The most dangerous part of going out is the bewildered recognition that sweeps across strangers' faces. It isn't necessarily identification of the $500,000 worth run away teenage girl, but a familiar face or resemblance to someone they know. But paranoia isn't rational and when the theater attendant bids us good day and scowls in confusion, Derek slips me behind him with a hand that grips mine too tightly.

For the sake of his sanity, I pretend not to notice. Not when his pace quickens to the point where I have to jog to keep up nor when he fumbles for his keys even before we're in the parking lot.

I don't ask him what's wrong as he unlocks the car and opens my door. I only reach for him, clearing the creases from his forehead, "Everything's great."

Yet he locks the doors when we're inside.

"What do you want to do now?" He asks smiling, only once we're in the safety of the car.

"Really!" I tease, leaning away from him with a hand to my chest. "What kind of a date is this if you haven't even decided where we're going?"

"One where I'd be content merely sitting in this car with you," he counters and I'm at a loss of words.

"I'm hungry." I blunter. "Let's go eat doughnuts."

It's unreal sometimes the love with which he looks at me, the way his voice registers a different way from anyone else's, how much we've changed from barely tolerating being in the same room back at Lyle House to wanting to share the same bed. I look at a map from the hotel, but can feel his constantly casted glances my way.

I give up on the map, cast it aside, and lean over to kiss his neck. "Eyes on the road Derek," I laugh.

"You're too distracting," he grumbles.

Driving aimlessly, we find a cafe. At the counter, a girl approaches us, eyes preying over him. Her hair falls in dark curls over her dark eyes, which she bats at him.

"Do you think you can help me open this?" She holds out a jar of jam to him.

He takes it with a suspicious look and hands it back opened without so much as a second glance.

"Thank you," she gushes, despite this. She steps closer and takes hold of his arm, gasping, "Wow, you are so strong! I can't imagine how many times you workout."

Compelled by some ferocity, I step beside him and smile. "Oh he is, you should see the condition of our headboard." As if the implication isn't explicit enough, I turn my head to his shoulder and whisper loudly, "My hips are still bruised from 3 nights ago."

Dead silence.

His hand squeezes mine, a twitch at the corners of his lips. She stares at me in shock with eyes that run down my body, taking in everything that should be there but isn't. She scoffs and walks away, yet I feel empowered. He presses his lips to the top of my head and whispers, "I liked that..."

After ordering our doughnuts and coffee, we sit at a table. Derek sips his coffee black, watching me drown mine with sugar and cream.

"You know," I tell him, picking up a doughnut. "Sociopaths drink their coffee black."

"Well is that not what you thought I was when you first met me?" He scowls exaggeratedly, taking my legs beneath the table.

"Oh yeah, of course! Especially when you cornered me down in the basement—"

I stop. Have I gone too far? He looks up at me, eyes dancing between mine. He becomes wild, as if something has snapped within him and he cannot contain what spills forth any longer. His grip tightens on my legs and I realize I should be afraid of him, of what he has the power to do. But incapable of doing. Never the capability.

He is the one who apologizes, "I'm so sorry, I thought you should know what you are. They lied and you didn't believe them and you needed something to believe-something to hold onto—"

"And I thank you for that" I soothe.

"I wish I could have protected you then. From the lies and the pills and just everything that hurt you that I couldn't prevent. If I could take it all away I would. You don't deserve this life, you deserve to be happy. So happy."

This is one of those moments where he cracks open, I realize, where there isn't anything I can do but listen and reassure him that I understand the emotions he can't, but tries so desperately to put to words.

"But I'm happy here. With you." I tell him. "You make me so happy."

"We'll stay together, no matter what happens" he says. "We won't be separated."

I smile, "Okay."

"What do you think my mutant power is?" He suddenly asks.

"Well, you are the are the alpha born, so maybe you have all your pack's powers combined and equally strong?"

He shakes his head, "No, we tested that out and theirs are stronger than mine. I don't know what it is, I'm afraid it's something awful, something that'll ruin everything."

"I'm sure it'll come up when you most need it," I smile and extend a doughnut to him, which he takes with a returning smile.

He asks about friends I had in high school and the most mundane topics become somehow extraordinary when discussed with him. It's as if speaking gives him reason to stare at my lips; he sees my words as well as he hears them.

His real plan is revealed when he pulls into a parking lot for a frozen lake. We're going to ice skate.

"What made you assume I even know how to ice skate?" I ask him as we lace our child-proof double blades.

"Come on. You were a New Yorker with a rich dad who spoiled you," is his response. Derek unsteadily stands and extends his hand, not so much to help me up but for support. Were, I am someone so different from the girl who thought dying her hair red in a school's restroom was an act of rebellion.

On the ice, it's clear he's never tried this before. To carry his weight, I have to dig my elbow into his ribs and wind my arm around his. "Aren't you supposed to be balanced and poise?" I tease.

"I'm a wolf," he growls. "Not a cat."

I laugh and turn my face into his arm. People zip past us, little kids all but running over the ice, and here he struggles to merely keep his feet at hip distance. Eventually, the inevitable happens when a little boy grabs at his jeans to keep from slipping, and instead brings all three of us down. My laughter ceases immediately as I picture the boy falling at our feet, potentially cut.

Derek takes the fall, his head hitting the ice. I land on top of him, arms held in his vise grip. After quickly checking his head, I turn to where the boy fell, only to see him skate away.

Hysterical laughter bubbles from my chest and I collapse onto him, choking out "He's okay, he's okay."

"He's okay?" His cold hand finds my neck. I nod, lips at his jaw.

"Do you two need help up?" someone asks. I look up to find an irritated employee.

"Umm, n-no, sorry we're good," I stammer, blushing furiously. I stand and pull Derek up with me. He releases my arm and gently pushes me forward, "Go, I don't want to hold you back."

Smiling, I glide to the center where the ice gets thinner and the sense of danger thicker. If all danger were this, there would be thrill running along my spine rather than dread at the pit of my stomach. If all danger were this, I wouldn't take my eyes to the far off woods in search of wolves.

I lose hours like this.

"You aren't having fun," I come to a breathless stop in front of him. He sits on the ice surrounding the lake, snow melting through his jeans and wetting the ends of his sleeves.

"No, but you are," he says. "Go on, I'll just wait here."

"Promise you won't move," I lean down.

He chuckles and kisses me.

It begins getting dark and we decide to leave. As I'd imagine, his pants are soaked dark blue but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Are you not freezing?" I whisper, teeth violently trembling. "Your pants are all wet."

"Not when you look at me that way," he slips a heavy arm around my waist.

Inside the car, he takes my hands to his mouth and blasts the radiator. "Are you too cold? I wanted to show you one more thing before we head back to the hotel."

"No, I'd love that." So he drives further away from town. The highway merges from two lanes into one. The realization hits colder than any snow, that if something were to happen to us here, no one would find us for days. I shake my head to rid the thoughts.

He pulls over randomly and I search for something, anything worth seeing. Everything is rock and snow.

Once out of the car, there is a huge cliff. Like the ones you see in movies, where the suicidal teen sits at the ledge of to contemplate life. Like the ones where sitting at the ledge shows you how much you have to live for and how scary it would be falling over...

"This is amazing!" I run towards him and hug him.

"Yeah," he grins. "It's from the scene in that movie—"

"A Simple Plan!" I cry out. "That was so good! How did you know? How did you find it?"

"I read it on the hotel's plaque," he's laughing now, elated by my reaction. "When I went out and returned late, I went to go check it out. Figured you must have seen the movie, considering that you want to be a director and like—"

I kiss him, roughly with a smile. "You're so great."

"Come to the edge," he leads me to the ledge. I sit, pressed against his chest, secured by his arms.

"Imagine falling..." I whisper breathlessly.

"Yeah," he mumbles.

The height isn't like looking down from a skyscraper. The height is real, knowing nothing separates your body from living to falling dead. The bottom's visible but dark and too low. His hands run over my thighs, warm lips at my collarbone. Images of his body above mine flash behind my eyes, his hips slamming into mine with bruising force. My chest tightens, and so does his hand on my inner thigh. He inhales sharply.

I turn my head towards him, ready lips clashing against mine. Quickly, his arms wrap around my waist and pull my legs over the ledge. He rolls me over him, away from the ledge. I sit breathless above him, adrenaline shot nerves lighting the rest of my body on fire.

He reaches for my coat, I push his hands away, "No time, just your pants," I command between heavy breaths. I quickly unbutton and zip down.

"No," he groans. He sits up, quickly undoing his belt. "Don't even take them off. Turn around, get on your knees."

With an uncertain glance back at him, I kneel on my hands and knees. Roughly, he pushes my jeans down to my bent knees. Exposed like this, there is something so vulnerable about my position. It does unspeakable things to me.

I hear his jeans unzip and moan in anticipation. His warm hand takes hold of my bent hip.

"Ready?" He growls. I nod.

Without hesitation, he thrusts in deep once and grabs hold of my other hip. I gasp in shock at the feel of him. His hands tighten. He pulls back and thrusts in again. A guttural moan escapes my clenched teeth as air leaves my lungs.

"Is this good," he groans, not asking.

"Yes faster," I beg.

He obliges, his hips hitting my ass more and more as he builds up. Sweat breaks at my neck and head, trembles grip my arm and waist yet I burn hotter with every thrust. I learn to be more vocal, the little noises in my throat growing into moaned prayer, sacraments to him.

"Fuck, you feel so good Chloe," his fingers dig into my skin.

"So good," I repeat senseless between gasps. "Harder!"

A growl tears through his throat and he pulls my hips in with his every thrust. I feel his release and lose myself in every sense but him, every forceful slam of his hips against me, the warmth of his hands, and the rasp of his ragged breaths. I come down with a cry, arms turning limp beneath him.

I feel him draw out. He turn me toward him, pulling me against him with a cupped hand that rests my weak head against his shoulder. I wrap my arms around his neck, the day's exhaustion catching me. He pulls my jeans up and buttons them up. He yanks his up and belts over.

"That was really nice," I tell him, still dazed. "You should...do that more often."

"Do what?" He smirks, eyes bearing a ton, unbearable.

I look down at my hands, cheeks flushing again. "Tell me-tell me what to do."

Derek stands and pulls me up into a hard kiss. I break away, breathless. "I love you, whatever you're comfortable with," he opens the door for me.

"Shit," he mutters, slamming his door shut.

It's ten past 8.

I smile, unregretful.