"Eleanor," I whispered, clutching the sheets. My fingers couldn't find her, and I sat up in a panic.
The window let in a cool breeze, and I looked outside and found her. She was sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around her knees, staring up at the waning moon. Her long hair fluttered in the breeze, and I could almost glimpse her mark through her thin sleep shirt.
I pulled myself out of bed and climbed through the window to join her. She didn't turn, but I knew she heard me coming. I settled in behind her, a leg on either side of her, and she fell back against my chest, enclosing herself in between my knees.
"Bad dream?" I guessed. She didn't like to talk about them, but I knew she dreamed of the time she spent with her father's pack. The nightmares made her panic, and I always found her outside after them.
"Just needed to see the sky," she murmured. Her voice was soft and husky; I could tell she had been crying. I pulled her closer, wanting to chase the pain away. I could feel her hesitate, the way she did when she wanted to tell me something but feared my reaction. "They...kept me in a cave. Below ground. I could never see the sky."
I didn't say anything. What could I say? Words wouldn't change the time she spent there. It wouldn't reverse the time. Words wouldn't fix anything.
"I was chained to the wall," she explained. She shuddered and I pulled her even closer. Her back was molded against my chest - I could feel every bone in her spine poking through her thin skin. It had only been a few days, and she hadn't gained her weight back yet.
Part of me wanted to know everything that happened. I wanted to know so I could help her forget; I wanted to know so I could make her father and his pack suffer. But the bigger part of me didn't want to know. I didn't want to know the horrors Eleanor had witnessed, been subjected to, before she died in fear. I didn't want to think about anything other than her in my arms.
"Paul?" she asked. Her voice was husky, but not soft. She turned slightly, so that our eyes met. The moonlight brushed against her skin, making her look paler than she really was.
"Yeah?" I asked when she didn't speak. Her eyes focused on mine. The grip she had on me tightened. Her palms were sweaty where they cupped my knees.
I felt rather than saw the shiver down her spine. Her eyes changed from her normal pretty gray to a swirling cloud of smoke. Her skin began to heat up until she was burning me.
I didn't pull away. I didn't cringe. I wanted her to know that I wasn't afraid of her, of what she had become. We stared into each other's eyes, flames licking up her arms. They singed and burned against my skin. Her thin pajamas caught fire, but I resisted the urge of self preservation to pull away. Her eyes were smoky and far away, and she was lost in a trance. Within seconds, she shook herself out of it and screamed, breaking the connection to the fire within her. She extinguished, and the flames disappeared. I tensed as she pulled away, feeling my skin stretch as it separated from hers. My arms tingled as they slowly healed from the inside out. Dark, deep burns slowly disappeared. Eleanor's tears dripped onto my arm as she watched the burns fade.
"Why - why did you do that? You should have pulled away!" her sobs caught me by surprised. I pulled her back into my arms, holding her with her head on my shoulder, chest pressed to mine.
"I'm not afraid of you," I told her softly, stroking her hair as smoky tendrils escaped it and evaporated into the night sky. "I'm right here."
"That was really stupid," she murmured into my neck. I chuckled, hugging her tighter.
"Well I'm not know for my smarts," I reminded her. She pulled back so I could see her roll her eyes. I chuckled again, enjoying seeing the smile twitch against her lips. It reminded me so much of her when we first met.
Her hands, still on my neck, rubbed lightly against my tense muscles. I relaxed at the little massage, dropping my shoulders. Eleanor's grip tightened, and I looked into her eyes, surprised to see the fire there.
This fire was different. It was warm, but not scorching. It wasn't going to hurt me.
Eleanor leaned forward, and before I could breathe in, her lips were on mine.
I was too surprised that she had finally kissed me. I never thought this would happen. I had been sure it would never happen after I got her back. There was no way she could be that hurt and want me in this way. Yet here she was, kissing me, pressing her lips to mine, holding my face between her hands. My cheeks were warm from her hands, but not in the unnatural way that promised a burn. She was just warm.
She tasted like the smoke that came off her skin. It was a strange mixture of her clean scent and a bonfire. My nostrils flared, taking in air but also swallowing her scent with it. It filled me, made me feel that the only thing around me, the only thing that mattered - was her.
As quickly as she started the kiss, she pulled away. She rocked back on her heels and stood, separating us quickly. I watched her small naked form climb back through the window and into my bedroom. She grabbed a shirt from the pile of clean clothes on the chair, slipped it on, then flopped under the sheets.
I pressed my fingers to my lips, sure that I had imagined it.
I followed Eleanor inside and slid in next to her. She wiggled closer to me under the sheets, breathing already deep in sleep. Her hands reached out for me in sleep, searching. I pushed closer so that her hands found my arms.
"Paul, Eleanor!" Marc's strongly accented voice seemed to boom in my house. Eleanor stirred beside me, lifting her head from my chest. She pulled away from me under the sheets and flopped to the floor. She opened the door as I buried my head back in the pillow, trying to sleep again.
"What?" she snapped. I felt more than saw the heat beginning to come off of her. I cracked an eye open to catch the three flames beginning to climb her back. Marc stepped back, hands open, and willed her to calm down.
"Eleanor," he said calmly. "Don't burn Paul's house to the ground."
I watched Ellie take a deep breath in, forcing the flames back. They recoiled into her skin, but there were holes already burned into my t-shirt. Between my phasing and her burning through my clothes, I'd be out of clothes in a matter of days.
"What, Marc?" Ellie asked, clearly holding back her irritation and frustration.
"Your brother," Marc said simply. He pointed to the front door. Eleanor began walking that way, curious. I followed her, pulling myself out of bed reluctantly.
Outside, on my front lawn, stood a man. He had dark hair, gray eyes, and tan skin. His nose was long and narrow, his chest puffed out and proud. He was about as tall as Marc, and shorter than me. His frame looked muscular, but not jacked. I could take him in a fight.
"Eleanor," he began quietly. Ellie exploded in front of me, flames so thick that I couldn't even see her body within them. They jumped high, higher than I was tall. She looked like a ferocious bonfire. Even the first time she burned, she had never looked like this before.
Her brother fell back onto the ground in shock, and then flipped over, attempting to shield himself. Eleanor was still as she burned. Marc was coaching her through a breathing technique he had taught her that Cassie had taught him. I looked anxiously down the dirt road that led to my home, thankful for the trees that kept eyes off my house. I contemplated calling Sam or Jacob, or anyone, but thought better of it the moment the flames began to fall.
Slowly, so slowly, Eleanor calmed down just enough so that the only thing still wrapped in flames were her feet. She stood, naked and terrifying, in front of her brother. He turned around to face her, but instead of standing he remained on the ground. Sweat dropped as he lowered his face close by her feet.
"Forgive me," he whispered. It was so quiet that I had to strain my excellent hearing. "Forgive me," he repeated. "Forgive me."
He chanted for minutes. The same two words. Waiting.
As he chanted, others began to come out of the trees. Mostly men, many that looked like him. The occasional woman, the rare child. Altogether, there were thirty or forty of them.
One by one, they slipped from the trees and joined Eleanor's brother on the ground. They did not use their words; they didn't have to. His words and their posture was enough.
The women brushed the hair from their necks, showing their throats to Eleanor. I knew enough about wolves to understand that they were showing their most vulnerable part - and they were submitting to her. The men, with their short hair in crops or shaggy cuts to their chins, mimicked the women in brushing hair (real or imaginary) from their necks.
"Stop," Eleanor said stonily to her brother. His voice dropped immediately into silence. Eleanor's voice was as loud as a gunshot in my silent front yard. "Where. Is. He?"
"We don't know," one of the men said.
"Find him," Eleanor said. The pack dispersed. Eleanor sagged. She looked at Marc. "Keep an eye on them." Marc nodded and followed the pack wherever they were going. I stood by, waiting by the front door. Eleanor looked at me, then down at the ashes at her feet. "I'm sorry," she stated, tears in her eyes.
"It's just a shirt," I reminded her as I pulled her into my arms. The flames at her feet retreated, and she wrapped her still hot arms around me. I heard her take in a deep breath and imagined that my scent calmed her as much as hers calmed me.
"Yeah, just a shirt," she echoed.