Nocturne (18 page)

"I'm going to go find Emily and tell her I'm sick," she said.

"Good luck with that," Matthew said, shifting back. Behind them, Claire spotted Amy frozen in place, watching them intently. There was something sharp in her eyes. Something . . . almost vindicated.

Claire gave her a pitiful smile—an I'm-feeling-reallycrappy smile. Amy's expression turned to concern, and Claire waved her off. With a shrug, Amy went back to the dance floor.

Claire put a hand over her middle and faked a stomach cramp. She hoped her dance sweat would pass for sicknesssweat. She finally saw Emily in the far corner, talking intently with Randy. Claire limped over to her.

Emily immediately frowned when she saw Claire. "What's going on? Why do you look weird? Are you okay?"

Claire bit her lip. "I-I don't know." She swallowed. "I think dinner might have . . . it's not sitting right. My stomach is really funky. Matthew and I are going to take off so that I can rest for a little bit." She didn't want to bail on Emily right away—it would be easier to pretend that she needed to be sick enough to rest and then claim that it just got worse, once she was out from under so many watching pairs of eyes.

"But you're still coming to my house, right?" Emily's face had gone tight. Desperate. It hurt Claire to look at her. It took the shine off her perfect evening. Lying to Emily—hurting Emily, even if it was only to protect her—was everything that Claire hated about living a double life.

"Are you kidding? Of course. I'm sure I'll be fine in an hour, but the idea of beer right now . . ." Claire twisted her mouth, hoping it looked as though she was fighting back a wave of nausea. "I just need to go get some fresh air and rest for a few minutes." She reached out and grabbed Emily. "You know I'm dying to come to your party," she said. It was true, and her voice rang with the honesty of it. Of course, she wouldn't go to the party—couldn't go to the party—but she desperately wished that she could.

"Okay," said Emily, her face brightening. "Go and rest and I'll see you there. Tell Matthew I said he'd better nurse you back to health hella quick or he's going to have me to answer to."

Claire laughed, hoping Emily couldn't hear the nerves in the sound. She didn't need a reminder of the sort of awkward position she was putting Matthew in.

"I'll tell him," she said, heading back through the dance floor with her arm still wrapped around her middle.

She and Matthew worked their way back through the crowd. Claire did her best to look sort of tired and ill as they said their good-byes. When they finally made it out into the parking lot, the November air felt fantastic against Claire's skin.

Chapter Seventeen

"DAMN WAS IT hot in there," she said as she limped toward Matthew's car. Her feet were killing her, and she hoped it wasn't going to slow her down when she ran to the gathering. Maybe wearing the cute-but-deadly shoes hadn't been the best idea after all. At least she had her bag of comfortable clothes— complete with running shoes—waiting for her in the car.

"Yeah, it was." Matthew unlocked the doors and Claire slid into the passenger seat, kicking off her heels and pressing her feet against the cold floor of the car with a moan of happiness. Matthew got in and started the car. "So, did you have a good time?"

"Nope." Claire leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes.

Matthew stopped the car halfway through backing out of the parking spot. "Really?" He sounded stunned.

"Of course not. A 'good time.' Please! I had a great time." Claire turned her head so that her cheek was resting against the headrest, and she looked at Matthew. "Though I am surprised that we've been dating for almost six months and you still haven't figured out that I'm a smart-ass."

Matthew half-smiled, but it was mixed with a grimace that made Claire freeze. "Well, in my defense, there's a lot we've both had to figure out. It hasn't exactly been easy, right?" He turned to look over his shoulder as he backed the rest of the way out into the parking lot.

She didn't respond. She couldn't. The comment had cut her, slicing bone deep.

Slowly, Claire reached up and started the process of unpinning her hair. She wasn't going to blow up at Matthew. She wasn't. She was just going to focus on turning off her human side and getting to the naming. And step one was her hair. There was no way she was trekking into the woods in an updo. She'd look ridiculous. She dropped the pins into an ever-growing pile in her lap, trying to ignore the wounded feeling that throbbed in her chest.

Matthew stopped at a red light. He looked over at her and took a deep breath. "Are you pissed at me?" he asked.

Claire felt the words bubbling up inside her and struggled to keep herself from saying them. But it was no use. She'd never been able to lie to Matthew, and in spite of the crappy timing, her habitual honesty took over.

"I'm not . . . 'pissed' isn't the right word," she said, gathering up the pile of pins and dropping them into the cup holder.

"Well, then, what is? Something's going on with you." His voice was heated, and it was more than Claire could take.

She exploded. "Of course something's going on with me! I'm a werewolf, Matthew, something's always going on with me. And for whatever reason, you don't seem to want to deal with that part of my life."

His eyes widened. "What are you talking about? I've never asked you to hide what you are."

"Yeah, but it's like you have to hold your nose every time you mention it. This is major stuff that's happening. It's not a game or some club I joined. It's my life, and it's not normal. Deal with it." Claire shoved the pile of hairpins off her lap.

"You're right—it's not normal, and I haven't complained about that at all. But there's no handbook for being your boyfriend. Did it ever occur to you that I'm doing the best I can?" His voice was as rough as a gravel road. "The human stuff is easy—"

"You can't just have my human side," she interrupted. "Not when you're a g
ardien.
Not when you're supposed to be my boyfriend."

He cut her off. "What do you mean, 'supposed to be' your boyfriend? I've done everything you—or the pack—has asked me to do. Didn't we just leave the dance early? Didn't I tell you I'd cover for you at Emily's party so that you could do your wolf stuff?" He sounded as frustrated as Claire felt.

The woods appeared at the side of the road as he turned the corner, driving just fast enough that Claire reached out and caught the door handle.

"Yes," she said, her voice surgically precise and scalpel sharp. "You've done everything I asked you to. But that's it. It's like my werewolf side is some kind of obstacle you have to get past." She was gathering momentum, her anger swelling with each word. She barreled on, not giving Matthew a chance to interrupt her again.

"I'm not some sort of girlfriend buffet—you can't just pick the parts you want. I know that my being a werewolf makes things hard, but you constantly treat it like some sort of burden, and it's not. It's
who I am. A
nd quite frankly, I think I'm handling it pretty goddamn well. It would be nice if you'd give me a little credit." They were almost to her drop-off spot, and Claire reached behind her, snatching her duffel bag of clothes off the backseat.

The hot-pepper scent of anger wafted up from Matthew's skin.

He stopped the car near the abandoned little ranger's hut at the edge of the forest, where she'd planned to change. The road was empty—desolate. "Give you a little credit? Why? You're not giving me any." Claire's mouth fell open. She threw open the car door so hard that the hinges creaked in protest. "Are you kidding? I have told you ever
ything.
If you don't think that's 'credit' . . ." She shook her head, swinging her legs out of the car. Her gorgeous dress suddenly felt ridiculous. She got out and stood in the November wind, clutching the duffel bag in one hand. With her back to the car and her mouth so full of acid words that she could barely swallow, she stepped toward the woods. Her heels sank into the half-frozen mud, and she stumbled, cursing.

"Claire!" Matthew called after her.

Unable to stop herself, she turned and saw him leaning across the passenger seat. The moonlight glowed against the white of his tux shirt, reflecting up onto his frustrated, worried face.

"What?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Damn it. I am not going to cry right now. Damn it!

"Just be careful, all right?" There was plenty of exhaustion in his voice, but not a lot of love.

"You too," she warned, and then turned and strode into the woods with as much dignity as she could—which wasn't much, with the cold making her shudder, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes, and her shoes sticking in the mud.

The ground beneath her blurred as the tears she struggled against filled her eyes, clinging to her mascara-blackened lashes. She sniffed, trying desperately to get ahold of herself. She couldn't show up to the naming like this. As soon as the trees behind her were thick enough that she couldn't see the road, couldn't smell the blacktop, she yanked off her clothes and shoved them into the bag. She'd meant to change into her sweats—take an easy jog through the woods. But she wanted out of her human skin every bit as badly as she wanted to ditch her heels.

The second she'd pulled the duffel's zipper shut, she transformed. Her wolf form wrapped around her like an embrace— her sure paws on the ground, her warm fur. Claire's unbelievably sharp senses laid the world bare in front of her. She lifted her head and took several deep breaths. The scent of the cold was thrilling and exotic—it smelled like the icy sparkle of the stars. Metallic. Hard. Pure. It calmed her.

Her human life wasn't critical right this second. She'd sort things out with Matthew later, but she had something important to do first. The naming would start soon, and she had no intention of ruining it by being distracted or upset.

Or late.

She looked up at the moon, realizing that she needed to start running if she was going to make it on time. She snatched up the bursting-full duffel bag, held it between her teeth, and headed for the clearing. When she could see the first glimpse of the clearing through the trees, she stopped and dropped the bag, licking her whis kers to try and get the artificial taste of the nylon webbing out of her mouth.

She'd rather have stayed wolf, but she had a fire to light and she needed to be smooth skinned while she did it. As quickly as she could, Claire changed back into her human form and hurried into her clothes. A sheen of sweat dampened her skin, and the cold air licked at it, chilling her instantly. Shivering hard, Claire burst into the clearing. Her mother, Katherine, and Judith were already there. Near the waiting firewood—but not too close—there was a little bedlike nest of leaves and dry grass.

"M-m-marie, I greet you," she chattered. It still felt weird to call her mother by her first name, but the pack laws required her to greet everyone that way.

"And I greet you, Claire. Thank you for being on time, in spite of your other . . . engagements."

Katherine perked up. "I greet you, Claire. What other engagements?"

"I greet you, too, Katherine. I was at the Autumn Ball. A dance."

"Oooh." Katherine sighed. "How fun! And you're probably missing the end of it for this. You must be so disappointed."

Across the clearing, Claire noticed Judith staring at her and Katherine with a contemptuous sneer on her face. Marie might have been uninterested in Claire's human life, but Judith seemed almost offended by it. Claire's fight with Mat thew swelled in her thoughts, and her anger flared back to life. What was with everyone only wanting part of her? She was never going to be all human or all wolf. That was the p
oint.
And the people who should have understood that the most were the ones who were making it the hardest.

"I greet you, Claire," Judith said, interrupting her thoughts.

Claire returned her greeting.

"You're lucky to have such an important role tonight. You are ready to light the fire, right?" There was an ugly sneer on Judith's face. A disbelieving sneer. Like she had a scalpel at the ready.

Claire's pulse quickened, her tongue suddenly sticking to the roof of her mouth. "Of course."

Before Judith could even open her mouth, Beatrice and Victoria appeared at the edge of the trees. Victoria held a bundle in her arms. There were violet blue shadows under her eyes, but she looked radiantly happy. Claire saw a flicker of nervousness in her expression, but for the most part, she was hiding it well.

Everyone rushed over to see the baby, who was nothing more than a tiny face in a mound of blankets. They greeted Beatrice and Victoria almost without looking at them, too busy cooing over the baby's tiny pink cheeks.

"Won't she be cold?" Claire whispered to her mother.

"No—or rather, she may feel the cold on her face, but infants of our kind are not susceptible to the temperature the way human babies are. It is the wolf blood in them." Marie wrapped an arm around Claire in a rare and unexpected gesture. "She is so very small. It reminds me of your naming. Though it was hot that night. Unbearably hot."

Claire stared at the baby, trying to imagine herself that small, to imagine a younger Marie holding her in the woods, waiting for her naming.

"We'll begin shortly—I hope both of you are ready. Beatrice? May I speak with you for a moment?" Marie stepped away, and Beatrice followed her.

Judith and Katherine drifted away, leaving Victoria and Claire alone.

"She's pretty," Claire said sincerely.

"Thanks." Victoria beamed. "You ready?"

"I think so." Claire leaned in. "So, I was thinking about the name thing last night. Please don't be mad—I . . . I listened to her. From the woods. Just to see if anything came to me. I would have asked you first, but I only thought of it last night, and there wasn't time. . . ."

Victoria's eyes widened. "Did you—did anything happen?" She didn't look like she minded having been listened in on. Actually, she looked like she was desperate for an answer.

"Her breath was so loud—so . . .
clear."
Claire hesitated. "I looked it up, and the name Aura—it means 'breath' in Latin."

Victoria froze and Claire panicked, worried that she'd offended her, that she'd ruined the closeness they'd built over the last couple of weeks by taking things too far with her suggestions.

"If you think it's not right, I'll totally understand, and I wouldn't want you to use it, but you did so much to help me, I just thought—"

"It's perfect," Victoria whispered. "Look at her. It's perf
ect.
Oh my Goddess, Claire, I was going to name her after my great-grandmother, because I couldn't think of anything else that was right, but it still didn't really fit her. She doesn't look like a Rose. But Aura—" She looked up at Claire, her eyes damp. "Thank you."

Claire nodded, hoping she hadn't picked the wrong name—that the ceremony didn't go wrong somehow because of her idea. The realization crashed over her that she suddenly stood to fail twice tonight. If she was mistaken about the name, she'd have doomed herself and the baby both. But she couldn't leave Victoria all on her own. Not after Victoria had done so much to help with the fire lighting.

"Well." Marie cleared her throat. "Let's not keep Victoria out any longer than we need to. I am sure she is exhausted. Claire? Are you ready to begin?"

Claire looked over at the enormous pile of wood. She had maybe lit something close to that size, but it seemed to loom over her. Daring her to try and light it.

It was only a few steps from where she stood, but her nerves were so electrified that her limbs felt numb. Each step took an eternity. It was like wading through syrup. Her blood was humming with adrenaline, and she stared at the limbs. She closed her eyes for a moment, searching for an island of calm in her sea of panic. She couldn't do this if she was freaking out. She thought of Matthew, and in one sharp moment her anger laid bare everything she'd had trapped inside her. The worry and insecurity and trying to be perfect for everyone, all the time, stared back at her like glass-eyed dolls.

What the hell had she been
doing
?

The things she'd told Matthew earlier had been true.

This is who I am. No more balancing acts. No more werewolf side
and human side. From now on, it's just me.

Confidence tore through her with a sound like ripping fabric. With everything inside her, she pushed back the veil of her human form—the thick, heavy, sticky web of it, seeing the fire as clearly as she'd just seen herself. What it was. What it could be. The heat that the branches held trapped inside, that could so easily be . . .

Released.