Chapter 12: I wasn't ready

I wake up to the sound of water dripping. Not just water—deliberate drips, like someone's letting droplets fall just to annoy me back to consciousness, or possibly performing some kind of aquatic percussion concert specifically designed to resurrect unconscious teenage werewolves with no survival instincts.

I peel my eyes open and—oh.

Oh.

OH.

Rowan is crouched over me, still magnificently, gloriously, criminally naked, hair slicked back from the lake like he's posing for the cover of "Wet Vampire Monthly." Drops of moonlit water are tracing down his chest and over muscles that honestly should have their own security clearance, their own zip code, and possibly their own religion.

Every droplet catches the light as it slides down his skin, turning his entire torso into some kind of living art installation titled "How to Make a Teenage Girl's Brain Explode Using Only Water and Genetics."

I try to focus on his face—his beautiful, perfect, definitely-not-penis face—but my peripheral vision is a terrorist organization dedicated to my complete humiliation.

"Did you just…" His lips twitch like he's trying not to smile, but failing spectacularly because apparently my fainting spell was entertaining rather than concerning. "…pass out?"

"No." My voice comes out raspy and approximately three octaves higher than normal, like I've been huffing helium and bad decisions. "I was… conserving oxygen."

The smile wins, spreading across his face like sunrise over a really attractive mountain range. "While lying unconscious on the ground?"

"Yes," I say, sitting up way too fast—because clearly I haven't embarrassed myself enough tonight—and then immediately regretting it because, hello, penis, still right there at eye level like it's trying to make conversation.

I jerk my gaze upward so violently I'm surprised my neck doesn't snap in half like a broken pencil. My eyes are now glued to his face with the desperation of someone trying not to look at a car accident, except the car accident is attached to a very attractive vampire and also it's anatomical.

His smirk says he noticed exactly where my eyes had been camping out before I redirected them to safer territory. "See something you like?"

"Absolutely not," I lie with the conviction of someone whose pants are definitely on fire, because my dignity is already on life support and I refuse to let it die completely. "I was just... checking for... vampire identifying marks. You know. Research purposes."

"Research?" His voice drops an octave, and I swear the temperature around us rises about twenty degrees. "What kind of research?"

The kind where I wonder if you taste as good as you look, my brain supplies helpfully, before I mentally slap it and tell it to shut up and think about dead puppies or tax returns or literally anything that won't make me spontaneously combust.

"Scientific research," I say, which is possibly the lamest thing I've ever said out loud, and I once told my third-grade teacher that my homework was eaten by a werewolf. Which was actually true, but she didn't know that.

He tilts his head, studying me like I'm some strange little puzzle that came without instructions and possibly missing several crucial pieces. Water is still dripping from his hair, and I watch one particular droplet trace a path down his neck, over his collarbone, down his chest...

Stop it, Julia. STOP IT.

"You're not here to kill me," he observes, and his voice has gone soft and curious, like he's genuinely surprised by this revelation.

I snort, which is probably not the sexiest sound I could have made but accurately represents my current mental state. "Please. You think I could take you down with—" I glance at my empty hands, which are apparently as useless as the rest of me. "—absolutely no weapons and the upper-body strength of a Victorian orphan with rickets?"

That earns me a soft chuckle that does things to my insides that should probably be illegal in several states. The sound is rich and warm and makes me want to hear it again, preferably while he's not naked and I'm not having a crisis about vampire anatomy.

"Then why are you here?" he asks, and the question hangs between us like a challenge.

I open my mouth to come up with a halfway decent lie—something about getting lost, or sleepwalking, or suddenly developing an interest in nighttime lake photography—when there's a sharp snap in the woods behind me.

The sound cuts through the night like a gunshot, and my stomach drops to approximately somewhere near my ankles as I recognize what it means.

Someone stepped on a branch.

Someone big.

Someone who's probably carrying wooden stakes and a really bad attitude about vampires in general.

My father's voice booms through the forest like the wrath of God having a particularly bad day:

"JULIA!"

The sound echoes across the lake, bouncing off the trees and probably alerting every supernatural creature within a fifty-mile radius that the Beta is not happy with his daughter's current life choices.

Rowan's expression hardens instantly, going from amused and possibly flirtatious to deadly serious in the span of about half a second. His entire posture changes, muscles tensing like he's preparing for a fight, and suddenly he doesn't look like a beautiful boy anymore.

He looks dangerous.

Predatory.

Vampire.

In an instant, shadows coil up around him like living smoke, wrapping around his body and swallowing him into the night. One second he's there, crouched over me in all his naked glory, and the next second there's nothing but empty air and the lingering scent of pine and rain.

He's gone before my dad bursts into the clearing with his gun raised and his Beta-face on, which is approximately ten times more terrifying than his regular dad-face and involves a lot more potential violence.

His nostrils flare as he scents the air, and I watch his expression change from worried parent to pack warrior in real-time. His face goes pale, then flushed, then settles into the kind of fury that usually results in someone getting shot with wooden bullets.

"Vampire." The word is a snarl, low and full of venom, like it tastes bad in his mouth. "He was here."

No shit, Dad. He was HERE here. Like, really, really here. In a state of undress that probably violated several public decency laws.

The rest of the pack crashes through the underbrush behind him like a very disorganized cavalry charge, all bristling energy and bare teeth and weapons that probably should have come with safety instructions.

Amy appears at Dad's shoulder, her hair wild from running through the forest and her dagger still attached with that ridiculous scrunchie. She looks like she's been through a blender, but a very attractive blender that specialized in battle-ready werewolf best friends.

"Where?" Amy demands, eyes darting around the clearing like she expects Rowan to pop out from behind a tree and announce himself with jazz hands.

Dad's already lifting his head to howl, and the sound that comes out is nothing like the howls you hear in movies. It's primal and furious and cuts through the night like a blade, calling every wolf in earshot to the hunt with the urgency of someone whose daughter was just found alone with the enemy.

The answering howls come immediately—from the north ridge, from the old Miller place, from what sounds like Mrs. Henderson's backyard where she's probably watching from her kitchen window with a cup of tea and a notebook where she keeps track of all the supernatural drama for her monthly book club meetings.

I just stand there, stunned and still slightly dizzy from the whole fainting-at-the-sight-of-vampire-anatomy incident, trying to process what just happened.

Rowan was here. Naked. Talking to me like we were having a normal conversation instead of a supernatural crisis that could result in his immediate and violent death.

And I was... flirting with him?

Was that flirting? That felt like flirting.

Research purposes, my brain repeats mockingly. Really, Julia? That's the best you could do?

"Julia!" Mom appears through the trees, looking like she's been through her own blender—one that specialized in panicked werewolf mothers whose daughters keep disappearing during vampire hunts. "Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Did he—" She grabs my shoulders and starts inspecting me like I might have vampire bite marks or other evidence of supernatural misconduct.

"I'm fine," I say, which is technically true if you don't count the lingering effects of anatomical shock and whatever just happened between me and Rowan in the thirty seconds before Dad arrived to ruin everything.

"Fine?" Dad whirls around, his eyes flashing that particular gold color that means his wolf is very close to the surface and extremely pissed off. "You were alone with a vampire, Julia! Do you understand what could have happened?"

Oh, I have some ideas, my traitorous brain supplies, and most of them involve significantly less clothing and significantly more—

"FOCUS," I tell myself firmly.

"What?" Amy asks.

"Nothing. Just... focusing on the... vampire situation."

Dad's howl has apparently worked like a supernatural dinner bell, because wolves are appearing from every direction, emerging from the forest with weapons drawn and expressions that suggest they're ready for war.

The Johnson twins are carrying what looks like a homemade flamethrower. Mrs. Rodriguez has a crossbow that's definitely not store-bought. And Mr. Blackthorn is wielding what appears to be a fence post sharpened into a stake, because apparently improvised weapons are the theme of tonight's vampire hunt.

"Form a perimeter!" Dad barks, his voice carrying the authority of someone who's used to being obeyed without question. "He couldn't have gone far!"

The pack spreads out like they've actually practiced this, which they probably have during those mysterious training sessions they held while I was at summer camp learning friendship bracelets and existential dread.

"Julia, what did he want?" Amy grabs my arm, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement that comes from finally getting to participate in real supernatural drama instead of just hearing about it secondhand. "Did he say anything? Did he threaten you? Did he try to—"

"He saved my life," I say before I can stop myself.

The words hang in the air like a confession, and everyone goes very, very quiet.

Dad slowly turns to look at me, his expression shifting from fury to confusion to something that might be horror. "What did you just say?"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"I mean... he pulled me out of the lake. Earlier. When I... fell in."

"He was at the lake when you almost drowned?" Mom's voice climbs an octave, and she starts inspecting me again like she might have missed some crucial evidence of vampire interaction the first time.

"I guess so? I don't really remember much about it. Oxygen deprivation, you know."

Which is technically true. I don't remember much between going under and waking up on the shore. Everything in between is a blur of water and panic and Rowan's hands pulling me to safety.

"And you didn't think to mention this before?" Dad's voice is dangerously quiet, the kind of quiet that usually precedes someone getting grounded until they're thirty.

"I was traumatized," I say defensively. "And there was a crab. In my dress. It was very distracting."

Amy makes a sound that might be a snort or might be a cough. "You're telling me that vampire has been following you around all day?"

Following me around? My wolf perks up at the thought, purring with satisfaction. Like he's been watching me? Protecting me?

"I don't know," I lie. "Maybe? Vampires are mysterious."

"Vampires are dangerous," Dad corrects grimly. "And if this one has fixated on you, Julia, then you're not leaving the house until we find him and put a stake through his heart."

My wolf snarls at the thought, a sound of pure fury that I barely manage to keep internal. The idea of anyone hurting Rowan makes something violent and protective rise up in my chest, something that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with that bone-deep certainty that he's mine.

"Right," I say weakly. "That sounds... reasonable."

But even as I say it, I'm already planning how I'm going to sneak out and find him again.

Because whatever this is between us—this impossible, species-defying, probably-suicidal attraction—it's not over.

Not even close.

And next time, I'm going to be prepared for the naked thing.

Probably.