Secrets and Shadows (10 page)

“True,” he admitted. “What’s on your mind?”

“Does there have to be something on my mind?”

“There always is,” he guaranteed. “Al of you—your mom, you, Annabel e Lee … always thinkin’. So what is it?”

what is it?”

I pul ed out a chair and sat. “I was thinking about riding again. In events.”

“Real y?”

I looked at him from under my eyelashes. Huh. Mascara did make them seem longer. “Yeah.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to, not after she died. It was—”

“Yee-aaah,” I dragged the word out. “It was our thing.”

“Do it.”

My head popped up. “What?”

“Do it. Sometimes going back to those things—things that’l never be the same—it’s good, anyhow.

Helps you move on. She’d like it, Jessie. I know she would.”

“Golden Jumper’s coming up,” I said casual y.

“You missed registration,” he said. “Not that I looked.”

I snorted.

“But there should be another jump event coming soon.”

“I’ve got an in for Golden Jumper.”

His eyebrows rose.

“The boy I’m teaching to ride. He can get me in.”

One eyebrow crawled back down. “What’s he expect in return?”

“Nothing, Dad.”

The skeptical look was hard to miss. “Jessie.”

“I swear, not al guys…”

He blinked at me.

“Okay. Even if he
did
expect something—which he doesn’t—it doesn’t mean I’d provide it. Geez, Dad.

I’m not stupid.”

“Lots of girls who aren’t stupid provide boys with al sorts of things.”

“I’m
not
lots of girls.”

“Okay.” He raised his hands. “But if he even
thinks
—” He shook his head, grumbling.

“I shal inform him that you wil beat the tar out of him, sir. And then I wil ask him if he knows the proper definition of
tar
,” I drawled.

He laughed, but his eyes lingered on my cheek. On the faded bruise. “Good enough.”

* * *

Sarah cal ed to give me the weekly Pietr Report. It seemed an even greater punishment the one person Dad let me get cal s from while grounded was Sarah. Dad said since I was hel -bent (he realized he couldn’t substitute “heck” there easily) on reforming her, maybe I’d be reformed in the process, too. But I knew what he real y hoped would change my attitude was hearing Sarah go on and on about Pietr.

Her
boyfriend.

I’d managed to avoid a few of her cal s, but not enough.

“He keeps watching the clock,” she complained. “Every five minutes. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.

It’s like he’s got some clandestine existence he’s dying to get back to. It’s frustrating,” she whined. “He simply can’t focus on me.”

“Sarah,” I began, searching for the right words. “Maybe he’s got something else on his mind—I mean, other than making out.”

“You haven’t dated for a while, have you, Jessica?” she said with a giggle. “It’s
all
they want to do.”

Niiice.

“Have you considered that maybe Pietr’s a deeper thinker than that?” Oh. God. I was actual y going to give her advice to help her. To keep Pietr. Hand on my forehead, I fought to keep my brain from exploding out the front of my skul .

This was bad.

But helping Sarah might help Pietr, too.

Wasn’t that what I wanted—what was best for Pietr?

I winced. “Maybe you should try more talking.…” My stomach rebel ed at the thought of them building a real bond. Physical attraction changed, but real emotion was harder to undo.

I knew, because I couldn’t undo the real emotion I felt over Pietr; instead, it threatened to undo me.

I fel backward on my bed with a groan.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Look. Sarah? If you real y,
really
want Pietr—and I mean
really
—talk to him. About everything.

He’s bril iant.” As much as I wanted to be the one talking to Pietr, it wasn’t working out that way.

“Jessica, some of us don’t worry so much about how bril iant a guy is,” she grouched.

“Sarah, talk to him. That’s what he real y needs.”

Silence on the other end.

“I was thinking about other things he might need,” she admitted coyly.

I struggled for breath, my eyes screwed shut against the image of Sarah working her wiles on Pietr.

“Sarah,” I ground out. “You’re smarter than that.”

She sighed. “Maybe.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. “I-I gotta go.” I hung up the phone and lay on my bed, shivering, curled around my pil ow as my tears darkened its case.

* * *

I rode Rio out of the paddock and down the hil that night. Together we tore around the farm, looking for anything to jump. For anything to chal enge us.

We didn’t return until we were sprinkled with sweat and flecked with foam.

I made up my mind on that ride. I would prepare for the Golden Jumper. I would remain Cat’s friend, helping the Rusakovas as I could. I would consider dating Derek and move past Pietr.

My broken heart would heal.

Things would return to normal.

I would embrace my new, new normal life. Horseback riding, farm chores, school, the newspaper and a handsome non-werewolf boyfriend with a potential footbal scholarship.

Normalcy. Life would be good again.

Because it had to get better than this.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What the—”

“Whoa,” Amy echoed as Pietr took a seat at our lunch table.

“I know—it’s awful looking, isn’t it?” Sarah whispered dreamily, reaching up with a brazen fingertip to touch the bandage stretching from Pietr’s eyebrow to his cheekbone.

Everyone at the table paused, gawking.

Everyone except for Pietr and our most recent addition, Cat, who had switched classes to eat lunch with us. Pietr loaded his fork and began to eat.

Cat shook her head, lips pursed as she played with her straw until it squeaked.

Most of us had been there when Pietr nearly knocked his head off during a risky ATV ride. We’d spent ten fear-fil ed minutes as he lay in the mud, bleeding …

… dying.

Cat and Max revived him and he recovered remarkably quickly. I’d been ready to believe in magic then.

But that wasn’t it at al . It was cold, hard science that kept Pietr alive. He’d worn a smal Band-Aid a few days thanks to his extraordinary healing abilities.

This bandage was much—
much
—bigger. Which meant he’d been much, much dumber.

“What did you do to get that?” I demanded.

Pietr didn’t answer. He glowered at me and shot a look over my head. To the clock.

Cat answered. “He fel out of a tree. Onto some rocks. Head first.” She looked at him, her jaw tight.

Amy winced for me.

“Why were you in a tree?” I pressed.

Cat again: “Curiosity.”

Amy grinned. “But curiosity kil ed the—”

“Cat?
Da
,” Catherine responded, never missing a beat. “Ironic, is it not? Except that curiosity only gets Pietr started. Stupidity wil surely finish the job.”

Pietr rol ed his eyes to her. Then back to the clock.

“Who patched him up, Cat?” I asked, realizing that talking to Pietr was a lost cause.

“Max.” She shrugged. “They’re spending a lot more
guy time
together recently.”

Not
reassuring. If I’d looked up
hedonist
in the dictionary I was fairly certain I’d see a picture of Max grinning wickedly back at me. His theory was simple: Do what feels good, live in the moment. Just have fun.

And why not? As the eldest true Rusakova, Max was closer to death than the others. His internal clock would start running down almost as fast as it had been wound up.

When Pietr rose to empty his tray, I fol owed.

“Listen, jackass,” I began. “I don’t care if you don’t want to see me anymore. I’m over it, okay? Have al the fun with Sarah you want. With my blessings.”

“But for God’s sake, Pietr,” I continued, tone wavering. “Remember, I’m stil your friend.” I grabbed at his arm, and he pul ed back, glaring. “Stop trying to kil yourself. As mad as I am, I don’t want you hurt.”

The last words came out softly, a sad whisper of fact. “I’m stil your friend. I care what happens to you.”

Derek was suddenly beside me, looping an arm around my shoulders he glared at Pietr on my behalf.

“Is he giving you trouble?”

“More than you can imagine,” I admitted, breaking free of Derek’s hold and storming off.

* * *

That afternoon as I scrambled to swap books for my next classes, I saw something out of place at the bottom of my locker. More than something out of place (which described most of my locker’s contents), something new. A note. From Pietr.

Jess.

I can’t be your friend.

Sorry.

So I wrote him one back. A simple note that summed things up for me at that moment.

Jackass. You idiotic jackass.

I slipped it in through the grate at the top of his locker’s door, hearing it flutter and flop onto whatever was inside. I took a breath.

And remembered my mother’s words: “Never write anything you might be ashamed of later.”

I fumbled with the locker’s handle, rattling the door. It held. We had computers in constant blue-screen and water fountains that leaked more often than they worked. Pietr’s locker, however, was the one thing at Junction High that seemed absolutely fine.
Of course.

“You okay?”

Derek.

I spun around. He leaned against the lockers on the other side of the hal , arms crossed, head inclined, watching me. Amusement grew in his blue eyes as I struggled.

“Yeah,” I grumped, giving the door a last try. And a kick.

He crossed the hal and picked up my backpack, brushing against my shoulder.

My body tingled in response. “I can carry that.”

“I know. Just let a guy do something nice for you for a change, okay?” He winked at me. “We’re not al jackasses.”

I blinked and let Derek walk me to class.

* * *

I rode the bus each day, like normal. Most days Pietr arrived late; some days he left early. I tried not to notice.

Sarah grew more tired by the day, the results of exhaustion accumulating and showing themselves when she’d snap in anger before pul ing herself back together. She was quick to apologize for anything she said (except to Amy).

I wasn’t sure which part of her was quicker to react—the good girl seeking a better way, or the vicious girl she had been. She wouldn’t open up about her problem, but I bet something was chasing sleep from her.

Derek walked me to classes regularly. Tempted to ask about his ex-girlfriend, Jenny, I caught her watching us once. He simply stepped over to her, spoke a few soft words, and touched her shoulder. She smiled dul y, but even that was a big improvement considering how sad she used to act.

Derek sat beside me when the opportunity arose. He didn’t join us for lunch—it seemed that was stil Pietr’s turf. But he made his presence known. As wel as his dislike of Pietr.

He reached out for me every chance he got, taking my hand, stroking my arm, touching my cheek. He tried to kiss me once, but I dodged so fast he nearly nailed a locker with his lips. It wasn’t that kissing Derek wasn’t appealing—it just seemed like a betrayal of Pietr.

Though Pietr was far from kissing me.

Things blurred in my life as I focused on survival. I was a robot, every move mechanical, none inspired.

I did my chores, did my schoolwork, rode Rio, and avoided Wanda.

Everyone moved forward except me. I was mired in the past and what could have been. Maybe that was normal, too.

* * *

It didn’t seem a good sign that my favorite werewolves (and Pietr—currently my
not
so favorite) wouldn’t eat the school lunch the first day of the new program. I’d never seen Pietr poke at the “food” congealing on his tray. Of course, he’d never given it time to congeal, either. He always wolfed it down, giving me a clear understanding of the origin of the phrase.

But instead of eating the mystery meat, he glanced at Cat and then back at his tray, seemingly determined to al ow it to solidify into some frightening Jel -O mold. Warily I looked at Cat as I opened my bag lunch. Her delicate nostrils flared, and her lips pursed. When it seemed no one was looking, she shook her head at Pietr.

I bit into my apple.

They exchanged a look, eyes pausing on the school lunches in front of Amy, Sarah, Sophia, and Marvin.

The rest of them ate without complaint.

Cat sighed, a soft sound I wondered if anyone but Pietr was meant to hear. Then with a growl she proclaimed, “You disgust me, Pietr Andreiovich Rusakova!” She slammed her tray into his, sending food flying.

“Da?”
Pietr snapped, pounding his fist on the table so the trays shook and spattered. “Wel , you are an absolute
bitch!
”

Cat’s eyes flared, but I saw humor in their depths.

“Hey!” Amy griped, their food dappling her tray.

“Pietr,” Sarah said in a tone of definite warning. “Apologize to your sister.”

“I don’t want an apology from that flea-bitten
dog,
” Cat proclaimed, slamming her milk down with such force it gushed out the container’s top like a frothy Vesuvius.

Sarah was drenched.

Cat barely hid her glee.

Across the cafeteria I saw Max itching to join in. He just needed a reason to disentangle himself from his female flock.

Why not?

“You’re al horrible!” I declared. “Especial y that brother of yours—Max! Nothing but a common
cur!
”

Huh
. When else would
that
sentence work so fittingly against someone? I grabbed something off of Cat’s tray (I wasn’t going to waste
my
food) and hurled it at Pietr.

Whatever it was slapped wetly onto his T-shirt. Brown. Wel , brown-
ish
.
Ew
.

But, God. It was satisfying, seeing the look on his face.