“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess.”

He stepped into the clearing and looked around, murmuring, “Good, good.” Then he stripped off his sweatshirt and set it on the ground. “You can sit here.” He glanced over at me. “Remember the other night at Andrew’s? When you came out to keep me company, and we tried doing some training with you? We should do that again.”

I sighed. “You aren’t going to quit, are you? You think if you can just say the right thing, it’ll all be okay.”

His lips twitched in something like a smile. “I can hope, can’t I?”

“Sure. And if it works, what does that make me? You get to treat me any way you want and as soon as you decide to play nice, all is forgiven.”

“I am sorry, Chloe.”

“For now.” I turned away. “Forget it, okay? Let’s just-”

He caught my elbow. His skin burned even through my jacket. “I mean it. I’m really sorry. When I get mad like that, it’s not-it’s not-” He released my arm and rubbed the back of his neck. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face. The skin on his bare arms rippled.

“You need to get ready.”

“No. I need to say something. Just give me a sec.”

He took a second. Then another. Then another, just standing there, rubbing his arm furiously, gaze fixed on that.

“Derek, you need-”

“I’m fine. Just give me-” He took a deep breath.

“Derek…”

“Just one sec.”

He started scratching again. When I moved forward to grab his hand, he stopped.

“Right, right,” he murmured. He flexed his hand, then made a fist, as if to keep himself from scratching. “I tell you not to be scared of me. I snap at you when you back away. But sometimes…”

He reached around to scratch his shoulders, wincing as his nails dug in.

“Derek, you have to-”

“Sometimes that’s exactly what I want,” he said. “That’s what I’m trying to do-scare you off.”

“So you don’t accidentally hurt me.” I sighed. “You aren’t going to-”

“No, it’s not that. It’s-”

His hand went to his forearm, then he stopped short as dark stubble sprouted.

“You’re Changing, Derek. We’ll talk later.”

“Right. Yeah. Later. Good.” The words rushed out in a whoosh of relief.

He looked around, blinking as sweat streamed into his eyes.

“You need to get down,” I said gently.

When he still didn’t budge, I caught his hand and tugged. He lowered himself with some difficulty, then got up on all fours, in position to begin the Change.

“Unless Margaret brought you a lot of new shirts, you might want to take that one off,” I said.

“Right.”

He pulled at the hem, tugging it up, but his arm wouldn’t twist the right way to get the shirt up over his head, like his joints were already repositioning, fusing. So I helped. I drew the line at removing his pants, though. Luckily, he’d pulled on sweats to sleep in, and he was able to fumble them down to his knees, and I was okay with taking it from there. His shorts were staying on. If they ripped during the Change, I just hoped the transformation was far enough along that…well, whatever.

He barely had his clothes off before the full body spasms hit, his back shooting up, his spine bending at a seemingly impossible angle, wrenching a gurgling whimper from him as his face contorted in agony, the cry cut short as he spewed dinner into the bushes.

It went on like that for a while. The spasms, the convulsions, his skin and muscles rippling like something out of a horror movie. The gasps and moans and stifled cries of pain between retching and dry heaves. The stink of vomit and sweat.

You’d really think this would cure any romantic notions I had about the guy. But I’d seen it three times now, and I watched every time, knowing if I looked away, moved away, let him think I was horrified and disgusted, I’d only make it worse.

I wasn’t horrified and disgusted. What I saw wasn’t some guy puking and grotesquely contorting. I saw Derek, in unbelievable agony and scared out of his mind.

It took only that first awful spasm to chase away the last of my anger. There would be time for that later. Instead, I knelt beside him, rubbing his shoulders, telling him he’d be okay, he was doing fine, just keep going.

Finally, the retching stopped and he crouched there, head down, hair hanging, hiding his face, his body covered in short, black hair, his shoulder muscles hunched, arms and legs straight, clawlike fingers half buried in the earth. He panted, drawing deep, ragged breaths.

“You’re getting there,” I said. “It’s coming faster this time.” True or not, it didn’t matter, only that he accepted it, nodding and relaxing a little.

Another spasm hit. His body convulsed in wave after wave. His legs and arms kept changing, thinning and shortening, his hands and feet doing the same. The hair on his head retracted as the hair on his body lengthened from stubble to thick fur. As for his face, I knew that was Changing too, but he’d averted it.

His body continued spasming until he had to stop again, heaving as he struggled for breath. I rubbed his back and he leaned against me. I could feel his muscles trembling, like he could barely hold himself up on all fours. I moved closer, letting him rest against me, my head on his shoulder, feeling his heart beating hard and fast as his shudders gradually slowed.

“You’re almost there. Keep going. You’re going to finish this time. Just-”

He tensed. Then his back flew up, knocking me aside. His body went rigid, head still down, back lifting higher and higher, like someone was pulling it up, head sinking lower still, black fur gleaming in the moonlight.

Bones crackled. Derek gave a deep moan that made me move closer again, rubbing his back, telling him it would be okay. Then, with a final shudder, it was. He lifted his head, turned to look at me, and he was a wolf.

THE LAST TIME DEREK had tried to Change, he’d made me promise to go someplace safe as soon as he seemed close to finishing. When I saw that wolf in front of me, a lead weight dropped in my gut telling me I should have taken his advice. But as soon as his eyes met mine, the dread evaporated. I might be looking at a massive black wolf, but in those green eyes, I still saw Derek.

He tried to take a step, but his legs slid out and he hit the ground with an earthshaking thud. I scrambled over to him as he lay there, eyes closed, flank heaving, tongue lolling.

“Are you okay?”

His eyes opened and he gave an awkward jerk of his muzzle, as if he was trying to nod, then his pupils rolled up and his eyes closed again.

He was fine, just exhausted, like the last time when he’d been too tired even to dress before he fell asleep. I stood and started for the path, wanting to leave him in peace. I made it two steps before he snorted. I turned to see him lying on his belly, ready to jump up. He jerked his muzzle, telling me to come back.

“I thought you’d want to be-”

He cut me off with a snort. It was hard for a wolf to scowl, but he managed a good glower.

I took the switchblade from my jacket pocket. “I’ll be fine. I’m armed.”

A snort. I don’t care. A head jerk. Get back here.

When I hesitated, he growled.

“Well, you’ve got the growling part down pat already. Must be all those years of practice.”

He began to rise, legs wobbly.

“All right, I’m coming back. I just didn’t want to be in your way.”

A grunt. You’re not. Or that’s what I hoped he meant.

“You can understand me, can’t you?” I said as I returned to sit on his discarded sweatshirt. “You know what I’m saying.”

He tried to nod, then snarled at the awkwardness of it.

“Not easy when you can’t talk, is it?” I grinned. “Well, not easy for you. I could get used to it.”

He grumbled, but I could see relief in his eyes, like he was glad to see me smile.