5. A Moonlit Rendezvous

Emeric also seems to be frozen, staring intently into my eyes. It’s just as intense as before, but maybe because I’m already used to the effect he has on me, and maybe because he’s been so much nicer this time, it feels a little different.

I’m still utterly captured by him, but the fear isn’t as strong as the fascination, and it feels less like I’m being peeled apart layer by layer, but more like his presence has seeped into my very core—cold and stinging like seawater, but also strangely invigorating, like moonlight and a chill breeze on a summer night.

I don’t have to look away this time. Emeric breaks away first. Silently, he takes my fallen book bag and shuts it into the storage compartment on his bike. A warm helmet is jammed brusquely onto my head and I’m lifted bodily into the seat of the motorcycle.

“Hang on to me,” he says as he slides into place in front of me.

I come back to myself. “Wait, what are you—” I squeak as the rumbling beneath us becomes a roar, hanging on for dear life as we accelerate. He’s wearing a leather jacket, but still enough of his body heat seeps through that I can’t help but press myself against him for warmth.

As we slow for a turn, I try to yell over the sound of the engine: “You know, I was trying to get away from that guy back there because he was trying to give me a ride home!”

To my surprise, Emeric actually replies, “You sound as if you don’t trust us enough to protect you.” Though his words are barely louder than a normal speaking voice, they come through with startling clarity. Or, at least I thought they did. I can’t imagine that he was trying to say anything else. Except…

“What are you talking about?”

“Just because you rejected ’em, doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“Them? Who’s ‘them’? Where are you taking me?”

“Look, I just want to know why. Can’t we talk?”

“About what? Look, are you sure you have the right girl? I know I’m the same height as Lily, but if you haven’t noticed, I’m not a brunette!” And I’m about twenty pounds lighter, I don’t add.

“What?” Emeric asks in return.

I give up. “If you want to talk, let’s just talk now,” I tell him.

“No, it’ll be easier to talk at home,” he says.

I consider the road. We’re on one of the main roads near the edge of town, surprisingly close to where I live. To our left is the northernmost district of the town, rows of river-front suburban sprawl, and to our right is all forest.

“Park your bike before I jump off,” I threaten.

“WHAT?”

If I jump off now, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to walk to the bus stop where I left my bike—after I pick myself back up from whatever injuries I get, of course. I could also leave my bike for tomorrow and just head straight home, which is looking more and more tempting as an option.

The only problem is that I’d have to leave my book bag with Emeric. I don’t really need it over the weekend, however, and my transit card and my phone are both in my back pocket, so I’d be able to get to and from work. And also call in to the shelter to let them know I’ll be late tomorrow—or rather, later today, I add to myself, resigned.

I loosen my grip on his waist and glance back to make sure no other cars are in sight, preparing to lever myself off the seat and—

“Wait, wait, I’ll stop now,” Emeric says, a hint of panic in his voice. The motorcycle slows to a stop at the side of the road.

I get off clumsily as soon as we stop moving, trying with some futility to pry open the storage box that I know is beneath the seat.

Emeric, too, hops off. “What are you doing? Here—” he pries open a latch to reveal my book bag sitting atop a somewhat sinister-looking box and a cloth bag full of something soft.

I grab my bag without comment and turn to the forest. If I remember correctly, there’s a hiking path nearby that should lead me pretty close to where I live.

“Hey, wait!” Emeric says, putting his hand on my arm.

“What?” I snap, thoroughly fed up with the way tonight has gone. “I’m not just going to throw myself at you like you seem to expect!” Because most other girls do throw themselves at him, my mind unhelpfully reminds me.

Behind me, a branch cracks and very quiet wingbeats flap. I turn my head to see an owl flying away. In the distance, something howls—a coyote, maybe. There’s a bunch around here, but supposedly they’re good at staying away from humans.

The moon is slowly emerging from the clouds, illuminating the night beyond the reach of the suburban streetlights.

“What?” Emeric repeats, sounding confused.

I snap my head back to face him. His blue-grey eyes stare at me from beneath a fringe of wind-tousled hair. Like this, Emeric doesn’t look very much like himself at all. I find my heart softening slightly. He did save me again, after all. Maybe he’s only that much of an asshole when he’s at school.

I square my shoulders and try to calm down as I try to explain: “That guy I was trying to get away from? He was just a friend of Amy’s, or Tori’s, maybe. Point is, I didn’t trust him enough to not—I don’t know—kidnap me or something.

And while I appreciate what you did back there, I also have no interest in following you to your home like some stray puppy you saved from getting mauled by a wolf. So, please, stop treating me like one of your hook-ups and let me go.”

Emeric’s expression starts out confused, then dawns with comprehension that seems strangely cousin to rage. His jaws are clenched and his mouth is pressed in a thin line as his throat bobs. He lets go of my arm. “You thought—you think I’m—”

His eyes flash, pupils glaring the green-gold of a crepuscular predator. He shakes his head, and a frown appears between his eyebrows. He glances up and behind at the sky. I follow his gaze to see where the moon is hanging between clouds.

“You need to… Get away…” he bites out, drawing my gaze back to his face, which is screwed up in… in something. Rage? Agony? Fear?

Despite my earlier intentions to leave, I freeze in place. I feel like I’m on the brink of something terrifying but endlessly seductive, tipping inch by inch over an edge I can never return from.

“Are you okay?” I ask. I feel bad for yelling at him when all he’s done tonight was save me and try to give me a ride home.

His eyes are closed and his face is still scrunched, but he says, “Run. Now.”

Before I even realise what he said, my feet are stumbling into the forest, taking me over patches of moss and tree roots. I glance back at the road, but all I see is Emeric’s motorcycle, idling at the side of the road.

Where did Emeric go?

Just as the thought crosses my mind, I stumble over a tree root and fall on my face, my book bag crushing mercilessly against my ribs. The last thing I remember seeing is a flash of pale fur and a pair of enormous blue-grey eyes.

﹒﹒﹒

I wake up slowly in comforting warmth, ensconced within a comforter that smells like pine and vanilla. I blink against the morning light, then sit up with a jolt. What day is… It’s Saturday! I have to go to the shelter for my volunteer work! Am I going to be late?

I glance around for my phone, then realise that this is not my bedroom. Instead of my own modest twin bed, I’m sitting on a much larger one, laid out in what seems to be a very carefully maintained guest room.

There doesn’t seem to be any personal effects lying around, but the furnishings go well together—a nightstand, a door, a desk, another door, a vanity, and a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit peeking through the doorless entrance to what must be a walk-in closet.

Everything is carved of the same dark wood as the headboard of the bed, and the duvet is a gentle sage green that matches the curtains and the upholstery of the stately armchair in the corner—where I see my book bag has been set.

I flip back my covers and stand up, scanning the room again now that I know my things should be here, but wincing when I see the muddy streaks that have been left on the inside of the bed. I look down, relieved to find that I’m still wearing the simple jeans-and-shirt outfit that I’d worn out of work the previous night.

Friday night! I left campus with Lily and Grace and Amy, and they dropped me off at the restaurant. Then I worked, but Amy came to the restaurant with a group of her friends, and there was that guy—

Emeric saved me from that weird guy who kept trying to make me follow him to his car, then he gave me a ride home on his motorcycle—no, not home. To his house?

I look out the window, but all I see is an unhelpful stretch of trees.

I look around again, finally finding my phone tucked behind the lamp on the nightstand, stacked under both my transit card and my keys. I check the time—almost seven—and fire off a quick text apologising to the vet and the volunteer coordinator, telling them that I got into some trouble last night and will probably be late for my volunteer shift (which is set to begin at eight).

I tuck everything on the nightstand back into the pockets of my jeans, then open up my book bag for a cursory search to make sure I have everything I need.

There were so many things going on yesterday, and I was so tired by the end of it that I don’t really remember anything between Emeric taking me on a joyride and my falling asleep.

I did have some strange dreams, however—dark forests and flashing eyes, strange animals who chased me down only to stare at me with those blue-grey eyes that I can’t seem to forget.

Honestly, if I’m being honest with myself, the only thing strange about that dream was the part where I got chased by strange beasts. I dream of the forest under moonlight on occasion, and I’ve been dreaming of Emeric’s eyes for the past week, too.

Tap, tap.

I glance at the door behind me, startled. I pause for a moment, then walk over and pull it open.

“Morning,” Emeric says. “You’re up early, so I didn’t have time to do much, but breakfast will be ready soon. Did you want tea or coffee?”

I blink. “Either—” I croak, then pause to clear my throat. “I’m good with either. Water works too, if that’s easier.”

“Coffee it is. Latte okay?” He pauses for long enough to catch my bewildered nod, then nods back, saying, “Whenever you’re ready, then. Left out your door, then one floor down.”

I check the unopened door after Emeric leaves, finding that it leads to an ensuite bathroom with unopened packages of toiletries laid out on the counter. I rush a morning routine, splashing my face with water and quickly pulling my very messy hair into a slightly less messy bun. Then, I return to the main bedroom, pick up my bag, and head downstairs.

For all that the guest room I’d been given was very traditional in design (if a little overly-Colonial-Revival-esque), the house itself is completely different. The hallway that my room opens onto is sleek and modern, with marble flooring instead of wooden. The stairs are the same, black marble polished so smooth that it’s practically a mirror, spiralling down to an open-concept ground floor.

Emeric looks up from the heavy textbook that he’s got open on the breakfast bar, reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He scowls severely upon seeing me, and I almost take a step back up the stairs.

He seemed just fine when he called me down to breakfast earlier—what gives?

“Uh, good morning?”

He looks back down at his textbook, not deigning to reply.

“Good morning!” Emeric calls from further away. “Sweet or savoury?” he asks, carrying two plates over to the dining table, both holding crepes. One is filled with a glistening red spread and covered in a thin dusting of white, and the other is filled with pale green veggies and melted cheese.

Even twenty feet away, I can smell the butter.

I look up into the smiling face of the cook—who looks like Emeric—before glancing back down at the back of the other Emeric’s head. As if he could sense my gaze, he turns around to scowl at me again.

“What are you waiting for? Come eat while it’s hot!” says the Emeric that’s holding my breakfast.

I stand, stupefied.

Why are there two Emerics?!