As though sensing my distress, he slipped his hand down to mine, wrapping his fingers around my palm possessively. His touch steadied me. The even nature his breathing brought an ounce of comfort to an otherwise unbearable situation, though I still couldn’t explain why. He didn’t love me. It had been magically incontestable, deemed truth by the highest and most unexplainable of vouchers.
And yet, I still sensed something was wrong about that. Looking at his hand, still human as it entwined with mine, I could not help but wonder how he was resisting the pull of the moon that should have changed him into a beast by now. If love wasn’t the driving force for his resistance, then what was?
“Hey,” a young man yelled. “There’s some rooms down here!”
My whole body stiffened, bracing for the inevitable—not even sure what the inevitable was. Soon the young man was in the doorway, staring us down. He trembled, though, not so brave when faced with Abram … not until the others were at his back.
Dozens of people clogged the hallway, and some of the bigger men of the town forced their way to the front. My heart dropped as I recognized some of the faces in the crowd. Faces I grew up with.
Mrs. Adler, who had tended my cut that time I scraped my knee following Lulu on our brand new roller blades, was nearly foaming at the mouth with a pick axe in her hand. She had been so gentle then, so kind as she washed and bandaged my leg. Seeing the fear and anger in her eyes now was almost surreal.
And there was Douglas Feathersby—my first kiss. He gave me a nickel under Hopkin’s Bridge and planted a wet one right on my lips. He told me he would always love me. I probably shouldn’t have expected him to keep his word, given that we were seven and all. Of course, I also never would have imaged a reality where he was running toward me with a pitchfork.
But now that they had us cornered, it seemed everything slowed down. Each man and woman assessing the best way to kill the beast—or rather, the man with the beast within him.
“Char,” Douglas said, “get away from him.” He reached his hand out to me, as though I would go running to his protection, as if the mob were here to save me. Maybe they were. “Hurry, before it’s too late!”
I took a step back, shaking my head. If I left Abram’s side, he was as good as dead. If I stayed here, eventually they would go after Abram anyway, and they would kill us both. But this was buying us time.
“I don’t want to kill them,” Abram said to me quietly. He hadn’t so much as flinched this entire time.
“Then don’t,” I said.
And I meant it. These people didn’t know what they were doing. They were pawns, just like me—chess pieces in a game none of us understood. Killing them would be as useless as wearing socks with designer heels.
But as the first man lunged at Abram, swiping a torch in a large arc meant to set him on fire, I didn’t know what to want anymore. If Abram didn’t fight back, they would kill him. If he did, these men and women would die—none of them bad people, just misled and afraid.
Abram pounced, even in his human form so clearly animalistic with his grace and fluidity. But before he landed, the pull of the moon finally had its way with him. His hands twisted into something sharper as he reared back.
I flinched for what would be bloody impact. But instead of shredding the townsfolk, Abram’s claw drug across the light fixture, blanketing the room in darkness.
I felt hands grab at me hard. I struggled against them, sure that Douglas Feathersby was either going to drag me away or demand his nickel back. But then I felt a breath on my neck, and I knew it was Abram.
His now much hairier, beastly arms pushed me westward and the last thing I saw was the glint of shattering glass against my face.
I spun around to throw my arms around Abram’s neck as a rush of cool invaded my nostrils and filled my lungs. He swept me around onto his back as we flew through the air, falling toward the hard concrete of Main Street.
But I wasn’t afraid. Abram was with me and, our current predicament aside, I knew enough to know that my best shot was in his arms—or in this case, on his back.
“I’ve got you,” he called over his shoulder to me as the ground rushed up to greet us. “I’ve always got you.”
His feet hit hard against the ground, but he didn’t falter. I slid down from his back, and he turned to face me, once again a man. He was really fighting the beast thing, and while he wasn’t entirely successful, I was impressed.
“Are you all right, Charisse?” he murmured, brushing the stray hairs from my face.
“We have to hurry,” I said breathlessly. Of course I wasn’t all right. I was running for my life—running away from people I grew up with. “They’re still coming.”
Looking behind us, I saw that the moon window, the window he had just jumped through, was still intact. But how could that be? I felt it shatter against my skin. I heard the crunch as Abram’s boot landed against shards of it. Now it was there again, the red moon almost completely colored in.
“The window …” I said.