They would have no way of guessing the nature of the wolf who’d saved Tracy. Yet Kieran had felt at ease among them, even with Mary. He almost believed he could tell Julie and her people the truth. If he knew what the truth was.
But he did know the real reason Alexandra had gone into town. The last line of the note was underlined, emphasizing the command: Wait for me at the cabin.
Kieran leaned over the table, closing his eyes. It was already noon. He could spend the rest of the day waiting for Alexandra to return. Passively, obediently. Refusing to force himself on her—retreating, as he’d done last night, even when he knew she’d needed him. Proving to himself that he was controlled, rational. Human.
While she was with Peter Schaeffer, listening to his smooth words. A man who shared her past and claimed to love her and wanted her back. Who could offer comfort out of knowledge of who and what she was.
Kieran pushed away from the table with such force that the chair beside him crashed to the floor. He left it where it was and strode into the living room. His boots were under the coffee table; he strung the shoelaces through the belt loops of his jeans and tied them together. He smiled grimly. It was human to wear shoes but easier to run without them. His clothing had loosened and softened with wear, and no longer impeded his movements. He remembered the way to town as if he’d run it a thousand times.
His feet found purchase on the snowy ground even without benefit of leather pads and claws. The blood beat fast and hard in his veins. For the first mile he ran wildly, surrendering to the chaos of emotion. Then he settled into the sensible rhythm his body demanded and gave himself up to the uncomplicated joy of being, of sucking cold air into his lungs and smelling the wind and feeling the faint burn in his muscles.
By the time he reached the outskirts of Merritt he was almost tranquil. He crouched behind the cover of a thicket and pulled on his boots. A few faces turned his way as he walked into Merritt, but he ignored them. He sifted the odor-heavy air for the one scent he needed to locate.
Julie’s garage was the first place he found, closed and locked up. Alexandra had been here and passed on. Kieran had crossed the entire length of Merritt and started back again when a different scent assaulted him. He stopped in midstep and lifted his head. The hairs rose at the nape of his neck,
Peter. And he was very close.
Kieran hesitated only a moment. He needed to know more about Peter. Much more. For Alexandra’s sake. The scent trail led him to a door open to the sidewalk, music and hoarse voices and acrid odors.
Memory came without warning. It broke over him like a wave, pushing him against the grimy cement wall. He looked up at the sign over the door.
Lenny’s, it read. He knew this place—or one so like it as to make no difference. A bar. A place where people gathered to drink, and to forget. Perspiring bodies, the harsh bite of alcohol, constant noise that made it impossible to fear the shadows. A place of utter anonymity.
How many times had he been in bars like this one? A hundred, a thousand—the memories all fused together, indistinct but undeniable. Like a single star visible in a cloudy sky, he could see one vivid image of his past: himself sitting at a long and pitted wooden counter, a glass in his hand, indifferent to the world.
It almost felt as if he’d come home. He knew what he would find if he stepped through the door. The bar would be as dark and confining as a cage, and yet he wouldn’t be uneasy. There would be strangers on every side, and yet he would belong among them. His senses would dull, his vision blur, and he would forget what he was.
Kieran barked a laugh. He had gone to these places to forget, and they were all he could remember when he’d forgotten too much.