The sound of a close passing car is enough to rouse Jael back to consciousness.

I left him in a ditch beside his truck while I was trying to figure out where he may have left his keys.

I'm rounding the back of the truck, keys in hand, when he lurches to a sitting position, startled, confused, and scared—it all passes through his features—and then he seems to regret moving at all, when the pain and dizziness hijack his senses.

When the worst of it subsides, I'm crouching in front of him. Our gazes collide. It's hard to believe that mine is stronger and steadier. It seems to knock his for a loop.

"You found them," he comments, eyes settling on the keyring around my finger.

"Behind your front tire."

"Right." He uses the hand cradled by his injured shoulder to massage his temple. "How did you. . . ?" He slides his good foot around, trying to determine what he's sitting on.

"Get you here? Good question. I found an empty case of beer and used the cardboard to drag you here. That peak was intense, but it was all downhill from there. Gravity did most of the work." I rise to standing and open the passenger side door for him.

"I'm sorry." His foot slips out from under him as he makes his initial attempt to get up. "For everything," he sighs, collapsing to where he started. "I said things, did things—"

"Forget it," I cut him off. The situation is still too grim for any conversation beyond what is necessary. His body was wise to shut it down.

He needs medical attention. We both need clean, warm clothing and some heat. And a whole lot of rest. That, of course, will have to wait. And my gut tells me, it'll be a while. I probably won't even see a bed until dawn and that's when I have to get up for class...

I hand him the jeans and underwear that are sitting on the passenger seat. "You took two bullets for me. It's the least I could do." I separate his flannel shirt from the T-shirt underneath and keep the T-shirt for myself.

While I slip that on, he's dragging his jeans up to his knees, not bothering with his underwear. It's too much extra work or he has other plans for them.

I turn my back as he lays down to finish up.

When I face him again, he's setting my soiled sweatshirt down beside him. He then places his underwear in a wad by his wounded hip and buttons up at the waist. With another groan, he hauls himself back to a sitting position. After what looks like a seasick sway, he reaches his hand out for mine. On the count of three, I pull him to a hunch and deposit him in the passenger seat, bit by injured bit.

I drape the flannel over his shoulders, catching his sad, remorseful gaze for the split-second I'm bold enough to look back. Then I clean up the area, smudging blood and obvious footsteps with a tree branch, so no one will ever know we were here, not without dogs or a forensics team. I toss the clothing he was using as a bandage into the truck by his feet, discard the flattened beer box in the woods, and get in the driver's seat.

I'm not one of those people who can jump into a strange car at night and immediately know what I'm doing, but I try not to let it show, figuring out the basics.

At long last, I pull onto the road and pick up as much speed as I can safely manage. Less than half a mile later, we round a bend and approach a group of people by Ian's car. I duck down as we pass. Jael cradles his head in his hand. He's met both Ian and Ted before and not under the subtlest circumstances.

Once I feel confident enough to lift my head and check the rearview mirror, I notice only one person watching us. Her curiosity doesn't heighten, though, and nothing seems to come of it.

The miles start rolling by.

It was a lot easier to sneak out of there than it should have been, but I doubt anyone thinks I'll be driving home. I'm dead or gravely wounded in their minds. I feel bad about that, but not enough to go back. I have bigger concerns at the moment.

"Should I bring you to the hospital?"

"Can't," Jael replies, opening his window. "I'm not . . . normal." He turns up the air-conditioning as well, despite the near-freezing temperatures. "I do need to get the bullets out before the wounds close over. That's what the cold air is for—it slows down the process. Sorry about that," he adds. "I know you must be freezing."

"They'll close that noticeably fast?" I try not to let my teeth chatter.

My knuckles are white. My whole body is tense, and my lower back begins to throb. It probably has been this whole time. Only now does it have a chance to register—that I've been through an ordeal of my own. That I'm in pain, too.

It's hard to concentrate right now, but I have no choice. The road is dark, curvy, and unfamiliar to me. If my skillset isn't up to par, it wouldn't be particularly forgiving.

Jael doesn't share my concern. Not about that. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, seemingly less anxious now that he's in a controlled environment. "At room temperature, something this bad would take about an hour to heal over and for the pain to stop. A lot can still happen in an hour. It's a long time to be uncomfortable. I just have to grit my teeth and deal with it, though. If people start asking questions..." he trails off. "No one can find out," he then finishes.

"And if I tell someone?" I wonder aloud.

He doesn't catch the glance I toss to him. "I trust that you won't." Instead, he begins rummaging through his center console. He takes out a short stack of loose change.

"I don't know what exactly you are, but I can't say it was the biggest surprise of the night." That was his presence, and the I need you—no one has ever said that to me before—and then everything out in the open—and I mean everything. Through his clothes, I already had a sense—hard to miss—but still, my appraisal was an injustice. "Your eyes turn red," I blurt out, returning to the actual subject at hand. "When you're angry, I think?"

"Strong emotion, but yeah, that'll do it," he responds, thankfully too preoccupied to notice me blush.

My brain is jelly, so it takes me a second to figure out what he's doing. He's smearing his own blood on two coins—dimes, I think—and he's wiping them "clean" with the sleeves of the flannel.

"I should have better control of my outbursts." With a wince and a sharp intake of breath, he presses the coin into his shoulder wound. "I've lived as a human," he goes on when the pain seems to subside. "I've lived exclusively as a wolf. But the going back and forth, sometimes planned, sometimes not, it takes more time to adjust than I really give myself. I'm getting better at it, but it's still relatively new to me, and every day is different. And with everything that's going on..."

He unbuttons his jeans. With the flap and bloody underwear wad hiding his unmentionables from view, he shoves the second coin into the hip wound. It looks like he could have used a dowel between his teeth.

He's panting when it's in place. I second that notion with a deep, shaky breath of my own.

"Everything going on, with work and the breakup?" I probe a little deeper, hoping to get away with it. He's stable again, and in a better mood, at least towards me.

Eyes closed and head back, he forces an exhale, and then peeks at me with one eye. "Indeed," he confirms with a slight smirk.

I've read between the lines, but this is the first time he's commented on his relationship status. Or lack thereof. He may be "torn up" in many ways, but Ivy doesn't seem like one of them. Not romantically speaking, that is. I have no doubt it's still messy and complicated, though. Her family owns our house. They pay his salary. Even if it's just that, it's a lot.

I wish I could help, but he's the one who helped me. I have nothing to give, barely an extra penny to my name. I don't even have my phone or car keys and can't pay to have them replaced right now.

After buttoning himself back up, he closes both windows and turns up the heat. "I'd tell you more about it, but..."

He found another solution to his wound problem, and it's much appreciated. I didn't realize how cold I was until I'm not anymore.

"I know. I know," I sing through an exhale. "Then you'd have to kill me."

I get a chuckle out of that. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

***

"Bryony's light is on," I note out loud as I park Jael's truck, a few spots away from the front of the house.

Jael frowns, taking in the view for himself. He blasts a sigh through his nose when he comes to the same conclusion.

For the last few minutes, we haven't exactly agreed on how to handle her.

"I could go in first," I suggest anew. "See what we're up against. Aren't the best lies close to the truth?"

"Tell her nothing," Jael reiterates. "Avoid her if you can. Even the smell of my blood on your body will tip her off. She can't know that you know anything."

I still know so little. I don't ask why, but I do say, "What is she?"

"Dangerous. Conniving. Completely self-serving," he partially answers, which is his new usual. "She's not my friend or your friend. Don't ever believe otherwise."

Don't get me wrong. This is progress and I am grateful, but it's still frustrating. I have so many questions that I can't even think of them all, and he doesn't have the time or inclination to go into any detail right now. Or the permission, I'm left to assume.

"If you say so..."

I still don't have a term for what he is. A werewolf? Something similar? Or something else?

Different. Dangerous, too, if you cross him the wrong way. For now, I'm not worried. I've pushed some of his buttons, and he hasn't snapped back very hard. I've offered skin and he didn't bite. No nibble. Not even a taste. He barely even looked. If he meant me any harm, I feel like I'd know that already.

It doesn't matter what everyone is called, I suppose. I'd be wholly ineffective against them, regardless.

As a reluctant newcomer in a world that just got a whole lot darker, I'm lucky to have a supernatural ally. Even if he's wounded. Even if it's temporary.

"I have an idea," I say, hoping to prolong the inevitable, at least until morning. "If Bryony is that self-centered and despises you as much as you claim, then call her. Say you're hurt. Ask for her help. She'll probably tell you to deal with it yourself and ignore you when you go inside. You could make as much noise as you want. You'll just have to get on without me for a bit."

"Easier said than done." He glances at me sideways, amusement peeking through, like the moonlight when the clouds finally clear.

If he's flirting with me, and even if he isn't, I close myself off. If I don't see it, hear it, feel it, it's not really there. It can't hurt me. "Hopefully, she'll just leave," I move past it, eyes ahead, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, around the confusing and conflicting influx of pain and longing and dread. "With better places to be, suddenly. She won't ever have to know we're together."

"Your car isn't here."

"Ian could have dropped me off," I point out. "That's what I'll claim if she ever asks. If she does decide to help you, that's almost better. I'll go in the other door. Hide somewhere. Or wait ten minutes, act like nothing's wrong, and go right to my room. I'll get in the shower as soon as the coast is clear. Let's just see what she says before we decide."

"We'll have to decide fast," he informs me. "And she won't keep her mouth shut about any of it."

"Then it's probably better if we take control of the narrative early on. If we're caught sneaking around before you explain, she'll make her own assumptions. And if what you said is true, they won't be flattering."

I expect him to object about something, even if it's minor. Instead, he pulls his phone off the charger and grunts out an "all right" as he scrolls through his contact list.

We both get out of the truck. I hide in a neighbor's bushes while Jael leans against the fender. After peering at my location, he nods once, tilts his head toward our apartment, and makes the call.