I don't know what I am expecting when I walk out of work on Halloween night, but it certainly isn't Ian Tierney.

I've already missed out on all the "fun"—I thought—and was just hoping to go home and crash. It's only Monday, after all, and I have an eight o'clock class in the morning.

What is Ian doing here? And why does it seem like he's waiting for me? His silver Mercedes coupe is parked next to my Volkswagen. It's not just the taillight that makes it look sad in comparison.

He's leaning against the passenger side door with his ankles crossed and hands in his expensive hiking jacket. "You're a tough girl to pin down." He gives me a half-smile. It's enticing. And terrifying. This is all so easy for him, and I'm having trouble breathing through the shock.

"I'm not trying to be." It's my stupid, honest answer. Every cheerleader has my phone number. I'm either at practice, school, work, or my apartment, and they all follow predictable patterns.

Is he just saying that because I turned down one invitation, delivered by his best friend, less than an hour before the party was supposed to begin?

I realize, with a guy like Ian, a second chance is no guarantee, and yet here he is. If I overanalyze this right now, I might slip into a nervous breakdown. Instead, I push out an amicable numbness. It isn't hard to do in this seasonably cool weather. Or while I'm recovering from rejection's sting, the utter humiliation of it all, and another round of silent treatment at home. It'll be my armor. Whatever happens, happens. I shouldn't judge Ian too soon or jump to any conclusions.

"Where are you headed?" I ask since he's obviously going somewhere. He smells too good and is dressed too nice for me to believe otherwise.

"A bonfire with some of our teammates. Are you in?"

I look down at myself and lift my arms—black leggings, black polo shirt, black zip-up hoodie, and a cheap canvas purse carrying only the essentials. If I had some face paint, I could be a very unsexy ninja for Halloween. "What you see is what you get. I don't have a change of clothes. Or a coat..."

Ian waves off my concern and opens his car door. "You'd look fine in anything," he assures me. "It should be casual, and we'll keep you in a blanket close to the fire. How does that sound?" He sweeps his hand toward the passenger seat. "I don't intend to stay that long, anyway. I should have you back before the movie theater officially closes."

He says that, but . . . I've overheard some of the stories. And I know what "casual" means to most cheerleaders—miniskirt, exposed midriff, extreme pushup bra, enough makeup for Hollywood...

I'll probably be warmer than they are without a coat. And I suppose, if I can avoid that kind of attention for one night, all the better.

"Sounds harmless enough," I quip, and autopilot takes over. It's part of my numbness program. I take a seat and don't think much of it.

If other girls can go to these things and take care of themselves, then I can, too. Friday was a disaster and I'm never drinking again, of course. And that's probably half the battle...

"I'm not sure about that," he banters back. "But don't worry. I'll protect you."

He winks and revs out of his parking spot—fast, smooth, sleek, and pretty as a picture.

When it comes to Ian Tierney, I suppose that could be said about a lot of things.

***

We probably reach our destination in record time, but it still took a while—twenty-four minutes of small talk, to be exact.

At the trailhead, we go into the woods with just our phone flashlights, a blanket, and a couple of six-packs that I help carry. The hike goes on for another block of time.

No matter how long we stay, this isn't turning out to be the in and out endeavor Ian suggested it would be.

Good thing this adventure is all uphill or I'd be freezing by now.

I feel better once I see the flames and hear the voices of mixed company. We're not lost, there is actually a gathering underway, and I won't be the only girl here.

The team is camped in the corner of an overgrown field. There are a few occupied lawn chairs, logs to sit on, boulders that go up in increments on one side, and two dark pickup trucks with open tailgates and the stereo blaring.

Ian steps into the clearing first, and I traipse in behind him, in his rather impressive shadow. He gives a lazy nod of acknowledgement to everyone who calls out his name. When we're in the brightest light of the fire, he pauses to wait for me and takes my hand.

He was well behaved in the car. It's the first time we touch.

Nothing seems too rowdy—yet—and I recognize a few people. Hadlee, from her lawn chair, waves to me with a knowing smile. Randy, with his arm around Emillene, another flyer on the squad, stops midsentence to gape at me, and doesn't muffle his "well I'll be damned." Shawna's head turns and her eyes widen when she notices who I'm technically with tonight. Then she inspects my wardrobe choice, or lack thereof, and "work" doesn't seem to come to her mind. In her street-walker getup, she is clearly unimpressed.

Most of the seats around the fire are taken, so Ian guides me to a narrow spot in the back of a pickup truck, something only I could fit in. We set the beer and my purse down in the truck bed, and Ian drapes the blanket over my shoulders. Then, between a guy I don't know and the side panel, Ian helps me jump up.

He is distracting. His hands linger on my sides, his body is between my slightly parted knees, and his eyes, for the first time, make his intentions known. Still, there's something about this spot. The familiarity strikes and the dread floods in. My eyes skittishly dart to a broad figure, emerging from the woods, with firewood in tow. I don't have to see the face to know it's Ted. The broken foot is a dead giveaway. And I'm sitting in the back of his truck with Ian between my knees.

Ted, of course, has this sixth sense when it comes to betrayal. His eyes slice right toward me, and they remain there—unblinking, unforgiving—as he continues hobbling toward the woodpile with a walking boot and one crutch.

Ian looks like he's about to kiss me. Under Ted-less circumstances, I don't think I would mind. He ends his amorous drift closer, though, when my body goes morbidly stiff. "Is everything all right?"

The shudder and trembling lip aren't some play for sympathy, although it probably looks like one, to anyone who might be watching.

"I didn't know he'd be here," I lean into him to whisper.

Ian takes my cheek in his hand while his gaze sweeps toward his opposite shoulder. If he forgot about my connection to Ted, it doesn't take him long to remember. Ted is sitting on a log by the fire, angled right at us, and he's taking full advantage of that. His glare does not move even when he's swigging his bottle of Jack Daniels. He's not deterred by Ian's scowl, either.

Ian turns back to me with a fluttering eye. "I wouldn't worry about him."

I drop my gaze and nod. "Just be careful."

He chuckles like I'm the most adorably naïve girl on the face of the earth.

Ian may think he's untouchable, but he doesn't know Ted like I do. Ian's social status, and long, lean quarterback physique, would have only so much sway over Ted's bulk and violent, jealous streak, and the fact that he's out for the rest of the season. Plus, he's probably drunk already.

Ian pecks me on the lips, and then backs up a hair. "We'll just stay for a little while, and then, move on." His eyebrows bob, and he tugs on the blanket at my shoulders, hinting at its purpose. It isn't just to keep me warm...

I should have butterflies. I wish I did. But they refuse to fly in my sour gut.

Ian wanders to the side of the truck and pops open two beers. He hands me one and leans an elbow on the side panel. "You don't come to too many of these things, do you?"

"Until recently, I was never really invited." Or brought along, I almost mention, but I stop myself. It's poor form to keep bringing up the ex, even if it's a valid addition. Ted didn't like the looks I allegedly received, and preferred spending time with me alone, behind closed doors.

Maybe Ian wasn't being dense about Ted. It's possible he never saw the two of us "together" and rumor wasn't enough to seal the memory. It explains why the black eye was never questioned by anyone to any great degree, and why everyone, including Ian, is assuming that Ted will behave himself tonight. He's only out and about when he's single and has less of an excuse to lose his temper. The breakup is fairly fresh, although the relationship didn't last very long to begin with, but that's still reason enough for him to let loose on someone.

Ted uses his crutch to stand up. He smirks at me when he shifts his belt around—a gaudy, cowboy number that I'm intimately familiar with. I look away, but still jolt as I recall the snap it makes.

He catches my eye again when he staggers into the woods. His back is still visible when he takes a pissing stance. Lovely...

"That'll be the first thing to change," Ian goes on. It takes another shudder for me to remember what we were talking about. "You're not like any of the other cheerleaders at our school. And trust me, it's a virtue."

"Really?" I take a polite sip of my beer. "It doesn't win me many friends, not the kind I can appreciate."

The guy beside me jumps off the truck. Ian takes the opportunity to wander back in front of me. "You just need time and stronger allies." He sets his beer behind me and I do the same.

"Am I foolish enough to believe that that'll be you?" My effort to flirt with him is cringe-worthy, but he doesn't seem to care. He takes it as an invitation to move into the gap between my knees again. "How long will that last? Ten whole minutes?"

"Now don't go on believing every rumor you hear."

"Five minutes, then."

"Ha," he says and then lurches forward. His hands are on my neck, his tongue is in my mouth before I can come up with any words of protest.

I'm sure Ted is back. His gaze is like a magnifying glass in the sun, and I can feel its burn.

Whatever. He deserves this and then some. If Ian's convinced that he can pull this off without bloodshed, then I'll try to stop worrying so much.

And how's it going? Well . . . he's gorgeous and a good kisser. Maybe he's a tad overconfident and pushy for my tastes, but he's not even half as bad as I was anticipating.

I do kiss him back, but I don't get turned on. That's my normal, though. My limited experience has been underwhelming at best, and the worst of it comes back to haunt me if the chemistry isn't explosive enough to drown it out.

I rely on muscle memory to make it seem like I'm into it and force my hands to "act natural." A press here. A sweep there. All above clothing and the waistband. There are people watching. And he seems cognizant of that, too.

His phone vibrates before our kiss comes to its own conclusion. He breaks away, his cheeks flushed, and checks it with an aggravated sigh. "I'm sorry. I have to take this. My grandmother's in emergency surgery."

"I understand," I say as he accepts the call. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He gives me a quick, closed-lip grin in response, and then he says, "hey," with the phone to his ear. He plugs the other with his finger and wanders toward the cab of the truck.

My heartbeat is my internal clock. It's torment, each thump that goes by.

Slow. I may have stopped breathing.

Fast. When the panic sets in. This call is taking too long.

I'm trying to locate Ted, when Randy slides into the seat next to me, smiling like a shark who caught a whiff of fresh blood. "Can I have a taste, too?" He wiggles his tongue at me and draws me closer with a firm grip on my shoulder. "Ian won't mind."

"Ew, no!" I push him back. "Weren't you pawing at Emillene five minutes ago?"

"We're all pretty easygoing."

I jump down to avoid his drunk, sloppy kiss, leaving the blanket behind. Still, he smears my cheekbone with his soggy lips and manages to grope the side of my breast.

While I'm wiping my cheek off with my sleeve, I turn away and bump right into Ted. "Who else are you going to hook up with in the back of my truck? Should I get in line?"

His hand clenches onto my ponytail. Just like old times. Though it's brief, and he smooths his hand down my hair like he's being tender, I didn't miss the initial tug.

I back away from him, but I didn't get very far on my first attempt to flee. In one of Ted's strides, I'm wedged between Randy's leg, the open tailgate, and Ted's body.

"Don't be like that, Ted," Randy pleads, jumping down, each word deliberate, like he had to think really hard to get that out. "I was just playing around."

"I could see that." Ted gives Randy a hard, quick push to the shoulder. In Randy's drunken state, he staggers backward. He gets tangled up in some weeds and falls to his backside.

"Boys!" Hadlee calls out. "This is a party. Relax," she scolds them, but no one bothers to acknowledge her. She sounds so far away.

"What is going on?" Ian finally decides to join in. He tries to yank Ted away from me, but Ted's too heavy and obstinate.

"I don't know." Ted whirls on Ian and puts his face in his. "Why don't you ask your best friend? The way you two share is just gross, especially if you're number two, am I right Randy?"

"Ian..." I try to warn him and share my side of things. "Ted..." I try also, hoping he'll back off.

Ian takes a step to the side and shoots a glare at Randy, who stops dusting off his pants to raise his surrendering hands in the air. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd mind."

"I was gone for two minutes," Ian slams him. "It was an important call about my grandmother."

"Is that what you told her?" Ted sneers.

"It's true," Ian retorts, glancing at me, finally, and then his gaze cuts back to Ted. "Not that it's any of your business. No one likes you, by the way, so why don't you just leave."

"Oh, well! King quarterback has spoken!" When Ted's hands go up, it's a taunt. A challenge. And then he pounds Ian squarely in the chest with his fingertips. It isn't that hard, but the point gets made and it isn't well received.

To Ian's credit, he holds his ground, his expression hard and steady. He makes it seem like it's beneath him to hit back.

"C'mon, Ted. It's probably for the best," Randy chimes in.

"Maybe it is," Ted concedes, eerily calm, but then he springs at me. One arm is choking me at the neck and the other one is smothering me at the waist. "But she's coming with me. She's safer with me than she is with the two of you. That's for sure."

"He's lying," I choke out before Ted's hand covers my mouth.

He starts dragging me to the passenger seat. A bunch of people call out all at once, but no one pursues him. I try to kick and scream and bite, making every effort to slow him down, but . . . it's futile, as always!

And then . . . we all stop. Or turn to gape. A growl pierces through the overheated air. It's more like a roar.

There's a huge wolf on the top of the closest boulder. Anytime anyone moves, the snarl grows louder, fiercer. With its teeth bared, the wolf crouches down, readying itself to pounce on us.

Ted merely twitches, but it's enough. The wolf launches itself off the rock, in our direction, bounding once between the people in its way. Ted drops me and flings open the passenger side door. The wolf chomps down my ankle. It's strong and fast, on a mission. It picked me out as the weakest person, and it's dragging me toward the woods. I can't hear anything over my own scream. Until . . . a gun goes off. Once. Twice.

I glance behind me and regret it. I hit my head on a tree root. It offers only a glimpse of who is shooting the gun. Ted. He must have had it in his truck. Why am I not surprised?

I was almost in that truck, alone with him, in the middle of nowhere...

On the third shot, the wolf loosens its grip on me to yelp. I try to scramble away, but it reacquires me, and carries on, though its pace has lessened.

We slip beneath the tree cover. The slope increases. The light decreases. By the time the fourth gunshot goes off, it's ricocheting through the branches.

Who knows if Ted can even see me anymore? This makes him even more dangerous. He's drunk and would just as likely hit me or someone else.

The wolf makes a sharp right turn. I'm no longer dragging leaves along. I think we're on solid rock. Then there's a sharp tug. The wolf lets go of me, yipping as it falls. I have enough momentum to tumble over the ledge as well.

We fall a few feet, and then we're rolling down an embankment, the wolf just slightly ahead of me. We slide into a pile of leaves and come to a stop. I get to my feet, but the wolf . . . does not.

The chaos I left behind seems distant. There's a slight orange glow up on the right, and a few tiny flashlight beams, but they're not close enough to detect me.

Confused, frantic people are calling my name. I should call back, but something tells me not to. Intuition. I check myself for injuries. Other than a few scrapes and the bump on my head, I think I'm okay. I'm not in that much pain, anyway.

I lean over, pull up my leggings, and graze my right leg with my fingertips. For being between the massive wolf's teeth for so long, the skin is barely broken. If it truly intended to eat me, it wouldn't have been that conscientious. And probably, the first bullet would have scared it off.

The wolf is fairly concealed in the pile of leaves. I can only make out a couple of patches of white fur in the indirect moonlight, filtering through the branches. Still, I throw a few more armfuls of leaves over its body. It is still breathing. But, from the shallow sound of it, it may slow to a stop at any minute. The wolf was shot at least once, and it certainly won't survive another barrage. I don't know why I care, but...

"Sam?" It's Ted's voice.

I throw my black hood over my head and drop to the ground on a steeper part of the slope.

A flashlight beam sweeps close to the leaf pile, but it moves on and fades out to my left.

I sigh and get back up. I'd rather not be "saved" by anyone right now. I don't want anyone else hurt on my behalf. I'll figure out a way home on my own. Unfortunately, my purse is in the back of Ted's truck. I guess that means I'm walking home...

But first, I clear away the leaves beside the wolf's head and plop into a seat there. "I'm sorry. It seems like you're having a worse night than I am."

I stroke the wolf's fur by the ears. It stops panting to tilt its head back. Like a house pet, it sets its head on my leg.

"I never had a dog. My stepdad is a neat freak, among other things," I tell the wolf, stroking the fur down to its back. From what I can recall, it had a brownish color. If you could see past the snarling mouth, it was quite handsome and majestic. For a moment, I was just in awe of it. "I always wanted one, though. My childhood best friend had one—this beautiful golden retriever her family kept in a cage most of the time. I used to sneak her treats and pet her through the bars. She liked me, a lot. I think I was more upset when she died than my friend was. I could barely forgive her. The dog wasn't that old. They just didn't treat her that well."

The wolf exhales through its nose, like it's expressing its disgust.

With nothing more I can say or do, and my body temperature dropping, I get up and brush myself off. "I'm sorry I can't take you with me. I hope you'll be all right." I crouch back down and give the wolf a final pat on its shoulder. I'm pretty sure my hand comes back bloody. "Thank you for getting me out of that mess." I wipe my hand on my pants. "Someday, maybe I'll adopt a stray in your honor."

I move a few steps away, feeling like the scum of the earth. While I pause to wipe my eyes dry, there's a slight whoosh in the absence of any breeze. It's followed by a rustling sound and a human groan.

Then, I'm enveloped by a voice I'm sure I'd recognize anywhere, even six feet under. "Sam! Please . . . don't go! I need you."