Chapter 7: Storm Night

I opened the door.

Lucan stood on the porch with one hand braced on the frame and rain starting to dot his shirt.

His eyes were wolf-bright, and his chest was heaving.

Emmett stood behind him at the bottom of the steps with his arms folded.

"Ada," Emmett said. "Say the word and he leaves."

I looked at Lucan.

He didn't speak.

He only looked back.

I could see the whole drive in his face, an hour of road with his wolf screaming at the windshield.

"Let him in," I said.

Emmett held my eyes a moment longer.

"I'll be at the woodpile. I'll hear if you call."

Then he walked away, and the first real thunder rolled down off the ridge.

Lucan came in, and I shut the door.

We stood in the little room with the quilt and the duffel and the smell of rain.

"You have a fever," he said hoarsely.

"I know."

"I felt it from the highway. I tried to turn around. I couldn't."

"Don't talk."

"Ada, I don't understand what's happening."

"Neither do I." I put my palm flat on his chest. His heart was slamming against it. "I don't want to understand it tonight."

"Tell me to go."

"No."

"Then I'm not going." His voice cracked. "Tell me what you want."

It was the first time in four years he had asked.

"Take your shirt off," I said.

He did.

I pushed him down on the bed and peeled my wet shirt off over my head.

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