I don’t stop when I reach the school. I keep running all the way to my dorm, not caring about the noise my pounding feet make in the dark, empty halls. I manage to avoid any guards.
I only stop when I’m safely inside my dorm. Erin is sound asleep. Despite being the most anxious person I’ve ever met, she sure is a heavy sleeper. I lean against the wall by my bed and shed my ruined coat, patting myself down to check myself more thoroughly for injuries. I’m not bleeding. I’m insanely lucky.
I drag my desk chair over to the window and press my face against the glass to keep an eye out for Owen and Bennett. I want to make sure they’re both all right.
Cleaver crawls up into my lap. He’s really too big to be sitting in laps anymore, but I let him. He saved me tonight. He leans his head on my shoulder and I stroke him, my eyes glued to the woods outside.
I don’t know when I feel asleep. I jerk awake, startling Cleaver, who licks my face in concern. The sun is just barely up, giving everything a gray tinge.
I don’t see Owen or Bennett, or tracks leading back in the snow.
I leap to my feet and grab another coat that isn’t shredded. I fell asleep in my clothes, so I don’t need to change. I’m even still wearing my boots. I have to go check on them.
Cleaver refuses to stay behind. He accompanies me out onto the grounds, running ahead of me into the woods. I follow my own panicked tracks to the clearing where I found the boys, but they’re not here. I do, however, find fresher tracks leading away. I click my tongue for Cleaver to come, and I follow them.
After a short walk, I come across a tent pitched among the trees. A fire’s burned itself down to embers in front of it and the snow on the ground here is stirred up so badly I can barely make out anything. After a short look, I find two sets of human tracks leading toward the tent.
With a sigh of relief, I head toward the fire and get it going again. It crackles merrily to life as I stand near it, warming myself. The tent flap opens after a moment and Bennett’s head sticks out.
“Avery?” he says in confusion.
“Hi,” I say quietly, peeking over his shoulder for any sign of the werewolf-turned-boy again.
Bennett disappears for a moment, then emerges fully dressed. Behind him, Owen sheepishly crawls out of the tent, looking tired but safe. With a cry, I rush to him and throw my arms around him. He hugs me back fiercely, his shoulders shaking.
“You’re okay,” Owen says, nearly weeping, and I feel tears in my eyes as well.
“Forget about me. How are you feeling?” I ask, pulling back just enough to look at him. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he looks extremely pale. I brush some of his hair back from his forehead. He jerks his head out of my reach before my fingertips can brush against his scars.
“I’m just tired.” His voice is shaking, but he laughs a little. “Tired and ugly.”
“Owen,” I whisper, cupping his face in my hands. “You’re not ugly.” I touch one of his scars. They crisscross his face, the deepest ones raking down from his forehead to his chin. I trace one of them with my thumb. “You’re just as beautiful with these scars as you were without.” It’s true. Most of his face may be marked, but it’s still Owen.
“What were you doing out here?” he asks, his face reddening in embarrassment.
“Yeah,” Bennett snaps, and I turn to look at him. “What were you doing out here? By yourself? On the fucking full moon?”
“I’ve been practicing my tracking,” I say.
Bennett rakes his hands through his hair and starts pacing. I’ve never seen him so agitated.
“You were in so much danger last night. What were you thinking?”
“It’s not her fault,” Owen mumbles. “I’m supposed to stay in the menagerie when I’m like that.”
“You hate being trapped down there,” Bennett says, stopping his agitated stride.
Owen nods without replying. I pull him into a hug again, nuzzling my cheek against the top of his head. I’ve missed him. I feel an ache in my chest.
“Avery, you can’t keep doing this,” Bennett says.
I glance up at him, not removing my arms from Owen. “What?” I ask, confused.
“Well, for one, you’re treating us like shit,” he spits. “We all care about you, you know that? Owen does. I do. Piers does. Even Sawyer does. You’re doing some kind of—manipulative dance with us, I don’t know.”
I glance down at Owen, who doesn’t appear to be paying attention. In fact, his eyes have drifted shut, and his breathing has evened out. He wasn’t kidding about being tired. One second and he’s already dead asleep.
“And going out and doing shit like this all on your own?” Bennett continues, still pacing. “This is bullshit, Avery. You could’ve been hurt last night. You could’ve been turned into a werewolf. You could have died! You should let us help you with this shit!”