of him. There was nothing here but Beck’s eyes with no Beck behind them. My mind grabbed at lyrics, something to get me out of this moment, something to save me.
Empty houses don’t need windows
’cause no one’s looking in
Why would a house need windows, anyway
If no one’s looking out again
The idea of seeing him again, just seeing him, as him, was such a powerful one. I hadn’t realized until this moment how much I had wanted it. Needed it.
Cole crouched down next to us, the syringe in his hand. “Sam?” But really, he was looking at Grace, who was looking at me.
Instantly, my brain replayed that second where the wolf’s eyes met mine. His gaze, without any understanding or reasoning behind it. We had no idea what we were working with here. No idea what effect the drugs would have on him. Cole had already guessed wrong on the dosage for the Benadryl. What if what he had in that syringe killed Beck? Could I live with that? I knew what choice I would make — had made — in the same situation. Given the choice between dying and having the chance to become human, I’d taken the risk. But I had been given the choice. I had been able to say yes or no.
“Wait,” I said. The wolf was starting to stumble to his feet, his upper lip pulling back slowly from his teeth in a warning.
But then there was this: me pushed into the snow, my life traded for this one, car doors slamming, Beck making the plan to bite me, taking everything away from me. I had never had a choice; it was simply forced upon me on one day that could’ve been no different from any other day in my life. He’d made the decision for me. So this was fair. No yes or no then. No yes or no now.
I wanted this to work. I wanted it to make him human so I could demand an answer to every question I’d never asked. I wanted to force him into a human so that he could see my face one last time and tell me why he’d done this to me out of every human being on the planet, why me, why anyone, why. And, impossibly, I wanted to see him again so I could tell him I missed him so badly.
I wanted it.
But I didn’t know if he did.
I looked at Cole. “No. No, I changed my mind. I can’t do it. I’m not that person.”
Cole’s green eyes, brilliant, held mine for a moment. He said, “But I am.”
And, fast as a snake, he stuck the needle into the wolf’s thigh.
• COLE •
“Cole,” Grace snapped. “I can’t believe you! I just can’t —”
Then the wolf twitched, stumbling back from us, and Grace fell silent. It was convulsing with angular spasms that racked its body in time with a rapidly ascending pulse. It was impossible to tell if we were witnessing death or rebirth. A spasm rippled along the wolf’s coat, and it jerked its head upward in a violent, unnatural movement. A slow, ascending whine escaped from its nostrils.
It was working.
The wolf’s mouth cracked open in a gesture of silent agony.
Sam turned his head away.
It was working.
I wanted, in that moment, to have my father standing there, watching, so I could say: Look at this. For every test of yours I couldn’t do, look at this. I was on fire with it.
In a sudden, shivering movement, the wolf backed out of its skin and lay on the worn carpet at the base of the stairs. No longer a wolf. He was stretched out on his side, fingers clawed into the carpet, muscles hard and stringy over prominent bones. Colorless scars nicked his back, like it was a shell instead of skin. I was fascinated. It was not a man, it was a sculpture of a man-shaped animal, made for endurance and hunting.
Sam’s hands were limp at his sides. Grace was looking at me, her face furious.
But I was looking at Beck.
Beck.
I had pulled him out of that wolf.
I walked my fingers across the wall until I found the light switch at the base of the stairs. As yellow light pooled in the basement, illuminating the bookshelves that lined the walls, he jerked to cover his eyes with his arm. His skin was still twitching and crawling, as if it wasn’t sure it wanted to remain in its current form. With all of the space heaters