“Can you do the eye thing again?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how I did it the first time.”
“I think I know how to make you do it.” He dug his fingers into my ribs. I laughed and swatted him. He knew I hated being tickled. He did it again and that time, he pushed me backward onto the grass. I had the same reaction I’d had before, but this time, it was stronger. Much stronger. He let out a little “oof” as he landed on his back. I had both my hands on his shoulders, digging into his flesh, holding him down. He started to laugh. “See, big boy. Told you I knew how to get you to do it.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to. I can’t help it.”
The sound of his laughter rang out across the meadow. “Do it again.”
“No. It’s weird and assholic.”
“Assholic isn’t a word.”
“I know, but it should be.”
“Come on, do it.” This time there was something commanding in his voice. Provoking. “Do it again,now!”
“You don’t control me,” said the douchebag inside me with a sneer.
In a flash, I had my leg over him and had him pinned down by the wrists. To my surprise, he had a goofy look on his face and a strange, lopsided grin. His arms were completely limp. There wasn’t an ounce of resistance in him. He looked at me. I could see the burning reflection of my eyes in his. He arched his head back and tilted his neck to the side ever so slightly.
I pushed myself off him, leaping two or three feet back in the process, as pure heat flooded my body. “I—I didn’t . . . I don’t mean to do that to you.”
“Why not?” He smiled. “I like it. It feels nice.”
16
Iwassooverwhelmedby the events of the night and of the morning, I passed out as soon as I got to the cabin. I don’t even think I got dressed. In fact, I know I didn’t because I was naked when I woke up. I slept all day. I couldn’t move. I was exhausted all the way to my bones. To my bone marrow. Now and again, I was dimly aware of Jules washing dishes or straightening out the place. At some point, I thought I heard the dull thud of him chopping wood. I didn’t move until well after nightfall.
When I stumbled out of the cabin, I found Jules sitting on the bench. He offered me some of the steak he’d grilled, and I ate almost without tasting.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think so. I’ve never felt so tired before.” I looked over at him and realized that he hadn’t moved a muscle since I’d come outside. He was perfectly still. His lips were dark red, and his face looked pale. He didn’t look like himself. “Are you okay? You don’t look all that great.”
“I’m not sure. I don’t feel good. I felt a bit off last night, too. I tried to call you once or twice, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
I felt terrible. I had heard him. I’d heard him howl for me, and at one point, I’d thought I heard him saying my name. He must have shifted and called me to try to get my attention. I heard him and I ignored him so I could continue my savagery uninterrupted.
God, I really was a total dickhead.
“I wasn’t myself last night, Jules. I was . . . not in a good place.”
He didn’t reply. He wiped his top lip with the back of his hand.
“Can I get you some water or something?”
“No thanks,” he said, crossing his arms over his lower belly and leaning forward.
“Do you think you ate something dodgy last night?”
“No. I didn’t hunt. I didn’t eat anything. I spent all my time trying to find you.”
That made me feel even worse. I went into the house to fetch him a glass of water and looked for some Tylenol or something like it. I didn’t find any. No surprise, really. Wolves heal naturally from the type of thing Tylenol fixes. I went back outside and handed him the glass.
He set it down without taking a sip. He was shifting from side to side in discomfort. “I feel hot.”
I held my palm to his forehead. “Shit, Jules, you’re burning up.”
