“I don’t know, Brandon. It seems odd, mystical, paranormal. Or maybe it’s nothing at all. Maybe it’s all coincidence.”
“But I never felt anything like this before . . . until that day when I heard you calling in the woods. And then I was never the same.”
“It was a full moon, then. I knew it was my fault.”
“It’s not—”
I’d experienced Brandon Maddox through my five senses. One, I first saw Brandon in class that day that he transferred. Two, I heard him speak when Ivy and Abby confronted him. Three, we touched that day he saved me in the woods. Four, his scent still lingered on his shirt that I kept on my nightstand. Five, I had tasted his lips against mine. But there was one more sense I was desperate to witness; I needed to confirm my suspicions through the sixth sense—the paranormal.
“I’m not leaving,” I said.
“You have to go—I don’t know how I’ll be—or what I’ll be.”
I held on to him with all my strength. “It’s okay.”
I wanted to see for sure if what we’d experienced under the last full moon was coincidence or could be explained away by another reason—one other than legends, folklore, or predictions.
The full moon shone down upon us as Brandon enveloped me in his arms and kissed me. He was so passionate and intense, I was afraid I was going to be the one who would have to throw off my coat this time.
Brandon was kissing my neck when he suddenly broke away.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’m burning up. Like the sun is lighting me on fire—only there’s no sun.”
“Just the moon . . .” I barely managed to say.
“You must leave. Now!”
I had Brandon’s shirt at home, so I knew last month’s episode wasn’t a dream. But that didn’t mean I’d seen what I thought I’d seen. Tonight, I wouldn’t let Brandon out of my sight. I had to see the transformation for myself.
Brandon’s blue eyes turned intensely gray. He covered them and retreated. He went into the woods, using trees to block my view. He was desperate for me not to see him, but I followed him anyway. I ran past trees and jumped over fallen branches and trudged through snow. By the time I caught up to him, his hair was savagely long and lush. His face sported that sexy goatee I’d seen before, and his well-muscled arms and chest were covered with a thin layer of hair. He let out a howl.
Like last time, I backed away. My instincts told me to run for my life.
But there was something drawing me to Brandon, to this strange and powerful figure, something more than just his magnetic muscles and chiseled abs. It was his soul.
Even so, I was scared. For him and for me.
He breathed heavily. His chest heaved; his ribs were like those of a lean animal. His stare was hypnotic; I could barely stand in his presence. I wondered if, like Juliette said, he’d carry me off into the woods. Part of me wanted to escape; the other yearned to find out what might happen if I stayed—if I could help him, since this was all my fault.
I debated running, attempting to leave the uncertainty of woods on the hilltop for the safety of my home—a simple place where werewolves were on TV or were the subjects of students’ essays. However, I knew it would be impossible to outrun Brandon. In this lycan form he was powerful, perhaps invincible, and, to me, deadly attractive and soulful.
But Brandon appeared frightened about what he was capable of doing. He began to retreat. I sensed his turmoil. I wanted to stay, but he wanted me to go.
I shook my head and didn’t move. If he had wanted to kill me, he would have tried to already. I was safe with him for now. I extended my hand to him. I tried my best to remain calm, but my shaking revealed my fear.
Brandon’s brow furrowed and his piercing fangs were shining. His gray gaze bore through me.
I took a deep breath and focused on my task.
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice quavering. “I want to help you.”
“You can’t be near me like this.” His voice was low and seductive.
Brandon was more alone than I’d ever seen him before—more alone than he’d been as a new student walking the halls of a cliquey school, more than a misunderstood outsider quietly eating his lunch in solitude, more than a guy living in a small guesthouse behind his grandparents’ home, with his father a continent away.
I inched forward. Brandon didn’t attack me. He didn’t run away, either.
I took his hand, which was sporting masculine brown hair.
When we touched it was as if I could know his soul. Feelings of love, fear, loneliness, and euphoria raced through me as if we were one. I stared up at him. I was attracted to his spirit as much as to his shirtless body. By touching him, everything I thought I sensed about his feelings from across the hallway, lunchroom, or class I now felt as well, magnified a thousand times.