Carrie Jones - Need

"No," he says, leaning in. "I didn't."

His eyes are so beautiful and dark and they do look like that dog's-I mean, that wolfs. They are kind and strong and a little bit something else and I like them I like them a lot. No, I like them way too much.

Something inside me gets a little warmer, edges closer to him.

The fire crackles and I jump again, jittery, nervous, but I don't jump away from Nick. I jump toward him. Nick in the firelight with just a blanket on is a little hard to resist, no matter how crazy he might be.

His skin, deep with heat, seems to glisten. His muscles are defined and good but not all steroid bulky. He is so perfect. And beautiful. In a boy way. Not a monster way. Not a wolf way.

"Are you going to kiss me?" My words tremble into the air.

He smiles but doesn't answer.

"I've never kissed a werewolf before. Are were kisses like pixie kisses? Do they do something to you?

Is that why you never kissed anybody?"

He gives a little smile. "No. It's just I never kissed anyone because I never thought I could be honest about who I am, you know? And I didn't want anyone to get attached to me because…"

"Because you're a werewolf."

"Because I'm a werewolf," he repeats softly. Watching his lips move makes me shiver; not in a scared way, in more of an oh-he-is-too-beautiful way.

I put my hand against his skin. It is warm. It's always been warm. He smells so good, like woods and safety. I swallow my fear and move forward, and my lips meet his, angel-light, a tiny promise. His lips move beneath mine. His hands move to my shoulders and my mouth feels like it will burst with happiness.

My whole body shakes with it.

"Wow," I say.

"Yeah," he says. "Wow."

Our mouths meet again. It's like my lips belong there… right there. One tiny part of me has finally found a place to fit. We pull away for air.

"Are there a lot of you? Because I think there could be a market for these werewolf kisses," I ask.

He laughs. "There are a few."

I pull away, just a little bit, adjust my shirt, try to make sense. "Are there any more in Bedford?"

"Yeah. Actually, there are a lot in Bedford, more than oilier places. Some have moved away."

"Why are there more here?"

"Genes. Inbreeding back in the eighteen hundreds or something, I don't know." He touches his wounded shoulder with the palm of his hand. "But it's not like the only place there are weres."

"Do I know anybody else who is one?"

His eyes stare into my eyes. "Betty."

"Betty?"

"She's a tiger."

Here there be tygers.

One second passes. Two. I slam my hands into his chest. "Get out!"

He raises his hands in the air. "What?"

"You can't go telling me my grandmother is a freaking tiger, okay? Just get out!"

"Zara…"

"It's loo much," I tell him, slumping away and throwing myself on the couch. "Okay? It's just too much."

Let's just say I'm a wimp. Okay? Here: I'm a wimp.

I get off the couch and pace back and forth, chanting.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God."

I rush over to the fire and put my hands out to see if I've gone mad or if I can feel its warmth. A fire is real. Crazy people often lose touch with reality.

"This is not happening."

But it is.

A hysterical laugh bursts out of me. I cover my mouth with my hands.

"This is fine," I mutter. "This is okay. You can deal with this. My grandmother is not human. Nick is not human. There are humans who are not human."

Nick doesn't say anything. He sits on the edge of the collectable, watching me. He's all rigid, like he's a soldier ready to be ambushed, ready for the painful shot to the gut. Finally, I stop pacing.

"Thank you for trusting me," I whisper.

He cocks his head and relaxes. Then he raises his finger for me to wait and trots into the kitchen. I stay where I am and in a moment he comes back, paler than normal, wearing the blanket around his waist and one of Grandma Betty's oversized navy blue hooded sweatshirts. He yanks the metal zipper up and then crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, just past the woodstove.

"So…," he says.

"So."

"So, I'm a werewolf and your grandmother's a weretiger. You all set with that?"

I nod like a good girl, like this is all perfectly normal. "It appears that way. Are you hurting?"

"I'm okay."

My hand flutters up to my forehead. The world seems to spin again. He must notice because he grabs my hand and leads me over to the couch, the ugly, ridiculous plaid couch. We sit down together.

"I thought you weren't going to faint." He scowls at me. I hate when he scowls at me.

"I'm not."

I lean back against the armrest and grab a pillow, hugging it against me, like a barrier between us. That's what he thinks it is, too. I can tell because his eyes get all hurt looking, so I put the pillow back on top of the couch. It tumbles down on Nick's head. I laugh. He laughs too and bonks me with it. Dust swirls into the air and I sneeze.

"It's just weird, okay," I say, tearing the pillow out of his hands. "It's weird finding out someone's a werewolf. I don't even believe in werewolves. It's impossible. It's physically impossible."

"Not really."

"Well, obviously."

My hand flits in the air, gesturing at him. I pull it back down into my lap. "And Betty is a were too, and if it's genetic that means that my dad-I mean my stepdad-was probably one."

"Brilliant deduction."

"Shut up."

He is being annoying: smiling at me like it's fun to watch me squirm. A million questions rattle inside me. I ask the first one, "So how do you actually become a werewolf?"

"Born that way. Or bitten." He wiggles his eyebrows. "You interested?"

I shriek and jump back, knocking my hip into the side of the sofa and almost falling onto the floor. "No!"

He catches me around the waist with his too-big hands and hauls me back on the sofa, laughing a real laugh, all big and hearty. "I was kidding, Zara. I'd never let that happen to you."

"Really?"

His eyes melt me. "Really. I'd never letanything happen to you."

"Oh. Right. Hero-complex thing. You're a werewolf with a hero complex. That's so funny."

He doesn't answer. The muffled light of the room gives everything a romantic sort of glow, even though the fire kind of dries the air out and makes my throat hurt. My heart pings in my chest, hope making it beat fast, too fast. His hand reaches out and touches the back of my head. His fingers entwine with my hair. It happens again, that melting feeling, the longing feeling. I want to gesture my body against his body, to explain things like need. The blanket he wears rubs against his legs and my legs.

His voice comes out husky. "I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

I don't think I can speak anymore so I just nod.

"Okay."

His lips warm against mine. My arms wrap around his shoulders and he presses me to him. I am warm here, safe. The backs of my knees tingle and I feel absolutely the opposite of empty. I feel like my life will burst open with good.

Finally I say, "I can't believe you're kissing me."

He leans back and tucks his big hand along the side of my face. "What? Aren't you kissing me back?"

I shrug. "I just thought…"

"Thought what?"

"That maybe you… Oh, I don't know. Didn't kiss girls. Donot get mad. That's what Issie and Devyn said."

"That I didn't kiss girls?"

"Yeah. I thought it was because you were a pixie maybe. I saw gold dust on your jacket."

"You what?" There's an edge to his voice.

"I didn't really think. I just sort of thought it." I snuggle in, try to calm him down.

"When was there dust on my jacket?"

"After you helped me with my car."