Page 23 of Unwanted

“Two boxes,” Jak corrected. “You said you’d give me two boxes.”

Driscoll waved his hand as though there was no difference between one or two. But he couldn’t mean that. The difference between plenty of matches and not enough was life…or death. “Two boxes. Yes, fine.”

Jak nodded, already turning toward the door. “Bye,” he said as he slipped outside into the snow. He turned his face, small bullets of icy hail hitting his cheek. A whipping wind had picked up. He should ask Driscoll if he could stay for a while instead of making the walk home. His face already hurt, and his boots were coming loose; he could feel it with each step. He didn’t want to let Driscoll know that though or he might back out of their trade. And anyway, even as the thought of staying drifted through his mind, the whispery feelings were telling him to go, and he was moving away from the house. Away from Driscoll and his wild eyes. Away from the man who made him feel like prey, even though he didn’t know why.

Chapter Fifteen

The girl named Harper was snoring. Loudly.

Lucas watched her where she was sitting on his floor, her head leaned forward and her mouth wide open. He took the moment to stare at her without her knowing, to let his eyes travel freely.

It’s you, he thought. It felt like a bee was trapped in his chest.

She was the baby in the photo he’d worn around his neck for so long. Was that why the low-down whispers stirred whenever she was around? Why he felt like he knew her? He reached for the necklace out of habit, his hand falling away. Empty. Still staring. She was the small smiling girl with the pink bow in her brown curls.

How could it be? It shocked him. Although so much shocked him. Why wouldn’t it? A jolt of unhappiness went through him, but he pushed it down. For now. While she was there. The girl made him jumpy. Or…no, not jumpy. It was the opposite. What is the opposite of jumpy? She made him still. Like he wanted to stop and wait and watch until he could understand her.

Still wasn’t the right word either, and he thought about that for a minute as he put his jacket on, trying to be loud so she would wake. She let out another snore, which almost made him smile, except he was too tense to smile.

He turned away for a minute but couldn’t help turning back. He wanted to look at her. She’s beautiful. But could he trust her? He rubbed his head. The woman with red hair, who had taken her clothes off for him and kissed his mouth, had been beautiful too. Not as beautiful as the girl drooling in her sleep on his floor but still beautiful. But anyway, they were different, right? He knew this woman. Didn’t he? He sort of felt like he did.

A piece of her dark hair fell over her face. The color of chestnuts in the sunshine. Deep, shiny brown. His hand itched to push it back, to run his fingers through it and find out if it was as silky as it looked. To touch. To smell. Her eyes were closed now, but he could picture them open and staring at him like she didn’t know what he might do next.

What did she think? What did she see when she looked at him? An animal or a man? Something to fear? Yes, he knew that answer, or she wouldn’t have brought a gun with her.

Silently he moved closer. Silent as a wolf. Trying to catch her scent from where he stood. There. He closed his eyes, drawing it in, holding it. It was earthier this morning, like he’d taken an entire flower and crushed it in his hands and then brought it to his nose, all the parts of it blending together. Sweet and not sweet. He didn’t have the words for her scent, only pictures. Feelings. Low-down whispers. But it moved him. It made his body react, made him want her.

He peered closer, studying. Learning. Her mouth was wide, the top lip thinner than the bottom, and when her lips were parted—like right then—he could see her two top teeth. Pearly, smooth.

When he’d first seen her, he’d thought she looked like a fawn—fresh and young, her large brown eyes blinking at him with curiosity. He’d never seen anything prettier. Not even the almost-night when the colors of the bleeding sun filled the sky and came down to kiss the earth.

She moved in her sleep, and he took a quick, silent step back, but still she did not wake. He had hardly slept at all, so aware of her under his roof that he couldn’t get his mind to quiet. Maybe she wasn’t as scared of him as he thought if she was able to sleep that way. She let out another grumbly snore and tipped forward. His lips did turn up then, into an actual smile that felt strange on his lips. He reached up to feel it, his fingers running over the curved shape of his mouth.

He hadn’t wanted her to stay there. He’d wanted her to leave so he could stop questioning everything, feeling things he didn’t know what to do about. He needed time to think, to figure out what he was going to do now that Driscoll was dead and his tie to the outside world was gone. He had to figure out what he was going to do about a lot of things, and he had no idea where to start.

He remembered the night before when he’d looked out his window and had seen her crying near the den of baby foxes. At first, he’d thought it was because their mother hadn’t returned, but when he understood that it was because their mother was there, keeping them warm and dry and fed, he felt something twist in his chest that he’d never felt before.

She’d lost her mother too. He knew that now.

It’s you, he thought again. You.

He watched her for another minute, trying to figure the best way to wake her up since noise wasn’t working. Should he shake her awake? Or would she shoot him with that gun of hers? She could try. But he could overpower her in a second—weapon or no weapon—and if she didn’t know that, she should. At the picture that formed in his mind—his body coming over hers as she looked up at him with her round, brown, deer-like eyes—his skin flushed, and he felt dizzy.

Be still.

Wait.

She confused him the way all people did, but even…more. He didn’t understand the way she talked or the expressions that changed from one moment to the next and without any warning. He didn’t know how she laughed so easily one minute and then tears filled her eyes the next. He couldn’t follow what she was saying half the time because she jumped between topics so quickly and for no reason that he could understand.

He knew her…sort of, but…she was a mystery.

Did other women act that way? Or was it only her? He didn’t know. But he knew one thing: he liked the way she looked.

He liked her face and body. Her hair. He liked the way she moved and the way she smelled—especially that. Deep and rich and sweet. Something he wanted to bury his nose in, letting it overpower his brain. It spoke to him.

He wondered what she’d taste like, and it caused his muscles to tense so he was both uncomfortable and not. He’d seen a few other females when he’d gone into town—and he’d seen a lot of the woman with the red hair—but the minute he laid his eyes on Harper, he felt different. Like a fire had lit inside him, the blue part of the flame licking at his bones and making them melt to liquid.

The feeling was so strong that if the rules of nature were the rules of humans, he would have claimed her right that minute, fought a battle against other males for her. And won. Whatever he needed to do so he could call her his. She’s the one I choose, he wanted to tell all the other males. That one. But he knew there was far more to it than that. His instincts, though—the ones that had been sharpened so he was more animal than man—were strong and needy. Because his instincts had meant his survival. And to push them aside felt like a kind of giving up he was not used to or ready for.

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