Animals ✔

Chapter 9

Jon bursts into the room, followed by the two hulking men I'd seen with Tiberius in the forest, at the sound of his furious snarls.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks as Tiberius continues his frenzied assault on the heat boxing him in. I can't—I don't know how to let him out. But I don't want to. The noises he makes slamming himself against the barrier only get louder and more severe, angrier, and I have no idea what he'll do.

"Holy shit, Clara," Jon breathes, freezing as he takes in Tiberius's current state. "Did you do that?"

"He—he was going to bite me! I—I couldn't—I didn't..." I don't know what to say. There are no words to describe my panic at the thought of being somehow eternally bound to the raging creature on the other side of the room. He no longer seems like Tiberius.

I lift my hand from my neck and at the sight of my blood Jon seems to forget all about the Tiberius. He rushes toward me while the other two men, remaining silent, approach the wolf. I look away from them. I don't want to see him anymore.

Jon grabs a bandage from the stack on the nightstand and presses it furiously against my neck. My hand is covered in blood, but it's become dry and cracked over my skin. I don't think I'm bleeding anymore, but I let Jon have his way.

He leans forward and wraps his arms gently beneath my knees and shoulders and heaves me up. I groan as he jostles my wounds, but I can't help but feel happy to finally get away from that room.

He carries me down the hall and into the kitchen, setting me down gently in a chair and moving toward the sink. His back is to me, but I can hear the water running, and when he moves back toward me he's holding a wet cloth. He kneels on the floor next to me and peels off the bandage he left on my neck, beginning to dab at the dried blood.

I can't help but appreciate his closeness. Jon hasn't treated me with this much warmth in so long; it makes a strange bubble of happiness fill my chest. When he pulls away the white cloth is stained a dark, rusty red, and his expression is grim.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks," I tell him, and I mean it. All I feel is a dull ache and a slow throbbing in my neck. I pause, apprehensive of how he'll answer my next question, "He didn't—I mean, I'm not..." I trail off, taking a deep breath. "It didn't work, did it?"

Jon's expression softens slightly and he shakes his head. "I don't think so, Claire-bear." He grasps my hand in his and squeezes softly. My heart jumps to my throat at his use of the old nickname, and I blink back tears. "Let's get you out of here," he tells me softly. "Let's go home."

"Thank you," I tell him, meaning it more than words can convey. My voice is thick with unshed tears and remorse. I think he knows what I mean, because he just smiles sadly and lifts me gently to my feet, giving me his arm to steady myself.

And for the first time in a very long time, I feel like I've finally found home.

*

We're sitting in Aunt Flora's too-bright living room; a large window lights the crème-and-yellow walls, and staring at them for too long is starting to give me headache. Jon is sitting across from me, just watching me, as if waiting for me to flee or spill all of my secrets. Aunt Flora still isn't home, apparently she decided that my mother was overdue for a visit and she opted to go on anyway, but not before Jon swore her to secrecy.

I try not to think about my family, or what's left of it anyway. I told Jon I didn't want him to tell me anything about them, and I don't. It'll hurt too much.