Page 13 of White Wolf

Anger boiled to life inside her, because grief was too vast and painful to handle right now. She’d be angry up until the end; anger kept a person going, when all grief ever did was pull you under.

She sat up straight and let her hand slide down the side of Lanny’s neck, over the jut of his collarbone, pressed it to the heavy muscle over his heart. She’d always wanted to touch him here, and now she was, but it was all wrong. “Lanny, listen to me. You’ve got to get treatment. You’ve got to. You’ve got to fight this.You, of all people, can’t give up without a fight.”

His grin was half grimace. “I was never any good at fighting, though.”

“No. Don’t gimme that maudlin shit. Youweregood. You were thebest.” She reached for his once-broken hand and pulled it into hers. “This is a war wound, Lanny, it isn’t a sign of weakness.”

“Shit,” he said, and tilted his head so the back of the couch supported it. “I didn’t come up here for a pep talk.”

“Then why did you?” she challenged.

He laced his fingers through hers, clumsily, and gave her hand a tug. He was too uncoordinated at the moment to reel her in properly, but she got the gist. “I’ve been meaning to tell you how beautiful you are for a long time now. Fuckingbeautiful, Trina.”

It took a second for his words to sink in. And then: “What?” She shook his hand free. “What? Are you kidding me? No, just no.”

“But you are, and I–”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she warned, getting to her feet. “Don’t you dare say you’ve always thought that.”

“But I have.”

“Fuck you,” she said, without heat. “You wait until you’re dying and drunk off your ass, and then you tell me this? Just fuck you, Lanny.”

“You can if you want.” His grin was uneven and sad.

“Ugh,” she groaned. There was a headache building at her temples, tightening like a band. Everything about this moment was warped. “I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“Well we gotta do it soon. I ain’t got long.”

“That is not funny,” she scolded. She wanted to get worked up, really yell and let him have it. But she found she couldn’t.

He slumped deeper into the corner of the couch, eyes half-lidded and glittering. His Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed, drawing her eyes to his strong throat, the pulse thumping in the veins there. She couldn’t see the tumor. She wondered, perversely, how many more there were, lurking under his beautiful skin, killing him from the inside out.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice hoarse.

Her heart broke. “Here, lie down. You need to get some sleep.”

She crouched down and tugged his boots off, urged him to stretch full-out across the couch. She pulled the knitted throw blanket off the armchair and draped it across him after he’d wrestled his way out of his jacket.

“Not cold,” he protested, slurred and sleepy like a child.

“Humor me.” When he was settled, she leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. He tasted of sweat and liquor.

“I meant,” he said, as he faded into unconsciousness. “I love you.”

“I know.” Her eyes burned. “I love you too.”

He was out before she left the room, breathing deep and regular.

She lingered a moment, watching him in the dim glow of the ambient light that filtered through the window. Grief welled in her throat and she struggled to swallow it down again. It didn’t seem real, not when he was warm and alive and sleeping on her sofa. Not when her family had long since fallen apart and she had no one left but him.

I’m not ready, she thought, biting hard at her lip to keep it from trembling.Oh please, I’m not ready.

The stillness was broken by the ringing of a bell.

She jumped, and hurried into her room, going for her phone.

But the screen was blank. And it wasn’t that kind of ringing anyway. It was light, almost musical. It…

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