Chapter 49
Ah, how nice would it be to be picked up after work by a guy like that—-if only it wasn’t for the circumstances.
“Do you always sneak up on girls in the dark?” I say instead of a greeting, walking closer to him. It was supposed to be a joke, but with the glance Owen gives me, I remember our meeting last night and clear my throat awkwardly. Okay, it wasn’t a good one.
Owen doesn’t comment and doesn’t greet me either.
He looks at the lights of the diner behind me and frowns.
“Do you want to talk here?”
I look around and hum, catching the bright interior of Till Dawn through the big windows. Yeah, it’s definitely not the best place for sharing possibly insane secrets. Usually, I would offer a walk in the woods, but uh, no, not this time.
“There’s a square on my way home,” I say after a moment of thought and nod at the street leading up and into the town. “Have you seen it? It must be empty at this time of the day.”
It’s not a square really, not what you would imagine at least. In reality, it’s a small empty square place in the middle of Raywald with a few flowering trees and benches around the perimeter and a small fountain in the center. It’s empty most of the time—people gather there only for occasional festivals and fair days—but at least it makes the center of Raywald pretty from the inside.
Owen doesn’t even look where I’m pointing and simply nods. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m driving.”
“Okay.”
Oh come on, does he even know any other words? I have an inkling that Owen is doing it just to annoy me because his cold expression doesn’t even falter as we speak, his indifferent tone sounding mocking to my ears. He simply looks at me as if waiting for directions, and it is annoying—but I purse my lips and ignore how warm my cheeks are under his gaze, turning away to my car. What is the point of spoiling the conversation before it’s even started?
We drive to Raywald Square (yeah, it has a name, can you imagine?) in silence, and my thoughts automatically return to the encounter in the woods. God, who is even sitting in the car with me? I can’t help myself and glance at him a few times, clutching the wheel and struggling to hide my nervousness. I don’t know if Owen notices—he just keeps staring through the windshield with a blank expression until we arrive. Even then, he doesn’t look at me and gets out of the car already scanning our surroundings.
The square turns out to be only partially empty—there are a few local teenagers listening to music and laughing every few minutes and a group of truckers resting with beers in their hands. I catch a few glances as Owen guides me toward one of the darker corners, the one under a magnolia tree and far from the lamps. I can only imagine what they think of us, but at least the buzz of their conversations will muffle the secrets of ours.
“Are you going to tell anyone about what happened last night?” Owen asks as soon as we settle, and I blink at him in surprise. Such straightforwardness is almost admirable but damn, didn’t he think about giving me a moment to gather my thoughts?
"It depends on what I'm supposed to tell,” I say after a moment, frowning in deep thought and finally allowing myself to speak my mind. “Because honestly? I have no idea what happened."
Owen says nothing for a long minute, and when I glance at him I see that his frame is tense and his eyes are grim, staring into the distance. He notices my gaze on him perhaps, because Owen turns to me before I have the time to look away. Our eyes meet—and the glow under my skin gets clearer.
“Do you know who I am?”
"Owen. Abel's cousin. A new guy in town." I shrug, trying to keep the nervous tremble out of my voice. "That's all I know well enough to understand. Also, apparently, you can turn into a damn wolf—and that's where my understanding comes to an end."
Okay, it comes out a little hysterical, but can you blame me, really? Even Owen hums and nods slowly, and the amount of calm patience in his voice is a pleasant surprise. “Do you know anything about people who are not…just humans?”
What is that supposed to mean?
“If fairytales count, then yes, I do.”
"Okay, that's something.” Owen pauses and frowns as if looking for words, and I feel my throat going dry, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. “So if I tell you that I'm a shapeshifter, you have an idea of what I'm talking about?"
Huh? I tilt my head, hiding my nervousness in the grip on my keys, my voice sounding raw as I mutter, “Not really.”
I mean, I’ve heard the word before—in books and movies, in fairytales as I’ve said—but how can I know which one of them was true? And yes, it does sound absurd even to me, but I try not to think about it too much lest I would question my sanity again. Owen seems to understand it because he doesn’t rush to explain himself and, in turn, goes quiet for a few seconds before clearing his throat.
"To put it simply, there is a wolf spirit living in me, and we can switch forms of our own will.” He finally glances at me as if trying to see if I understand him. Not really, but I nod for him to continue. “Sometimes I'm a guy called Owen, and sometimes I'm a wolf living in the woods. We have different shapes—but we share one heart and one soul."
That’s…something to think about in my free time. Honestly, how does one accept such news? Because I definitely have trouble processing what Owen has just said. Sharing his soul with a spirit? Turning into a wolf whenever he wants? That sounds like a story straight from the TV screen—but ever since yesterday my life feels like a movie script, so really what’s new?
“Did you try to attack me back there?” I ask, still a little dazed, the growls of the wolf (or should I say Owen?) ringing in my ears. But the way Owen instantly perks up and turns to me with wide, offended eyes is enough of an answer.
"What? No! Even the wolf wouldn't do that. We were curious about your dog, that's all."
"Okay. Not that you would admit to it." I hum and shrug, unable to miss a chance to poke at him. Owen understands that too, and looks at me with pursed lips and raised eyebrows, silent disapproval in his eyes.
"Hey, I know you don't like me, but I'm not that bad."
"So you agree that you are bad?"
He groans, rolling his eyes, and I chuckle and nudge him a little. I like this kind of conversation more, and it looks like we can actually have fun together. But there is a more important question still clogging my mind—or more like, buzzing in my body—and after a second, I hum thoughtfully and search for words.
“Let’s say you are a shapeshifter…”
“I am.”
"...and I agree not to tell anyone about it. Wait, are you the only one? What about your brothers?" Owen says nothing and only tenses up, not looking at me, and it’s enough of an answer. "I see. Well, anyway, I don't tell anyone about all of you. But what about me?"
He frowns deeper and looks at me with confusion.
"What about you?"
"What am I supposed to do with whatever your spirit did to me?" I wiggle my hands just to emphasize—and Owen flinches a little, his gaze darting to my hands before raising back to my eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean.” I sigh and gesture wider with my hands. How can he not understand? “The light, the flash, the wave. You bumped into a tree, remember?"
Owen nods slowly as if trying to catch my line of thought and failing. "Exactly, that's all I did. I hit the tree, but it was you who struck me with a spell."
What? I chuckle nervously and sit up straighter, looking at him in search of any hint that he’s joking. "No, I didn't, I…I don't even know any spells."
"Yeah?” Owen hums, but it sounds calm and thoughtful as if we aren’t talking about some life-changing stuff here. “Well, I don't know very well how witchcraft works, but I guess you can cast spells on instinct. My spirit does that sometimes, although not as violently." I blink. Wait, wait a minute.
"Witchcraft? Cast spells?"
"So you don't know that you are a witch," Owen says slowly, rubbing his chin, and it doesn’t sound like a question. It sounds like a confirmation of his thoughts, and all I can do is nod, staring at him with eyes full of dread.
Yeah, no, I don't know it for sure.