The Name in the Dark

Clara's hand was still on his collarbone when the voice came from the trees. Names sounded like verdicts out here.

There she is.

Ash moved like a shadow remembering to be sharp. He pushed himself up and stepped onto the porch. Rain had left the wood dark. He looked toward the tree line; his muscles tightened. Clara wanted to study him his jaw, the bruises, the thin line of his lips but the voice in the trees drew her back.

Hide, he said. Go inside. Lock the door.

Her feet moved before her brain. Inside, the cabin smelled of old coffee and wood smoke. He stripped his jacket off and worked at a tear on his shoulder. His hands trembled just a little.

Hunters, he said when she asked.

The word landed like a stone. She had read about hunters people who thought they were saving the world. She had told herself Silverpine didn't have that kind of hate. She had told herself a lot of things.

Why are they looking for you? she asked, voice low. Her training made her ask for facts.

He did not meet her eyes. They think I’m dangerous. They think I'm what I used to be.

You're hurt, she said. Let me clean it. You bled two days ago.

He looked at her then, gray eyes rain-deep. You were at the hospital.

I work nights. She wanted to know if that meant anything. You didn't have a name.

I said nothing, he said. I walked. I left. I ran.

You said my name, Clara said. The memory of him saying 'Clara' was a small, hard thing in her chest.

He flinched like someone struck by a tide. Names slip out, he said. Sometimes they are poison.

Poison?

It's dangerous for you to be named, he said. Dangerous for you to be

To be what? Panic threaded her voice.

He met her eyes and regret sat heavy on his face. A mate, he said. The word rearranged the room.

You were wrong to leave, she said, before she could stop herself. Anyone would have stayed.

It wasn't for me to keep you, he said. I thought walking away would keep you safe. It didn't. It broke me.

Clara sat on the step by the stove, watching him. Her old walls had teeth. The small, unfamiliar heat in her chest grew.

Why tell me now? she asked.

I was dying, he said simply. Hunts go wrong. The wolf gets sharp. I couldn't

A boot thumped on wet wood. A shadow moved across the window. Clara's breath hitched. He looked toward the door, then back at her, and reached for her hand. His grip was hard.

Stay low, he said. If they come do not open.

Someone knocked once, slow and loud. Ash Thorne! Come out!

Ash's jaw worked. His fingers tightened until the pain bit. Don't, he whispered. Don't say anything.

Clara wanted to be rational, to call the hospital, to name and tally facts. Instead she breathed with him, quiet and even. The knock came again, harder. We know you're in there, Ash. Open up!

For a moment the cabin narrowed to rain, the knock, and Ash's breathing. She felt a memory reach up moss and moonlight and a hand that had left. Her nails dug into her palm.

Promise me you won't go out, he said.

I promise, she said.

A laugh came from the dark. You promised, did you? We'll see.

Clara pressed her back to the stove and let its heat warm her where his fingers had been. The sound moved away and circled. She wanted answers who called his name, whether Ronan was behind it, why 'mate' was a wound on both of them but the knock returned, a pattern of three raps that made her blood hurry.

Door's open, little cabin. Come out. We won't hurt you if you come out, someone called.

Ash's hand squeezed hers. He looked as if the choice between leaving and staying was for both their lives. The window showed dark shapes figures, a flashlight's glint. One figure paused and the light found a symbol on a jacket. Clara's arms prickled.

Ash Thorne, we know she's with you. You can't hide her, a voice said closer.

Her lungs seized. Ash reached for something at his belt. The cabin held its breath.

Open the door. Now. The voice at the frame was not a question.

Clara saw the shape of him change defensive, raw. He moved with a speed that did not match his wounds, and when he turned, his face was all hard lines. He put himself between the door and her. For a second the world outside was full of danger and the tiny cabin was the only place with light.

Stay behind me, he said. His voice was low but he was not gentle.

Why? she couldn't keep the question small.

Because they'll use it, he said. They'll use you to find what they want. To get at me.

Through the thin wood they heard a scrape. Someone tried the lock. The cabin jolted under the effort.

Clara's fingers found his again, perhaps because it steadied her, perhaps because she needed to feel something true. When their skin met, the small, bright pull she had felt outside flared like a thread lit. It scared her. It lit something inside him too his hand tightened and his breath hitched.

The handle gave a little as someone pushed. The door shuddered. A voice close to the wood said, Ash, we won't hurt the woman. Just come out and talk.

Clara swallowed. The heat from the stove pressed into her back and the world stilled on the edge of a single, brittle moment. She watched Ash's face while the door strained.

He looked at her as if asking permission he had not been given to ask. His eyes were raw and honest and very tired.

Then he smiled, and the smile was not gentle. It was a warning.

Not a word, he told her.

The door burst inward like thunder.