The air around them was suddenly too thick to breathe. Claire's lungs had seized in her chest. Spots danced in front of her eyes.
"Claire? Are you okay?" She slumped against the wall, ignoring the cool, slightly sticky tiles. A breath burned its way though her chest. She couldn't think—her mind was nothing but a seething mass of panic and anger and betrayal. Because Amy knew.
Amy knew.
Amy knew.
Amy knew.
"I have to go," Claire whispered.
In one swift motion she turned, whipped open the door, and ran into the coffee shop.
As quickly as she could without looking inhuman, Claire hurried over to her table, snatched up her history book, and tore out to the parking lot without even looking to see if Amy was behind her.
She tossed her things into the Mercedes and drove home, running all the yellow lights and rolling through the stop signs on the way. With every second that passed, Claire's fear grew, shredding her from the inside out, howling inside her head until it was impossible to hear, to think. If Amy knew, it put everyone in danger.
There was no difference between the humans in Claire's life and the werewolves. One word from Amy's lips could destroy them all.
Chapter Nineteen
THE DRIVEWAY WAS empty when Claire pulled up. She left the car in front of the house and raced inside, tossing the keys onto the hall table. Assuming her mother would still be in her darkroom, Claire tore downstairs and pounded frantically at the door.
"Just a moment!" Claire heard her mother moving through the little anteroom before swinging open the door that stood between them. "What on earth is wrong, chérie? Please tell me you haven't wrecked the car."
Claire gripped the door frame, her fingers white as marble.
"I haven't wrecked the car," she whispered. "It's much, much worse than that."
Marie's expression shifted from irritation to genuine concern. "Come in and sit down," she told Claire, pulling her into the little cubicle of a room that stood between the hallway and her darkroom. Claire felt the tears gathering in her eyes, trembling at the edge of her lashes and making the world around her quavery and insubstantial. She let herself be dragged along by her mother, who pushed her onto one of the high stools around her work table. Marie bent down just slightly, so that she and Claire were eye to eye.
"Tell me what happened. Whatever it is, Claire, it will be okay. I will fix it." Her mother's voice was quiet and smooth and dark—an inky ribbon. As her words whisked over Claire's skin, she shivered, seeing Judith's disapproving face.
She knew, with absolute certainty, that she couldn't tell her mother. Not like this. Because Marie would try to fix it, and Claire would look like a guilty little sniveling brat of a kid who had gone running to mommy-in-charge to get her out of a scrape.
But this was much more than a scrape.
And Claire was much more than a well-connected kid. She had to take responsibility for what had happened. If she didn't tell the whole pack, she'd never be able to live with herself.
"I need to tell everyone. Please—can you call a meeting? For tonight?"
Marie frowned. "Claire, there's no need for that. If I feel the rest of the pack needs to be involved, I will call them. But I'm sure we can work out whatever has happened." Claire shook her head, thinking of her thread-thin relationship with Emily and the scalding argument she'd had with Matthew the night before. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I've already ruined so much in my human life—I can't ruin things with the pack, too." She looked up at her mother. "Don't you understand? If you try to fix this, I'll look horrible." The tears that had been threatening spilled onto her cheeks. "I—I can't. I have to own up to what happened. I have to tell the whole pack. Please."
Her mother closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath. Gathering herself.
"I can see that you are serious about this. I still think it is unnecessary, but I am not blind to the way that . . . certain members of the pack view you. I will not force you to tell me. I will call the meeting. Is—" she hesitated. "Whatever it is—are you sure it can wait until tonight?"
Claire rubbed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "I think so." Amy hadn't seemed like she was in any great hurry to reveal Claire's identity. If all she wanted was to turn Claire in, Claire would already be in a cage somewhere. The idea laced her thoughts with panic.
"I mean, I hope so," she whispered.
"I will go make the calls." Marie hurried out of the darkroom.
The adrenaline leaked out of Claire's body. She slumped against the table, still terrified but also exhausted. She didn't know what the pack would say when she told them her identity had been compromised, but she knew what it meant for Amy.