Chapter 7 Out of Nowhere
ELARA
The street hums with the late afternoon rhythm of the city. A symphony of car horns, distant sirens, and the overlapping chatter of people heading home. It is a noise I have learned to use as a shield, a wall of sound that keeps the silence in my own head from screaming too loudly.
A red rubber ball bounces off the sidewalk and into the street. I see it from the corner of my eye. I do not think anything of it. Human things. Human accidents.
Then a flash of blue. A small boy, no older than five, darts off the curb after it.
Time slows down. It is not a metaphor. The world literally stretches, the sounds deepening to a low drone. I see the green sedan before I hear the screech of its tires. I see the driver’s wide, panicked eyes. I see the boy, his face a perfect picture of innocent focus, his small hand reaching for the red ball.
I see the mother on the sidewalk, her mouth open in a silent scream, a bag of groceries spilled at her feet. Oranges roll across the pavement like fallen planets.
No one else is close enough. No one else can move fast enough.
The instinct I have starved for three years roars to life. It is not a thought. It is a command that bypasses my brain and ignites my blood. Protect the pup.
I do not run. I explode. Three steps. The distance is impossible for a human. I cover it in the space between heartbeats. My hand closes on the thin fabric of the boy’s jacket. I pull him back, twisting my body to shield his, the momentum carrying us both onto the hard pavement of the sidewalk just as the sedan whips past where he stood.
The sound of the world rushes back in. The car horn blares, a long, angry note. The mother’s scream finds its voice.
“Leo!”
I am on my knees on the concrete, my arms wrapped around the trembling child. He is crying, loud, terrified sobs. My own heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated terror. Not for the car. For what I have just done.
“My baby! Oh my god, my baby!” The mother is beside us, her hands fluttering over her son, checking for injuries that are not there.
“He’s okay,” I say, my voice a rough rasp. I try to untangle myself, to put distance between us. “He’s just scared.”
“I looked away for one second,” she sobs, pulling the boy into her arms. “Just one second. Thank you. Oh god, thank you.”
She looks at me, her eyes shining with tears of gratitude. And then, her expression shifts. A small frown appears between her brows.
“How did you…?” she starts, her voice trailing off. “You were over there. By the corner.”
I push myself to my feet, brushing dust from my jeans. My body feels coiled, every muscle screaming to run. To disappear.
“Adrenaline is a funny thing,” I say. The lie is practiced. Smooth.
A man who had been waiting at the crosswalk comes over. “That was incredible. Your reflexes are like lightning. You a professional athlete or something?”
My stomach twists into a cold knot.
“No,” I say quickly. “Just lucky.”
“Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it,” the mother says, clutching her son like he might vanish. “You saved his life. I owe you everything. What’s your name? Please, let me… let me buy you dinner. Anything.”
She reaches out to touch my arm. I flinch and take a half step back. Her hand drops.
The warmth of her gratitude feels like a brand. I cannot accept it. I cannot be part of her world. I just proved it.
“I’m glad he’s okay,” I say, my voice flat, distant. I need to leave. Now. “You should get him home.”
“But I need to thank you. My name is Sarah. This is Leo.”
I look at the little boy, his tear streaked face buried in his mother’s shoulder. I see a phantom image of a pack pup, safe in the circle of its family. A life I can never have. A connection I am not allowed.
“There’s no need,” I say. “Just watch the ball next time.”
The words are colder than I intend. The woman’s grateful smile falters. She looks confused, a little hurt. It is better this way. It is safer.
I turn and walk away. I do not look back. I can feel their eyes on me. The mother’s, the man’s from the crosswalk, the driver of the sedan who has pulled over and is now staring out his window.
They see a hero. A stranger with quick reflexes.
They have no idea they just saw a monster. A monster who has spent three years pretending to be a woman, pretending to be human.
I do not slow down until I am inside my apartment, the door locked, the three deadbolts slid firmly into place. My hands are shaking. I press them flat against the cool wood of the door, as if I can hold the world out.
I risked everything. For a human child I do not know.
The instinct was not human. It was wolf. Pure, undiluted, and terrifyingly strong. I did not shift, I have no wolf to call, but the power is still in my blood. A legacy from my father, from my mother. From a pack that no longer claims me.
I slide down the door until I am sitting on the floor. I wrap my arms around my knees, making myself small. The act of saving that child did not make me feel strong or brave. It made me feel exposed. Alien.
I saved a life today, and in doing so, I have never felt more like an outsider. I am a ghost in this human world, a danger hiding in plain sight. And in the world I left behind, I am nothing but a liability.
I look around my sterile, empty room. There is no one to tell. No one to hold me. No one who would understand the terror and the triumph warring inside me.
I am a creature of two worlds, and I belong in neither one.