In the next room, Sam sat on the couch under a blanket, his clothing running through the wash. My jeans were still soaking, but they’d have to wait. Turning on a burner for the soup, I tried to focus on the slick black controls, the shiny aluminum surface.
But instead I remembered Sam convulsing on the floor, eyes vacant, and the animal whimper he made as he realized that he was losing himself.
My hands shook as I tipped the soup from the can to the saucepan.
I couldn’t keep it together.
I would keep it together.
I saw the look on his face as I shoved him into the bathtub, just like his parents must have—
God, I couldn’t think about that. Opening the fridge, I was surprised to see a gallon of milk, the first perishable food I’d found in the house. It looked so out of place that I felt my thoughts sharpen. Checking the expiration date—only three weeks ago—I poured the odiferous milk down the drain and frowned into the fridge for other signs of recent life.
Sam was still curled on the couch when I emerged from the kitchen to hand him a bowl of soup and some toast. He accepted it with a more mournful look than usual. “You must think I’m a total freak.”
I sat on a plaid chair across from him, tucking my legs beneath me, and held my bowl of soup against my chest for warmth. The living room ceiling went all the way up to the roof and the room was still drafty. “I am so sorry.”
Sam shook his head. “It was the only thing you could do. I just—I shouldn’t have lost it that way.”
I winced, remembering the crack of his head hitting the wall and his splayed fingers, reaching through the air as he careened into the tub.
“You did really well,” Sam said, glancing at me as he picked at the toast. He seemed to consider his words, and then just repeated, “You did really well. Are you—” He hesitated and then looked to where I sat, several feet away from him. Something in his glance made the empty stretch of couch next to him painfully obvious.
“I’m not afraid of you!” I said. “Is that what you think? I just thought you’d like some elbow room while you ate.”
Actually, any other time I’d have happily crawled under the blanket with him—especially with him looking warm and sexy in a set of old sweats he’d gotten from his room. But I just wanted—I just needed to put my thoughts in order, and didn’t think I could do that while sitting next to him just yet.
Sam smiled, relief all over his face. “The soup’s good.”
“Thanks.” It wasn’t actually that good—in fact, it tasted completely canned and bland, but I was hungry enough that I didn’t care. And the mechanical action of eating helped dull the images of Sam in the bathtub.
“Tell me more about the mind-meld thing,” I said, wanting to keep him talking, to hear his human voice.
Sam swallowed. “The what?”
“You said you showed me the woods, when you were a wolf. And that the wolves talked to each other that way. Tell me more about it. I want to know how it works.”
Sam leaned forward to set his bowl on the floor, and when he sat back and looked at me, his face looked tired. “It’s not like that.”
“I didn’t say it was like anything!” I said. “Not like what?”
“It’s not a superpower,” he replied. “It’s a consolation prize.” When I just looked at him, he added, “It’s the only way we get to communicate. We can’t remember words. We couldn’t say them even if we could wrap our wolf brains around them. So all we get are little images that we can send to each other. Simple images. Postcards from the other side.”
“Can you send me one now?”
Sam slouched down on the couch, tightening the blanket around himself. “I can’t even remember how to do it now. While I’m me. I only do it when I’m a wolf. Why would I need it now? I have words. I can say anything I want to you.”
I thought about saying But words aren’t enough, but just thinking it made me ache in an unfamiliar way. So instead I said, “But I wasn’t a wolf when you showed me the woods. So can the wolves talk to other pack members when those members are human?”
Sam’s heavy-lidded eyes flicked over my face. “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever tried with anyone else. Just wolves.” He said, again, “Why would I need to?”
There was something bitter and tired in his voice. I set my bowl down on the end table and joined him on the couch. He lifted the blanket so that I could press myself against his side, and then he leaned his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. For a long moment, he just rested there, and then he opened his eyes again.
“All I cared about was showing you how to get home,” he said, voice low. His breath warmed my lips. “When you changed, I wanted to make sure you knew how to find me.”
I ran my fingers across the triangle of bare chest that was visible above the loose collar of his sweatshirt. My voice came out a little uneven. “Well, I found you.”
The dryer buzzed from down the hall, a strange sound of occupation in this empty house. Sam blinked and leaned back. “I should get my clothing.” He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else and blushed instead.
“The clothing’s not going anywhere,” I said.
“Neither are we, if we don’t break into the Bronco to get the keys,” Sam pointed out. “I’m thinking sooner rather than later for that. Especially since it’s going to have to be you doing it. I can’t stand out there that long.”