By the time whatever this is between Emmerson and I is over, I'll be locked up in a mental health facility. Not that wolves have those. I'll be exiled. Given our penchant for invading each other's minds and emotions, mental health is considered contagious, much like the restless energy I've been struggling to contain. We keep ourselves under strict control so we don't damage the whole pack. There's a good chance I'll destroy us all.

For weeks, I've been tracking her while she works, visiting her, even though the visits are futile. My claims are either outlandish lies or disarmingly honest because she doesn't remember a single word of it anyway. In some ways it's quite freeing. 

She remembers nothing so I can turn her on, make her laugh, piss her off, say romantic and foolish things. Whatever fear I once inspired in her has vanished, but I can never quite convince myself that our nighttime chats are satisfying enough, that I don't want more.

My blood still runs hot around her, but I've gotten used to denying my urges. As though maybe it's possible to train these connections, tame them. Or maybe I can handle the buzz because she's human and this draw is unnatural. None of it makes any sense, but I've mostly stopped caring. I like being around her, and for now, that's enough of a reason to be there.

"Aidan," my sister Nagam calls to me just before I can slip out a side exit to head to the state park, to Emmerson. "Wait."

I release a sigh of frustration and turn to face her. We stare at each other in silence, and even though she's younger than me, I'm expecting a lecture. Ruining the family. Whatever bullshit mother has been feeding her. None of them understand what it's like to be me. To be so torn between what I'm pretty sure I must do but will hate, and what, or rather who, I'm desperate to have but can never fully grasp.

"Did Mom and Dad speak to you?"

"They try not to," I say, and I run a hand through my hair. "Why?" The question is wary when it leaves me. Manipulation is always the name of the game.

"They've had contact from a northern clan, asking if we're interested in surrendering to their rule."

"Surrendering?" I scoff. "To a northern clan? Someone on our borders, I might believe. Might." I hold up a finger. Our border clans are friendly with us. We keep firm divisions and everyone is happy. "Mom and Dad must be desperate to start inventing danger."

"They're not inventing it. I saw the letter. The danger is real, and maybe it's not immediate, but it's out there."

"A northern clan would have no use for our land. Can't be in two places at once." I put my hand on the door, ready to dismiss her.

"It's for their second son. By all accounts the favored one. Just—" She shakes her head and gives me a pleading look. "Do the reading. The clans might be peaceful around here, but they aren't everywhere."

If this is the manipulation I suspect it is, they'll be counting on me not doing the reading, on their ability to guilt trip me into doing what they believe is right.

"A surrender you said?" I clarify, because if I'm going to look something up, I want to make sure I've got whatever they're claiming correct.

"Yes," Nagam says. "It's serious, Aidan. You might think this is all a joke, but at some point, there are very real consequences, not just for you."

"Hmm," I say, and I open the door to outside. But rather than heading to the park, where everything inside me is urging me to go, I turn toward the archival building. A surrender on any front doesn't interest me, but I might as well understand what it entails.

~ * ~

By the time I arrive to the state park, I'm much later than normal. In fact, it's almost midnight, and Emmerson's gnat has brought her coffee and some sort of egg sandwich. He's standing by the hut, and she's smiling at him.

At this moment, I hate my sister for causing my delay, and I hate the gnat for being the one to get Emmerson's smile. He might be a decent human being, but he's not the right guy for her. She's as much as admitted it multiple times during the chats only I recollect. For her, he's the safe choice, the logical one, the one she can at least remember exists.

After what I read in the archives, assuming my parents haven't forged the letter from the northern clan, the walls are closing in on me and Clara. If my parents agree to a surrender, they're sanctioning their own murder. The second son kills my parents, absorbs their clan power, and takes over. The only good thing, at least for our community, is that there is no mass murder and impregnation. Deadly for my parents, but clean enough for everyone else.

No matter how I might feel about them, I can't willingly condemn them to death. That's one step too far to satiate my curiosity.

Still, as I stood in the archives reading through all the documented surrender stories, I came to a decision. If I'm to be forced into a life I'm not sure I actually want with Clara, then I might as well satisfy my curiosity in regard to Emmerson, at least a little. No harm in crossing a line if I can never cross it again, right?

The gnat gets in his hatchback and drives away, but I don't approach her immediately. Some nights, I just like watching her exist in the world. There's a weird warmth in my chest at the sight of her—not just the fire raging in my blood, but something else, softer, harder for me to completely grasp.

"Emmerson," I call as she exits the booth, and she jumps in surprise. I also like doing that. Worship the ground she walks on from afar—scare the shit out of her from close up. Nice and balanced.

"Do I ...," she searches my face, and a frown puckers her forehead, "know you?"

"You don't remember me?" I clutch my chest in mock hurt. "The other night? In the woods?"

She leaves the booth and comes to stand close enough that I can see her pupils dilate. Fascinating. Unlike me, she's not aware of the animal-like attraction between us, but there's no doubt she feels it.

"The gnat brought you a coffee," I say, brushing the strand of hair that's come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. She doesn't move away, but rather leans slightly into the contact. "That's my job."

"Brody?" Her small smile wavers with confusion.

That's the other thing about my nightly visits that I can't help dwelling on—she doesn't remember me, but she doesn't seem to completely forget me either. Each night, it's a little easier to slip into the banter. She'll let me closer, divulge something with a hint of secrecy to it—the foster family that abused her, the abandonment as a baby, the fact that she's not sure how she feels about the gnat who buzzes around her. Details most people don't give away, but I've got them.

The magic between remembering and forgetting is thinner than I ever would have suspected. Makes me wonder whether frequent interactions with humans is as harmless as we tell ourselves. A question for another day, another version of me who isn't so desperate for these snippets of connection.

"Why do I get the feeling you don't like my boyfriend?"

"Nothing to like or dislike. He's merely standing in the way of what I want."

"And what's that?" She raises one eyebrow.

"Your tongue in my mouth; your hands in my shirt; your body pressed so tightly against mine that we feel like one."

"That's very bold," she says, but she hasn't moved away. In fact, she's let me inch even closer. "I have a boyfriend."

"Boyfriend," I scoff. "You have a safety blanket," I say. "Nothing safe about me."

"What if I want safety?"

"Safety?" I tilt my head. "His safety is an illusion. A magic trick."

She shakes her head and tries to step around me, but I catch her elbow.

"Aidan," she whispers.

"What did you say?" Did I tell her my name tonight? Each night bleeds into the next. She's here, in the woods with me, more often than not.

When she looks up to meet my gaze, there's no hint of recognition. Did I imagine it? Wish for it to be true?

"You said there was nothing safe about you," she murmurs.

"Anyone who wishes you ill. Anyone who dares to lay a hand against you. There'd be no refuge. I'd kill for you. Die for you. I'd destroy the world to keep you safe." I search her face. "To make you happy." Every word is true, but I also realize the sentiment might prove fleeting. If the danger Nagam told me about is real, I can't ignore it. While I'd do all those things for Emmerson willingly, I must do all those for my people too.

"Who wouldn't want to be loved like that?" She stares up into my eyes. "But you're not real."

"Oh, Em," I mutter. "I'm real, and so is this." And then, because I shouldn't, because I can, I wrap my arm around her waist, and I kiss her.

She rises on her toes and meets my kiss, pressing herself against me. The blood in my veins ignites, the low simmer I've been able to keep the connection between us, boiling out of control. She deepens the kiss, and spears her fingers into my hair.

Fuuucccckkk. This is bad. So bad. And so fucking good. She tastes like coffee with a hint of cream and sugar, and I want to gulp her down.

If this is the only kiss I ever get, I'm going to savor every last sip.

As always -- no idea when I'll update again. But I'll definitely finish this one...just might be slow until I'm done writing Before Thirty, which is my priority at the moment. 

Reads: 2982 Unique readers: who knows? I haven't updated in weeks... Engaged readers: 158