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CHAPTER FOUR: HARVEST MOON - PART TWO
Russ bit back a groan. He shouldn’t have said anything. Wasn’t his business. And now he’d ruined dinner. Silently, they watched their waiter place their food down on the table in front of them. They quietly murmured their thanks.
Russ sighed and stared at their full plates, dreading the next awkward twenty minutes, or however long it would take for them to finish. He shook his head, wishing he hadn’t said anything. They’d been having a nice time. Had had a really great day. She’d been smiling. At him. She’d made him smile; when was the last time that had happened? Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone?
Biting back a groan, he winced at the rare steak on his plate next to her apple and pecan salad. Was she a vegetarian? A vegan, maybe? Either way, she was still a deer-girl; it felt wrong, as a predator, to eat a steak in front of her. “Jesus.” This was why he shouldn’t be allowed to be around people.
“Is there something wrong?”
He looked up at Dawn, feeling failure flame his face. What wasn’t wrong? God, he was so bad at this. Whatever this even was. Not a date, surely. The idea of someone like Dawn dating someone like him, who rarely opened his mouth except to stick his foot in it, felt like wishful — deludedly dickful — thinking. “Sorry.” He winced, wanting to hide his face. “This doesn’t bother you, does it?”
She tilted her head curiously. “What?”
He shrugged and pointed to his plate. “Me eating… you know.”
Raising an eyebrow, she scoffed. “A steak? Why should it?”
Because here he was, telling her some woe-is-me sob story about being a predator, while shoving it in her face. It felt rude and inconsiderate. Offensive. He shook his head with regret. “I don’t know.”
But she just rolled her eyes before looking at him sympathetically. She picked up her fork and started to eat. “Like I told the class,” she said in that firm but gentle voice she’d used with the kids, “I’m not a horse or a deer, and I’m definitely not a cow.” She nudged his plate closer to him. “If I had to pick who I identify with more, it would definitely be with you over the cow.”
Right. “Of course. Sorry.” His flush deepened, even though he felt better. She had a way of always doing that, putting people — putting him — at ease. It probably wasn’t a gift many people prized, or probably even took the time to notice, but he did. It impressed the hell out of him because he knew he could never quite manage to do it, no matter how hard he tried.
She smiled, real and genuine, wiping away the last of his worries. “I forgive you. Now eat.”
He laughed softly, remembering her with little Jenny, and picked up his knife and fork. “Yes, Miss Dawn.”
They ate quietly for a moment, but it was a comfortable silence. Just two people enjoying their meals. The food was good. Better than he would have thought. Russ rarely went to the diner. Or really anywhere. And never with someone. It was pretty enjoyable, all in all.
“Tucker did come to the school.”
Russ looked up at Dawn as she pushed around a candied nut. “Sorry?”
“You’d asked about what the kids said and, yes, it was Tucker.” She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “He came by after class last week with one of my scarves. Said he found it in the bushes.”
Russ tried not to scoff. He doubted that was how Tucker had gotten his hands on her things, but he didn’t exactly have proof Tucker hadn’t, so what was the point in saying anything? And, considering how Dawn was fidgeting, her hooves tapping on the concrete patio floor anxiously, he had a feeling he wasn’t the only one leaving things unsaid. He tilted his head and gave her an encouraging, but he hoped not forceful, look as he tried his best to keep the growl he felt choking his throat out of his voice. “You want to talk about it?”
Dawn shrugged and ate some more. “Not much more to talk about.”
He nodded, trying to be understanding. Even though he didn’t understand. What if she thought he was prying? God knew, it wasn’t his place to push. But he wanted to know. Needed to know, in a way he just couldn’t explain. And she seemed to want to talk about it; otherwise, why would she bring it back up again? He picked up his soda and took a sip, studying her over the rim of his glass. “I remember you saying that he asked you out a few times and seemed to have a hard time hearing the word no.”
She grabbed her own glass in two hands, nodding before taking several small sips.
He coughed and pushed his food around his plate. “And, well, Freddy came to see me the other day.” He saw her stiffen and winced, his many clumsy inadequacies like a weight around his shoulders. “He and his mom were worried about you and wanted me to know.”
She blushed and crouched in on herself. “I don’t know why they bothered you. It was nothing, really.”
“Didn’t sound like nothing.” Freddy had said Tucker had scared her. Even now, he could smell the acrid tang of panic creep into her scent. Nothing wouldn’t do that.
She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t know what they expected you to do about it.”
He winced. She wasn’t wrong. As much as he wanted to help — and he did, more than he was willing to think about — it turned out, there wasn’t a whole helluva lot he could do. “I reported it to management.”
She sat up straight, her eyes wide. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”
Russ frowned, setting down his fork. “If he’s bothering a resident — if he’s bothering you — yeah, I did. That’s not okay. You deserve to feel safe. Especially in your own home.” He watched her worry her lip and wished he could soothe the small hurt. Wished he could calm the larger one he sensed inside her.
She nodded and pursed her lips together nervously, her tail tucked tightly against her body. Her hooves pawed at the floor again as she intently studied the uneaten half of her salad. “What did they say?”
Russ frowned and let out a frustrated grunt. “Management said they can’t do anything without a statement from the resident in question.” He thrust his clenching fists under the table, hiding them as helpless rage roiled inside him. He’d wanted to help her, had wanted to fix this for her, without causing her any more hurt or fear or inconvenience. And he hadn’t been able to. That fact — that failure — burned like acid inside him. “I could go with you, if you want. Or give you a phone number to call or an email address to write to. Whatever you need.” He could at least do that.
She shook her head. “Thank you but, really, I don’t want to cause trouble.”
He furrowed his brow. “You’re not the one causing trouble.” He flinched at his tone. That had come out more harshly than he’d intended it. He wasn’t mad at her — don’t get him wrong, he was fucking furious, but not at her — and he didn’t want his anger to be one more thing that frightened her. “Of the people who deserve protection in this situation, he isn’t one of them.”
She sighed. “Maybe.” She shook her head and sighed. “I just don’t want to think about it anymore.” She wrung her hands in front of her. “I just want it to be done.”
“Does he know that?” Russ understood where she was coming from. God knew, with everything that had happened to him, there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wish he could ignore his problems, that he didn’t wish that that was enough to make them disappear. But life didn’t work like that. And, like with most big problems, ignoring them often made them worse. “Do you honestly think he’ll leave you alone?”
She shuddered and he hated it. Hated that he couldn’t just tell her that she was right. That this was all over now. That she didn’t have anything to be worried about. That he could take care of it all for her. But Tucker’s behavior and demeanor around her — the possessiveness, the jealousy — it bothered Russ. And the way it seemed to be escalating alarmed him.
“He tried to put it on me.”
Confused, he frowned at her. What did that mean? “Put what on you?”
She shrugged and shook her head. “The scarf. When he gave it to me, he tried to tie it around my neck.” She was breathing hard now, her breaths coming in and out in short, shallow huffs. “He wouldn’t just hand it over. He just kept moving closer and closer until I was backed up against my desk.” She wrapped her hand around her throat and Russ felt like he was choking on her terror. “Then he wrapped it around my neck and I…” She swallowed hard.
Instinctively, he laid his hand, palm-up, on the table. When she put her stiff hand in his, her skin was so cold. He closed his hand around hers, hoping to warm her.
She looked away and set her jaw. “I panicked. Overreacted, really.” She let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh. “Practically ran across the room like some pathetic child, scared of her own shadow.”
He didn’t think she was pathetic or childish, but he didn’t think she’d listen, if he said so. “Why did you do that?”
She shrugged and shut her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Yes, she did. He could see it in the tight lines around her mouth. He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb encouragingly.
“There’s something about him,” she said quietly. “In the way he looks at me. And the way he’s always trying to touch me. I just…”
He laid his other hand over hers, her fingers feeling like ice against his. “It scares you.”
She looked up at him, her wide eyes looking glossy with the beginnings of frustrated tears. “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper. He wasn’t even sure he would have heard it, if he wasn’t a werewolf. But he felt it like a punch to the gut.
“I’d like to help.” The words were out before he’d even really thought them through. He didn’t know how to help. Even if he did, he didn’t know if he was even the right person to be offering help to her. She probably had a whole host of people who could help her better than he could. Who the hell did he think he was, some hero who could come sweeping into her life to save her? It felt so presumptuous and selfish.
“I threw it away.”
He shook his head. “What?”
She gripped his hand tighter and gave him a lopsided smile. “The scarf. After he left.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at herself. “It feels so silly now. I don’t know why I did that. It just felt…”
Tainted. Yeah, Russ knew exactly what Dawn’s instincts were telling her. He bit back a snarl, when he imagined the smug satisfaction Tucker must have felt touching something that had so intimately touched her. Of rubbing it against his own skin, imagining Dawn’s own softness instead. To leave his scent lingering on it, he must have held it close, somewhere his sweat, his blood, his… bodily fluids could mix and meld with hers, infusing himself into the fibers. Must have done it long and hard enough that no amount of washing could remove him from the fabric’s weave.
Russ held his body fiercely tense, forcing himself to hold her hand gently. Again, he wondered if he should tell her what the kids had told him, what their words had implied. On the one hand, it would mean she’d know she was right, that her instincts were worth listening to. But, on the other, then she would know for certain that she had a reason to be unsettled. Afraid.
He stiffened when he saw her flinch at a flash of light, her white tail instantly flagging. He looked up and spotted a woman on the sidewalk, just outside of the diner’s fenced-off patio, with her phone pointed at them. “Sorry,” she said with a cheery wave. “Didn’t mean to interrupt; just wanted a picture.” Gesturing to Dawn, her eyes widened in fascination as the woman took her in. “We don’t see many of you around here.”
Russ saw Dawn grimace as her body stiffened. He straightened in his seat, making himself as large as possible without getting up out of the uncomfortable patio chair. “We’re having a private dinner; please leave.”
He watched the woman, shocked and offended, bristle, but he just kept glaring at her, until she backed down. She grumbled about his lack of manners but left.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Russ looked down at Dawn. With her shoulders slumped and her head bent low, she was huddled in on herself. Even her tail, that was now tucked over her backside, pulled tighter. He hated seeing her look so uncomfortable. “She had no right taking your photo like that.” Not when Dawn hated having her picture taken. And especially not when she was so clearly vulnerable.
Still refusing to meet his gaze, Dawn shook her head. “She didn’t mean any harm by it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He gritted his teeth, wishing he could take the harsh gruffness out of his voice but he couldn’t. “Just because people don’t mean any harm, doesn’t mean they aren’t causing it.”
Dawn looked up at him, surprised, her dark eyes wide and beautiful as she blinked blankly, as if the thought had never occurred to her.
He grunted, feeling his face flush. “Like you said to the kids today, if she wanted your picture, she should have asked you for it. Taking it without your permission isn’t okay, right?”
She laughed and wrapped her other hand over his that still held hers. “You’re right.” She patted his hands before holding tight. She sighed and looked at him warmly. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
She lifted their hands, holding them tight. “This. For that.” She gestured in the direction the lady had gone, before smiling at him. “For everything.”
Maybe he shouldn’t — God knew, it didn’t seem like the right time — but he loved the feel of her hands in his. Warmed by his own, her skin was soft and so giving and he never wanted to give it up. For someone who usually avoided touch, the feel of her clasping him sweetly was strangely addictive. He cleared his suddenly thick throat. “Anytime.”
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