The Stranger in the Dark

Elysia

The warmth fades slowly, like a hand being drawn away from my skin.

The man's fingers curl. He lowers his arm and takes one careful step back. The gap between us fills up with cold air.

"I didn't do anything," I say. My voice comes out thinner than I want. "I stood here. You're the one who walked up to me."

"So I did." His eyes don't leave my face. "Have you always been scentless?"

Heat floods my cheeks. There it is again.

"Is that your idea of a conversation?"

"It's a question."

"It's a rude one."

"Is it?" He tilts his head. "Why does every question sound like an insult to you?"

"Because every question about it has been." I fold my arms over my chest. "Senna jokes about it. The women at the market pat my arm and say 'poor thing.' So if you're going to insult me, at least have the courage to do it properly. Say it. Say I'm broken."

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it."

"I was thinking," he says slowly, "that I have never met a wolf who smells like nothing."

I open my mouth. I close it.

That is not what I expected.

"Do you always glare at people you've just met?" he asks.

"Do you always stand alone in the dark and stare at crying girls?"

"Only the loud ones."

"I wasn't loud."

"You stomped through half the forest." His gaze flicks to a branch snapped near my feet. "I heard you from the boundary stone."

"Then you could have left."

"I could have."

"Why didn't you?"

He doesn't answer that. A muscle moves in his jaw, and I realise I'm still glaring up at him. Most wolves would have dropped their eyes by now. His coat is too fine, his voice too heavy, and the air around him has the weight of someone used to being obeyed. Yet I don't know his name or his rank. The wolf inside me has always been faint, more of a mumble than a voice, and it isn't telling me anything.

For the first time tonight, someone is looking at me and not at what's wrong with me. It's so unfamiliar I almost step back.

"Why did you run from the celebration?" he asks.

"None of your business."

"You said that already."

"It's still true."

He waits. He doesn't push, and he doesn't fill the silence. An owl calls somewhere to our left. The wind combs through the leaves above us. The quiet stretches until my chest aches with all the things I haven't said.

"My mother died," I blurt out.

He says nothing.

"Three days ago. I buried her this morning." My voice shakes and I hate it. "And tonight, people who wouldn't let her use the front door at the market stood in the clearing and called her a treasure. Those same people. They said she was kind and wonderful. They said they'd never forget her."

"And you don't believe them."

"I believe they'll forget her by morning." I wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist. "I spent my whole life trying to be someone they'd let in. I worked harder. I stayed quiet. I smiled when they said horrible things. And tonight I finally understood that none of it was ever going to matter. Nobody is going to let me in. Nobody ever planned to."

The forest holds its breath.

He doesn't say he's sorry. He doesn't pat my arm and call me a poor thing. He just stands there and lets my words sit between us.

"Being unwanted by cruel people," he says at last, "doesn't make you worthless."

Anger sparks, bright and fast. "That's easy to say."

"It's also true."

"Don't." My voice cracks. "Don't say it like that unless you mean it, because I want to believe it so badly that it makes me furious."

His eyes go still.

"Have you ever been unwanted?" I ask.

Something shifts across his face. It's small. The line of his mouth tightens, and for a moment he looks past me at the dark trees.

"I loved someone once," he says. "I couldn't save her."

The words are quiet and flat, like a stone dropped into deep water.

"What happened?"

"Nothing worth repeating." The shutters come down so fast I almost hear them. His shoulders square and his jaw sets.

I should be annoyed. Instead I recognise it, because I do the same thing. We're both carrying something heavy, and neither of us knows how to set it down without swinging it at somebody.

Faint drums beat from the clearing, then a long, rising howl as the pack calls to the moon. The man's head turns toward the sound a full half second before I register it.

"I'll walk you back," he says.

"No."

"It's dark."

"I know it's dark. I live here." I lift my chin. "I'm not a lost pup, and I don't need rescuing."

His mouth twitches. "I didn't offer to rescue you. I offered to walk."

"Same thing."

He looks at me for a long moment. Then he nods once. "Fine. But stay on the path. The forest isn't safe after dark."

"Is that a warning or a threat?"

"A warning."

I huff and turn to go. I only manage three steps.

"What's your name?"

I stop. I could say nothing. I could walk off and keep the one piece of me no one has taken tonight.

"Elysia," I say, still facing the trees. Then I turn around. "What's yours?"

"Names make strangers think they know each other."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the one you're getting."

"You are insufferable."

And there it is. The corner of his mouth lifts, only a little, but it's enough to make him look like a different man. It's gone almost as soon as it appears.

I walk away before I do something stupid, like smile back.

I make it a dozen paces down the path before the warmth returns. It blooms under my sternum, soft and slow, and I stop and press my palm flat against my chest. My heart is racing. The glow hums under my hand, and it isn't fading the way it should. It's pulling, gently and stubbornly, toward the place I just left.

I don't look back. I'm afraid of what I'll do if I do.