young, like I can see the little boy he used to be. It makes me want to comfort him—almost.
I struggle toward him. One hand goes back into the biting snow for balance. “What do you mean
my
wolf?” My father warned me about this. “He’s not mine. I don’t own him.
People don’t own each other.”
But he’s already gone, the jerk, just melded into the fog. I’m alone on the snowbank.
Yoko is a burning mess. There are sirens in the distance.
He’s put it all together already, I bet. Pixies are like that: cunning and smart. They aren’t perfectly evil, just evil enough. Figures.
“Zara!” Nick’s voice brings me back to reality. It’s a struggle. My eyes open. He stands over me and blocks out the scene. “Oh….oh, baby.”
“I’m okay,” I manage. I reach out my good hand so I can touch him. He looks so warm.
I want his warmth. “I killed Yoko.”
“Are you cold? You’re a little blue.” He reaches down and scoops me against his sweatshirt. I scream from the pain. He loosens his hold right away. “Baby?”
“My arm,” I gasp. “And my chest.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you.” His face is full of shock and worry. There is a piece of pixie dust on it. “I just wanted to hold you.”
“It wasn’t you.”
He gently leans me back on the ground. He whips off his coat, tucks it under my legs, and then plops himself on the snow so I can rest on him. Sirens get closer. The trees sway in the wind. He smells like warmth and Old Spice and a little bit of antiseptic from the hospital.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He rocks back and forth. “What happened? Did you hit black ice?”
“There was a pixie. The same one—the one I let go.”
He stiffens. “What happened? What did he do to you?” His voice turns positively icy.
“Did he kiss you?”
“Nothing. He was….He was in the middle of the road. I stopped fast and skidded.
There was a tree.” I try to sit up. “I can sit up. It’s just a little achy.”
“Stay there.” Nick surveys me for damage. “Can I open your jacket?”
“Yeah.”
He shifts me around so that I’m pretty much lying across his lap. He unzips my jacket and pulls my running shirt and my Under Armour down from my neck a bit and says,
“You’re bruising. Are those sirens for you? Did you call 9-1-1?”
“He did. My phone’s in there.” I gesture toward Yoko. “So is my laptop and my laptop and—”
“He called? The pixie?” Nick interrupts.
“He saved me. He pulled me out of the car before it caught fire.”
Nick snarls. His back goes rigid and his head whips up. “He did not save you. He made you wreck. He probably only left you because you were too injured to kiss and turn.”
“That’s not true. He wants to know where the pixies are. I think he wants to let them out.”
Nick groans. “This is all my fault.”
I pull myself in closer to him and wrap my good arm around his neck, even though he’s trembling with rage. It pulses through him. I don’t want to argue. I’m too tired to argue.
“It’s not your fault. And it’s fine.”
Nick draws in a ragged breath and I can tell that a tiny bit of tension leaves him. His big hand rests on my neck and he starts kissing my face with these tiny, gentle pecks. At the same time his fingers reach up and stroke my cheek. It feels so good. I feel so safe all of a sudden. But it can’t last, can it? Of course it can’t.
A fire truck peels in next to my car. I notice it doesn’t skid. I am the one who skids in crazy directions because I am the one who does reckless things and then doesn’t fess up.
Firefighters jump out of the truck, hauling hoses. One of them starts down the road toward us.
“Nick, even though I let him go and now all this happened,” I start to explain, “I still don’t regret letting him go. He would have died.”
“And that would be a bad thing?” Nick snaps. He tilts his head back for a second and closes his eyes before he speaks again, and
I struggle toward him. One hand goes back into the biting snow for balance. “What do you mean
my
wolf?” My father warned me about this. “He’s not mine. I don’t own him.
People don’t own each other.”
But he’s already gone, the jerk, just melded into the fog. I’m alone on the snowbank.
Yoko is a burning mess. There are sirens in the distance.
He’s put it all together already, I bet. Pixies are like that: cunning and smart. They aren’t perfectly evil, just evil enough. Figures.
“Zara!” Nick’s voice brings me back to reality. It’s a struggle. My eyes open. He stands over me and blocks out the scene. “Oh….oh, baby.”
“I’m okay,” I manage. I reach out my good hand so I can touch him. He looks so warm.
I want his warmth. “I killed Yoko.”
“Are you cold? You’re a little blue.” He reaches down and scoops me against his sweatshirt. I scream from the pain. He loosens his hold right away. “Baby?”
“My arm,” I gasp. “And my chest.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you.” His face is full of shock and worry. There is a piece of pixie dust on it. “I just wanted to hold you.”
“It wasn’t you.”
He gently leans me back on the ground. He whips off his coat, tucks it under my legs, and then plops himself on the snow so I can rest on him. Sirens get closer. The trees sway in the wind. He smells like warmth and Old Spice and a little bit of antiseptic from the hospital.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He rocks back and forth. “What happened? Did you hit black ice?”
“There was a pixie. The same one—the one I let go.”
He stiffens. “What happened? What did he do to you?” His voice turns positively icy.
“Did he kiss you?”
“Nothing. He was….He was in the middle of the road. I stopped fast and skidded.
There was a tree.” I try to sit up. “I can sit up. It’s just a little achy.”
“Stay there.” Nick surveys me for damage. “Can I open your jacket?”
“Yeah.”
He shifts me around so that I’m pretty much lying across his lap. He unzips my jacket and pulls my running shirt and my Under Armour down from my neck a bit and says,
“You’re bruising. Are those sirens for you? Did you call 9-1-1?”
“He did. My phone’s in there.” I gesture toward Yoko. “So is my laptop and my laptop and—”
“He called? The pixie?” Nick interrupts.
“He saved me. He pulled me out of the car before it caught fire.”
Nick snarls. His back goes rigid and his head whips up. “He did not save you. He made you wreck. He probably only left you because you were too injured to kiss and turn.”
“That’s not true. He wants to know where the pixies are. I think he wants to let them out.”
Nick groans. “This is all my fault.”
I pull myself in closer to him and wrap my good arm around his neck, even though he’s trembling with rage. It pulses through him. I don’t want to argue. I’m too tired to argue.
“It’s not your fault. And it’s fine.”
Nick draws in a ragged breath and I can tell that a tiny bit of tension leaves him. His big hand rests on my neck and he starts kissing my face with these tiny, gentle pecks. At the same time his fingers reach up and stroke my cheek. It feels so good. I feel so safe all of a sudden. But it can’t last, can it? Of course it can’t.
A fire truck peels in next to my car. I notice it doesn’t skid. I am the one who skids in crazy directions because I am the one who does reckless things and then doesn’t fess up.
Firefighters jump out of the truck, hauling hoses. One of them starts down the road toward us.
“Nick, even though I let him go and now all this happened,” I start to explain, “I still don’t regret letting him go. He would have died.”
“And that would be a bad thing?” Nick snaps. He tilts his head back for a second and closes his eyes before he speaks again, and
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