Lying with Wolves. Cynthia Cooke

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      Celia’s sobs racked her chest, making each breath a painful gulp, as if she were trapped deep under the ocean, drowning on her tears. Wave after wave of debilitating pain crashed over her then, like the tide, rolling out, allowing denial to roll in.

      This wasn’t right. Couldn’t be right. Her mother couldn’t be dead.

      Awareness hit her and she found herself on the floor, clutching Malcolm, her face pressed against his chest, his shirt clutched in her fists, his scent in her nose. Furious, she tried to push him away, but he held her even tighter as she beat against his chest.

      “Get out!” she blurted, and tried to stand, to put as much distance between him and herself as she could. “Get away from me.”

      “Celia—”

      She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want him to see her like this. He released her and she pushed away from him, quickly getting to her feet. “Don’t start. Just leave. Now.”

      “I can’t. I won’t leave you. Not like this.”

      “I don’t believe anything you’re saying. You’re lying. Trying to manipulate me. Trying once more to maneuver everyone around you. I’m not falling for it, Malcolm. I’m over you.”

      His dark eyes widened with shock. “Do you really think I’d lie about something like this? How could you think that about me? After all we’ve been through?” He took a step toward her, his hands outstretched.

      She backed away from him, brushing up against the counter as her mind finally came to accept what her heart already knew to be true. A fresh wave of pain washed over her. She wrapped her hands around her middle, grasping for something, anything that could explain the unexplainable.

      That could make sense of the nonsensical.

      “How?” she asked.

      “Accident,” he murmured. “In the woods.”

      She heard his words but couldn’t fathom them. Couldn’t wrap her mind around the possibility. “What am I supposed to do now?” Her kind, their kind, lived a long time. They didn’t have accidents. They didn’t just die.

      Unless the demons...

      But that wasn’t possible. The Gauliacho couldn’t get into the Colony; they couldn’t get past the crystals. She started walking around the shop, pacing, moving faster and faster. “I have to get out of here.” She swept her hands through her hair. Moving round and round. Back and forth. Muttering to herself.

      “We need to go back to the Colony,” Malcolm said, his voice calm. Authoritative.

      “No. I won’t.”

      “The crystals need to be rejuvenated. It’s already been four days since... We need you.”

      She stopped pacing and looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Go without me. I will be there when I can. I can’t just up and leave right now.”

      “Celia. You can’t send me away.”

      “Really? You mean like you did to me?”

      He stilled, distress crumpling his face.

      “Why can’t I?” she demanded, not wanting to hear his excuses, his denials.

      “I told you. I lost my bracelet in the canyon when an Abatu attacked me.” He touched the wound on his head. “They’ve already got my scent. I’m afraid I led them right to you. There will be more coming soon. Coming here. We need to leave now or we’ll be trapped in this store.” He gestured toward the crystals, their protective force field shielding their presence the only thing keeping them safe at the moment.

      What he said was true. Soon the Abatu would be congregating right outside the door, walking up and down the street, knowing they were close but not knowing where.

      “You did this to me,” she said, her voice low and deadly. “They didn’t know I was here. They wouldn’t have known had you not come.”

      He hesitated a brief moment as guilt flashed through his eyes. “How could I have not come? I wanted to be the one—”

      “The one to break my heart all over again? You like seeing me in pain, Malcolm?” She heard the shrill tone to her voice and knew she was being unreasonable and impossibly unfair, but she didn’t care. Hot fury was burning a large path swiftly through her, and he made such a damned good target.

      “I love you,” he whispered. “I wanted to be here for you.”

      Her eyes narrowed at his audacity. “You don’t know what love is. You’re not capable of feeling love.”

      He took a step back as if she’d physically hit him. “Fine. I guess I deserve that. But you’re wrong about me. I only hope one day I can prove it to you.”

      She looked at him then, really looked at him. At the sincerity in his eyes and the heartbreak and desperation in his voice. Something inside her softened, cooling the anger that had been burning for so long. She turned away. “I can’t do this right now.”

      “I get that. But we have to. We have no choice. You need to come back to the Colony and we need to go together. Now.”

      There was no use fighting it. She couldn’t let everyone back home die at the hands of the Gauliacho just because she couldn’t stand the idea of spending the next three days trapped in a truck with the man. She looked around the shop that she’d worked so hard to create, that she was so damned proud of, and fresh tears filled her eyes.

      “Don’t you see, Malcolm? I finally got away. I made my escape from the Colony. This shop—” she gestured wide “—you’re standing in is my new life. For the first time ever I’m on my own, discovering who I am, without you. Without the other shifters. Without my—”

      She paused as the finality of her words set in. Without my mother.

      Now she was forced to find her way alone. Without her guidance, no matter how overwhelming it had sometimes been. Fresh pain seared her insides.

      “I like it here, Malcolm,” she said, pushing through the words. “No, I love it here. And here you’ve come, riding back into my life, trying to take it all away from me.”

      “I don’t want to take anything from you. I wish I didn’t have to. But you don’t belong here in this dry desert. You belong at home.” With me.

      He didn’t say the final words, but she heard them anyway. She knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. What he was feeling.

      “I know I hurt you,” he said. “I made you doubt who you are and drove you away. But it’s time to come home. I’m sorry about so many things, more than you’ll ever know. I just hope I will have the chance to make it up to you. To show you I’ve changed.”

      “Malcolm, I don’t care if you’ve changed.” Finally her shoulders slumped and she exhaled a breath tasting of defeat and sorrow. As much as she hated to accept it, she would have to go. After a few minutes of silence, she turned back to him.

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