Brandon didn’t answer. Instead, he released me from his embrace and stepped away.
“Really,” I said. “I won’t go. Not if you don’t want me to. At least not yet.”
“It’s not that . . .” Brandon turned pale. “I feel odd.”
“Maybe you should sit down,” I said, pointing to the tree stump.
“No—it’s something different. I feel really hot.”
“That’s because you are,” I said, grinning.
“I’m burning up,” he said, and took off his coat.
Our kisses had heated me up, too, but I wasn’t ready to throw my coat to the side just yet.
Brandon ripped off his long-sleeved knit shirt and dropped it in the snow. He pulled off his undershirt and threw it at his feet. “I feel really weird,” he said. “I’m not sure you should be around me. I think something’s wrong.”
I felt awful, too. We had just shared the best kiss of my life and now Brandon was acting strangely.
The fog from his warm breath seemed to be heavier and thicker than mine. I wasn’t sure what was happening. “Maybe you’ve come down with something,” I offered. “There’s always some flu going around.”
He kicked off his boots and yanked off his socks.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
But Brandon was far from focused on me. His brow furrowed and his gaze showed concern. This was no seduction.
He finally looked at me. Brandon was standing in thirty-degree weather in several inches of snow in just his jeans. He was barefoot and shirtless. And he wasn’t shivering.
His chest was smooth and his arms were pale and lean. His chest heaved in and out rapidly.
“You must have a fever. But then you’d be shivering,” I said, bewildered. “Let’s go inside. Maybe your grandparents can help.”
“No—they’re not home. Besides, I don’t think I should move.”
Brandon started to shake. It was then I saw it. His royal blue eyes were a searing gray.
I couldn’t believe my own eyes! I was stunned. How could his eyes change color? And why?
Now I began to shake. What was happening to Brandon? I was scared.
Brandon doubled over.
Maybe he did have the flu, but his symptoms were coming on so strong and so quickly, I wasn’t sure what kind of flu it was.
Brandon pulled himself over to a tree and leaned his back against it. I tried to follow, but he shooed me away. I wanted to respect his privacy, but I was really starting to worry. I cared for Brandon so deeply and was torn apart seeing him in distress. Since he wasn’t going to leave the hilltop, I’d have to get someone to come to him.
“I’m calling the police. You need a doctor,” I said.
Brandon didn’t say a word.
The tree blocked my view of Brandon. It was dark except for the strong moonlight.
“Brandon,” I said, “what’s happening?”
“Please, Celeste. You have to leave.” Brandon’s voice was tormented and serious.
“No, I don’t want to leave you.”
“Please . . . go. Now!”
The more Brandon pushed me away, the more I wanted to stay.
“I’m calling nine-one-one,” I said as a threat.
“Please leave, Celeste,” he repeated. His voice was so deep, almost animal-like.
I kept hoping that at any moment Brandon would jump out and say “Gotcha!” like the millions of times Nash pranked me and our friends.
But he didn’t and I was truly frightened.
“What are you doing?” I called. “You’re scaring me! I’m going back to the game.”
“Yes—that’s . . . a great . . . idea.” His voice was now shallow and breathless.
I retreated. I was torn. If this was a cruel joke, I didn’t want to be its target. His brilliant blue eyes had changed to gray. It couldn’t be possible. But if it was, then something was dreadfully wrong with Brandon and leaving him up there alone on the hilltop wasn’t the responsible thing to do. He hadn’t run away when I needed help. As scared as I was, I wasn’t about to desert him in his time of crisis.
“I’m getting help,” I called to him again.
He didn’t answer.
Then he stepped out from behind the tree. Brandon’s short, wavy brown hair was now savagely wild and shoulder-length. His normally clean-shaven face sported a goatee. His once-smooth chest was now lined with a thin layer of hair. His stomach was as ripped as an Olympic swimmer’s, and his biceps were cut like a triathlete’s. His eyes were a gorgeous gray. He was breathing heavy, as if he’d run a marathon. Brandon had fangs like a wolf.
I stopped dialing. I could barely breathe. It couldn’t be . . .