I tossed Oliver's pretty much limp form into the back of my beat-up car. He was panting now, curled up into a tight ball with his chin pressed tightly against his chest and his hands clasped against the sides of his head. I was pretty sure he was crying. I was one hundred percent never letting him forget this.

I could worry about that later though. Right now, I just needed to get off campus as soon as possible. Slamming the door shut, I crossed over to the other side of the car and practically threw myself through the window. Not the most practical way of getting into a car but there wasn't much else I could do. The door had probably been jammed since hell froze over.

As I situated myself and jammed the keys into the ignition, Oliver let out a groan. I glanced into the rearview mirror and shook my head. He was forcing himself in his seat and really, he looked like shit. Like a flaming pile of shit that had been run over. Twice.

His face was slick with sweat, like, covered in it. I was sure that if I were to touch him, my hand would come away covered in the salty secretion. Even worse though, his skin was pale. I could almost mistake him for a Vampire if he didn't currently smell like a wet dog.

Turning away from him, I twisted the key in the ignition. Nothing. Not even a sputter. With an annoyed growl, I tried a few more times, this time getting a little bit of a sputter. In a little fit of irritation, I slammed my hand down on the dash as hard as I could, yelping when my fingers went through it with a sharp crack. Whoops.

It seemed to do something though, because when I tried the key once more - with the full intention of getting out and dragging Oliver off campus by the collar of his Gray Water High Football t-shirt if need be - the piece of scrap metal sputtered to life.

"That a girl," I said encouragingly as I put the car in drive, my foot slamming down on to the gas pedal as I hauled ass out of the parking lot in a squeal of burning rubber.

Behind me, a hand pressed against my headrest and a pained and breathy laugh brushed against my ear. "You talk to your car?"

"I do," I said in a matter-of-fact tone, "You don't?"

He laughed, a genuine laugh that was only hindered by pain. "Yeah, actually, I do." He took a shaky breath, "You kn-" His sentence was cut short by an exclamation of pain. It was so sudden that it even made me wince.

"Lay down," I ordered, "I don't want you throwing up in my back seat."

He shakes his head, "No, no. Keep talking. Gotta keep talking. Distract me." Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, I looked over him to see if he was delirious and just spouting nonsense. "Besides," he says, a sly grin on his face, "It already smells like puke back here."

"Asshole."

__________

When I pulled into the empty lot just behind the old shopping mall, Oliver was practically on the floorboard. He kept shouting things ranging from vulgar strings of curse words to weird phrases that sounded suspiciously like growls and snarls in tone. When I pulled haphazardly into one of the parking spaces - meaning my car cut across three different spots - I didn't even bother with taking the keys out of the ignition. If this fucker turned into a wolf in my back seat I was kicking him to the curb and hauling ass.

With breakneck speed, I ripped myself out of my seat and practically clambered over the middle console, my foot nearly slipping off the cracked leather as I pushed my way into the back seat where Oliver lay. I had to contort in some odd ways to avoid stepping on his sprawled limbs but otherwise, it was easier than I expected. I didn't get kicked or bitten so that was a big plus.

"Ethan," Oliver breathed, or more so hissed, his eyes flickering up to me as my movements grabbed his attention.

I snickered, "So you do know my name."

"Of course I know your name, I'm not an idiot." His words were tense as he held back a growl but if I dared to say, it seemed like there was a hint of amusement in his words. "I do pay attention, you know."

I rolled my eyes, "Well, by the way you act, you'd think my name was 'mongrel'."

He gave me a narrow-eyed look, "I'm not apologizing." Of course he wasn't going too. Not like I'd expected it. He could at least be a little considerate of the fact that I currently had him in the back of my car instead of having left him to squirm on the bathroom floor though, that wouldn't hurt him. Or maybe it would, maybe Wulfs had some weakness to not being a dickwad.

"Wasn't asking for one," I grumbled with a roll of my eyes, "Besides, it's not like it would matter in the first place." Even if it would be pretty nice. Before he could respond to me, a tremor crawled up his back, shaking his frame like a leaf in the wind. Taking a cautious step back, I watched as he writhed in pain, his teeth biting down on a curse that sounded more like a muffled scream than a coherent word. His breath was coming out in heavy gasps and I could tell that he was in more pain than he had been when he first found me. I suspected resisting the breaking of bones wasn't exactly a joyful experience.

"Ethan," he choked out, his hand wrapping tightly around my forearm, "Ethan, keep talking. Distract me."

I racked my brain for words. What could I say? 'Oh hey, I know you're in the middle of shifting into a Werewulf but do you think that you could maybe... not?' I could see that going somewhere - somewhere where I got my leg eaten like a dog treat.

"What the hell do you want me to say," I said frustratedly, my own palm resting against the back of his hand. I could feel the heat radiating off of him, a heat that was much warmer than most Wulfs. Beneath my palm, I could feel the way his knuckles strained against his skin, resting the urge to form into a canine-like paw; long and much, much stronger than a human hand. When my hand pressed against his, it was almost an instantaneous reaction. For a brief moment in time, the muscles in his arm seemed to relax and the pained crease in his forehead seemed to ease before once again coming back full force.

"Anything, god damn it. I don't care what you do, just fucking keep this from happening," he said, his voice at the steady tone of a shout. Fun. Anyone outside would think I was murdering the poor bastard.

What could I do? I could try a conversation, not that I'd get much other than screaming out of it. It might take his mind off of the fact that his skull was currently trying to tear itself in half for a few seconds but other than that, there probably wasn't much hope for that tactic. If I was feeling particularly brave, I could try knocking Oliver out. Yes, I would probably get my shit kicked in if I failed, but was it worth the try?

I looked down at Oliver screaming in my floorboard and pursed my lips. Yeah, no. I was not even going to try that.

"ETHAN, I SWEAR TO GOD!" Oliver's voice broke through my thoughts and I immediately turned on him with a panicked expression.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO," I shouted back in distress, my voice equally as loud as his now.

He growled, his hand pressed against the back of my seat. It would have been fine if he hadn't, you know, ripped through the fabric with the black, elongated claws that seemed to grow from the base of his fingernails. He was definitely paying for that.

"DISTRACT ME GOD DAMNIT! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT? LITERALLY DO ANYTHING" It was practically a screaming match at this point and quite frankly, if it went on, I was going to kill him before he could even think about shifting.

I growled and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt, "You really should shut the fuck up." And so I shut him up. And hopefully distracted him. With my lips. On his.

Jesus Christ, I really need to get my shit together, I thought as I pulled his face closer to mine. I could feel him trying to pull away but I just gripped him tighter, my lips pressed firmly against his. The last thing I wanted was a feral Wulf with the intention of ripping my throat out.

I don't even really think you could call it a proper kiss. It was more like our faces were just pressed together. Our lips weren't even moving for god's sake. After a moment though, I could feel it; the heavy beating of his heart against my chest, his breathing on my face, the softness of his lips, and consequently, the feel of his claws digging into the flesh of my bicep.

I winced, fighting the urge to pull away. I get that Mr.Macho straight guy didn't want me - a half-blood and dude - kissing him, but he didn't need to try and maim me.

"Calm down," I said against his lips, barely pulling away to do so. Something about the action seemed to do something to him because suddenly it seemed he was all for the gay ass kiss I'd forced on to him. Quite honestly, I think I got whiplash. As sudden as the kiss itself, he was flush against me and kissing me with animalistic fervor. I barely had time to get in a breath as he moved his lips against mine, his tongue tracing over my bottom lip.

It was disgusting. I didn't like Oliver, that was for sure. He could be thrown to the Demons for all I cared. Yet, somehow, something about the heat of the moment spurred me on, spurred me on to reach up and tangle my hands through his disgustingly sweaty hair while his hands gripped my waist tight. The car door was pressed against my back and I was perched haphazardly on the edge of the seat, Oliver practically sitting in my lap.

I'd had hookups before, one night stands that had been sworn into secrecy. They felt like this did. Sweaty and without the promise of anything to come from it. This, the thing that was happening right this moment, was barely anything but a quick make-out sesh and I knew better than to think it to be anything else.

"Oliver," I said against him, the sound of his name coming from my lips seeming to both arouse and disgust him. He pulled away quickly, wiping at the saliva that tainted his swollen lips.

"What the fuck," he said quietly, a look of horror crossing his face. "What the fuck is wrong with you," he said as if he hadn't been the one to get way too into the moment. I felt a grin uncurl on my face despite the seething glare he shot at me. It was funny to think that me, a half-blood, had made out with Oliver Woodfield, stereotypical star football player jock that happened to have a thing against my very existence. In the back of my car at that.

"You told me to distract you," I said cockily as I sat up and straightened my collar.

He sputtered, "I told you to distract me, not fucking make out with me."

"Same thing," I said with a shrug. "Besides, look, you've stopped shivering like a recovering drug addict," I pointed out, gesturing to his much more composed figure. His skin had more or less returned to its natural sun-tanned hue, though his eyes were still as dark as storm clouds. Probably from something much different than the oncoming threat of shifting.

I brushed my tongue over my lips. They tasted like his chapstick - mint.

"Don't do that," he growled, his fists clenching at his sides, "Don't act like you didn't do anything wrong."

I scoffed. "I didn't."

"YOU FUCKING KISSED ME," he snarled, making me flinch. His face was twisted into a dark expression of malice, one that made him look more like a Wulf then he already did.

"Yeah," I hissed as I stood, my body hunching over so that I didn't smack my head on the low hanging car roof. "I did kiss you, and if you have a problem with it, go ahead and do something about it." A bubble of anger swelled in my chest. "Hit me or something, because god knows a kiss is worse than any of the shit you've done to me."

I could practically hear the thoughts in his head as he debated taking me up on my offer. A scoff left my lips and without a second glance at him, I put my foot on the middle console and climbed into the front seat clumsily. "Whatever," I growled, "Just put your seatbelt on."

"Where are we going," he asked under his breath, knowing I would hear him. The fucking baby.

I sighed and pressed down on the gas, the familiar sound of the car accelerating filling the silence. "You need to get your shit from the school right? I'm taking you back." I debated pulling him over and making him walk, just to send the message that I didn't care for him. Just a subtle "Fuck You". Because really. Fuck Oliver Woodfield.