wolf that forever hovers just out of reach. If I recall correctly, you’ve even dreamed that you’re hollow inside. I’m not Freud, but I’d say that has some pretty disturbing implications, wouldn’t you?”
Apparently, keeping Archer out of my head was no protection against more mundane mind games. Even though I knew he was trying to get to me, I couldn’t help staring at the image on the wall and wondering if he was right.
“Admit it, little Bryn—they’ve done a real number on you. Not a werewolf, barely human. They took you and they raised you and they used you. You’re just a kid, and you never even had a chance.”