Page 20 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

"I'mpractically throwing myself at him; he can't be that oblivious!"Angel hisses, staring daggers at Sam. She raises her hands in an attempt to placate Angel.

"Okay, okay,"Sam says, looking over at me like I can do anything to help. And then everyone is looking at me.

"What do you think, Artemis?" Angel pleads, her big, blue, teary eyes widened comically.

"About what?" I ask, startled that she'd even want my opinion. Angel and I aren't close, we're friendly, but I don't think I've even told her my birthday.

"Saint. Do you think he likes me?" She reasserts, sitting up straighter.

"Umm…" I pause, unsure what to say, glancing at Sam and Ivy for help.

"Come on, youhaveto know something," Angel urges, reaching out to grab my hand and dragging me a step closer.

"Saint is nice, but I have no idea what goes on inside his head," I say slowly, wincing. Probably, he's just not pursuing her because she's human. Angel is pretty, and Saint is a flirt, so I don't see any other reason why he'd ignore her. That's also a fact I'm sure Sam and Ivy are aware of.

Dating humans is just… complex. Secrets pile up alarmingly fast because you can't tell them, well,anything.

I would know.

Angel throws my hand away from her with a curled lip, saying, "Ugh, thanksfor nothing."

"Wow, okay. Sorry, I couldn't help." I reply, rolling my eyes and walking away from the three of them. I barely break stride as I grab my hoodie and keys, and then I'm out of the doors moments later.

Bitch.The silent words of my wolf nearly make me laugh out loud.Sam and Ivy stay with Angel, murmuring words of encouragement to the blonde.

I still have to take Sam home, though, so I sit in the Stingray while waiting for her to come through the double doors. It only takes her a few minutes to emerge, her suede cow print saddle bag thrown over her shoulder.

9

Play Dirty

After dropping Sam off at the old Grimes place, I find myself driving down back roads to the old Sawmill. Even with the Pack run just a few days away, the urge to sprint, to rush through the forest, and become one with the darkness between the trees is palpable.

My wolf is restless, and I can't figure out why. We're home, happier than we have been in a very long time. And yet—every day, regardless of the Moon's pull—her claws click against my skull with every step she takes inside my soul. Her fur bristlesat my fingertips and ripples over my skin. Control is required to withstand the urge to surrender to your beast.

Mine is rapidly eroding.

The old Sawmill has quickly become a place where I stop and shift, a quick sprint through the trees enough to calm the tension in my bones before going home.

Two steps out of the Stingray, and my shirt hits the dirt. Three steps and my pants are on the ground as well. And then, the change fizzles over my skin, rippling through my soul.

My wolf comes rushing forward, and bone snaps, elongates, and rearranges as I shed my human skin. The excruciating pain lasts mere moments; then it's just me and my wolf. An owl hoots somewhere in the forest, hunting for her dinner just as I hunt for the feeling of freedom.

These paths are familiar to me, known like the back of my paw or the striations on each claw. No tree is unfamiliar to me here, no stone I haven't tread upon. Tearing through the forest, my wolf and I leap over fallen logs and track the scents of my Pack, finding hotspots where multiple wolves gather, run, and hunt. Eventually, we perch on overhanging rocks to survey the tree line.

Without snow cover, you can see the fallen leaves gilding the forest floor in a carpet of bronze. Barren deciduous branches reach to the sky, offering empty palms to the moon, while the evergreens still have limbs lush with needles. The night is coldenough that frost rings the trees, coating ferns and small plants in ice. My breath creates little puffs of steam in the air.

In the hushed quiet, it feels almost like the entire world is sleeping. Already tuckered down, hibernating until spring.

So why doIfeel so restless?

Leaping from the overhang, my wolf and I chase the glittering moonlight across the frost, running miles and miles through the forests of Timber Hollow. We don't hunt anything, just run the remaining night away.

Eventually, the frost rips into my paws, and I leave bloody prints across the sleeping forest.

In the early hours of the morning, I return to the Cabin with only my t-shirt on because I exhausted myself on the run. I still have a few hours to sleep, which is nice, but Ineedto get out of the habit of running my sleep away.

I park in the garage between Jay's pretty blue GTR, and Saint's burnt orange Jeep, Dante's bike is in the stall next to Jay. Heated concrete greets my bare feet as I bustle through the garage,dropping my pile of clothing next to the laundry room as I pass. I'll toss it in before I leave again.