“Why now?” I asked again.
“I couldn’t run anymore.” Sampson’s lips were set in a hard, thin line. “I would have to spend my whole life running. The trackers weren’t—aren’t—going to back down.”
“How do you know that?”
“They sent me a message.”
He paused and I sucked in an anxious breath.
“There was a den—about six of us, werewolves that had been driven from our previous lives. We were living off the grid in a nothing town north of Anchorage. The townspeople were good to us, didn’t ask questions, but”—he cocked his head—“they knew.”
I put ChaCha down, hugged my elbows. “What happened?”
“A few of us went out, decided to check in with one of the satellite UDA offices. When we got back”—Sampson swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort—“the whole den had been slaughtered.”
“That’s awful.”
Sampson nodded. “They didn’t stop there. The town had been ravaged, too.”
I felt myself recoil, felt the ice water race through my veins. “They went after the townspeople? I thought the trackers were only after werewolves.”
Sampson looked at me, his warm eyes full and wide. “It used to be that way. But this new breed of trackers . . .” He looked away, breathing out a sigh that seemed to dwarf his shoulders, seemed to carry the weight of the years in it. “They’re relentless. They attack werewolves . . . and anyone who helps us.”
I looked over my shoulder, the hair on my arms standing on end. Sampson reached out to touch my knee, then seemed to think better of it, his arm falling listlessly to his side. “I don’t want to put you in any danger, Sophie. I’m only here to warn you. I couldn’t stand it if I knew that this”—Sampson turned his hands palms up—“that I, was responsible for anything bad happening to you. I think I’m going to leave tonight. I just needed you to be aware.”
“You can’t keep running. You said so yourself. They’re just going to keep coming after you.”
Sampson shrugged. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”
“No.” I clamped my hand around Sampson’s arm. “I want to help you.” I paused. “I’m going to help you. Me and Alex—and Will, and Nina—”
Sampson’s jaw clenched, fire blazing in his eyes. “I told you. No one can know I’m here. It’s my fight.”
“You said they were coming after the Underworld. It’s our fight now, too.”
“You don’t understand, Sophie. It’s bad out there.” He gestured absently over his shoulder, toward the San Francisco Bay or the entire world, I couldn’t be sure.
I sucked in a breath and forced a smile. “I’m okay with bad. I mean, how bad is bad? Werewolf hunters. Silver bullets, right? Heh, that’s nothing. I was almost blown up. And I was kidnapped. Held hostage in a restroom. A public restroom. ” I raised my eyebrows in Beat that! style.
“After they attacked our den, they decapitated all the townspeople.”
My stomach lurched and bile tickled the back of my throat. “That’s nothing,” I whispered hoarsely, my smile painted on.
“So it’s settled. You’ll stay here.” I looked around my apartment, feeling suddenly hopeful. “Yeah. Yeah, you could stay here. They wouldn’t come looking for you here, no one would.”
“And what about Nina? You think she won’t notice a big hairy wolf on her couch? Or smell me?”
“First of all, it’s our couch. And you’re right. Nina smells all my friends.” I cringed. I wasn’t sure what was worse: the need to hide someone I cared about deeply from someone else I cared about deeply, or the fact that I cared deeply about someone who had the tendency to smell all my visitors.
I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it! I read on the Internet—work is slow, I’ve had some time to read—that drug dealers pack dryer sheets with their pot so dogs won’t be able to smell it. We could do that.”
Sampson’s smile was staid. “Well that’s . . . offensive.”
“I could make it work.”
Suddenly Sampson’s smile was gone.
His hands closed around my forearms, his eyes wide and dark. He shook his head. “No, Sophie. You can’t tell anyone I’m here. And I don’t want to put you out.”
“But—”
“No one. Please. Please tell me I can trust you to keep my secret.”
I nodded, and the relief was visible on Sampson’s face.
“Wait—where are you going to go?” I asked. “Where are you going to stay?”
Sampson’s hands dropped to his sides and the deep look of exhaustion haunted his eyes again. He sighed. “I’ll find somewhere.”
“But where? And, how will I be able to find you? I’m going to help.”
“Sophie, I don’t want you to get involved.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest, feeling indignant. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
Nina and I sat in my car, silent save for the nattering of the morning DJs on the radio.
“I didn’t mean to overhear,” she said finally.