Clay's Hope

Twenty-Two

After the police spoke to Gabby, whose pale, frightened expression gave more credibility to my story, they took pictures of my hands, face, and the entry points.

Once they left to go bother the neighbors with questions, I closed myself in the bathroom to wash. Most of the cuts were starting to knit together. Beyond the sound of running water, I listened to Gabby move around in her bedroom.

During Gabby's conversation with the policemen, she had told them she didn't want to stay the night and had said we'd be staying with family during the holiday. She'd given them her cell number for the follow-up they said they would need to do.

I knew her desire to leave had little to do with her safety. She had questions. She was afraid of what had happened when she'd looked at the man on the floor. So was I. How could she feel the pull for another werewolf? Sure I knew Gabby's scent appealed to all werewolves, but the pull was supposed to be unique, something only one werewolf could experience when he saw his Mate for the first time. And I wasn't mistaken. She'd felt the pull for me and for the man I'd knocked to the floor. What did it mean?

I sighed, dried my face and hands, and quietly left the bathroom. Gabby had dressed and still moved about her room, her actions tense and jerky. She shoved clothes into her bag with an aggression I seldom saw in her. I leaned against the frame and watched her for a while.

When her bag was full, she turned toward the door, then froze. Her gaze immediately dropped to the floor, avoiding mine. It hurt. I was as confused as she was over what had happened, but it didn't change how I felt about her. Did it change how she felt about me, though?

I sighed, stepped aside, and motioned her through the door.

She grabbed her phone and called Rachel to let her know what had happened and to warn her not to come back without Peter. After she hung up, I quietly followed her out to the car. She moved around to the passenger side, still not looking at me.

Clenching my jaw, I got in behind the wheel. Was I losing her? I couldn't stay quiet. I had to say something. But what?

I backed out of the driveway and started out toward the Compound.

Anything I had to say right now would lead to begging. Females didn't like begging.

Tapping my fingers against the wheel in frustration, I tried to think of something, anything, to start a conversation about what had happened.

It took a moment to realize her breathing had slowed. I looked over and saw her head tilted loosely to the side. She was asleep. Great.

For the next hour, I kept going over the fight. I'd knocked the guy out. He lay on the floor, eyes closed. Gabby stepped out of her room as if in a trance, her eyes focused on him. I'd scented fear, confusion...but also interest.

I gritted my teeth. My canines poked into my lips. Nice. I was losing control and Gabby. The steering wheel crackled beneath my grip.

I went back to tapping. It didn't help. My ears itched. Beside me, Gabby shifted in her sleep. Her scent wasn't helping.

"Clay..."

I paused my tapping.

"Could you pull over for a minute?"

I glanced at her. Was she sick? She didn't look pale, just worried. I braked and slowly pulled over, careful of the snowy shoulder. Once the car was in park, I turned toward her.

A sad smile lifted her lips, and then she tapped them.

My tight grip on the wheel went slack. Was she saying she wanted a kiss? My heart leapt. I swallowed hard and tried to pull back the change. I didn't want to hurt her. It wasn't working. I needed to know everything was good between us before I'd calm down. A kiss would help with that.