Chapter 5: The First Night

Savannah Whitlock.

Asher disappeared into the bathroom like he belonged there, like all this was perfectly normal, like escorting a half frozen stranger into a bedroom straight out of a gothic romance novel was just a normal tuesday for him.

The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Then it was just... me.

Me, standing in the middle of a room drenched in crimson silk and black wood, with a bed big enough that I could fit my entire apartment in it. Not to mention the storm outside tapping on the window with impatient fingers. 

I exhaled slowly, trying to get my shoulders to ease. My body didn't seem like it was interested in relaxing. My nerves were still humming, my cheeks still insanly warm from embarrassment, and my brain kept circling around the same impossible thought like a shark:

Werewolves. 

I shook my head once, like that would shake reality back into place. 

Because I didn't know what else to do with my hands, I drifted toward the dresser. Soft steps. Careful steps. Like I might trip a trap if I moved suddenly. 

The dresser was heavy, dark wood with shiny gunmetal pulls. It looked old. Solid. The kind of furiture you could survive a war with. 

I hooked two fingers and pulled a drawer open. 

Neatly folded shirts.

"Of course they are neatly folded."I thought to myself, "Because of course Asher Dravenhart, a man with dark eyes and a voice that makes me melt, would have the kind of drawers that looks exactly like a catalog."

Everything in the drawer was mostly dark in color. Blacks. Charcoals. A few forest greens. Everything smelled faintly like him, cedar, citrus, and something warm underneath that I still couldn't name without my face heating again.

I slide my fingers over the edge of a t-shirt and pulled it free.

It was a dark blue. Soft. 

I held it up against my frame and stared.

It was ridiculous. 

The shirt hung down like a dress, the sleeves dropping past where my elbows bent in. The hem brushed past my thighs, almost to my shins. I looked like a child playing dress up with her father's clothing. 

A laugh tried to bubble up, both nervous and quiet, but I swallowed it down and shoved the shirt back in the drawer like it personally insulted me. I tried to make sure that it was still somewhat folded. 

"Nope." I whispered to myself.

I rummaged again, quicker this time, fingers flicked over folded fabric until I found something that looked less like I would be wearing a dress.

My fingers landed on a faded black band tee. 

The print was worn, the edges of the design softened with age like it had been washed a hundred times. Across the front was a stylized wolf skull that was framed by a crescent moon entwined with thorny vines. Above it the band name curved in sharp letters:

MIDNIGHT HOWL.

I stared at it for a moment, then--aparently I was a masochist--I held it up to my body as well.

It was still big.

But not as big as the previous choice, it was more like cozy big.

"Atleast I'm not swimming in this one... I could work with this..."

A soft squeak came from the bathroom, metal on metal, followed by the unmistakable sound of water being adjusted. Knobs turned, pipes responded, the house giving way to the steady hiss of a shower starting. 

I felt the heat coming back to my cheeks, along with my stomach flipping. 

Not because of anything he had done. 

Because my brain was being entirely unhelpful and insisted on reminding me that the very warm, very instensely fine man behind that door was about to be... wet, and...

"Stop." I told myself before clearing my throat and forcing myself to move away from the dresser. 

I wanted to get away from anything before I could make the situation any worse by thinking too hard. 

I wandered, letting my eyes skim across the room in small, tight, cautious sweeps.

The bed was impossibly inviting. The crimson silk all smooth and glossy, black pillows stacked like they had never been touched by someone who actually slept. The nightstand beside it was dark wood to match, its surface polished but not to a sheen.

I stepped closer, my heartbeat starting to thunder again.

Lying on top was a book. Thick, hardbound, the kind with a cracked spine and a ribbon falling out the bottom end as a marker. The title was stamped in worn silver lettering:

Territory Lines & Old Treaties.

"Of course his idea of light bedtime reading would be politics and boundaries..." I thought to myself pushing the book back further onto the nightstand.

Beside it sat a small, flat object. An old pocketknife, the handle was blackened with over use, the blade folded away. It wasn't flashy, but practical. The kind of thing that you carried because you expected to need it.

Further beyond, sat something small. A wooden something. It was a carved charm, shaped like a crescent moon with a tiny wolf silhouette etched onto it. It was threaded on a simple braided leather cord, the knot pulled tight like someone made it in a hurry and never bothered to redo it. It looked... personal. Nothing meant to be ceremonial or decorative.

Resting near the base of the lamp was a ring. It was thick, made of dark metal, not shiny. It didn't look anything like I have seen before as far as jewelry but more as a marker. A signet with a crest I could recognize, worn at the edges where fingers worriedly rubbed it. 

I stared down at this little collection and felt something twist in my chest. It wasn't fear exactly. More like the realization that this wasn't just a 'house in the woods' or a 'pack situation.' 

This was his life.

And this was the evidence of it. Quiet. Lived in. Heavy with the responsibilities I couldn't even fathom.

The shower hissed behind the door steadily, constantly reminding me that Asher was only a few feet away.

I backed away from the nightstand before my curiosity turned into trespassing.

I rubbed my thumb across the letters of MIDNIGHT HOWL, letting out a breath that I didn't know I had been holding.

"Okay," I whispered to myself, "Okay, Savannah. Don't panic. Don't snoop. Don't think about Werewolves. And most definitely don't think about Asher in the shower..."

The water kept running. 

And my cheeks warmed anyway.

I tired to keep moving, to keep my hands busy, but eventually the room's warmth started to win. Ever since I came in from the cold, I could never quite get warm again, even standing next to the fire in the entry way. But when I grabbed Asher's hand, it was like his demeanor pushed all of the cold out of me. I turned away from the nightstand and leaned against the bed.

It looked like sin wrapped in crimson silk.

I gave up resisting and plopped down on it with a huff, sinking into the soft mattress like it had been waiting for me. The silk was cool at first, I could feel it through my jeans, though it quickly warmed where my body touched it. 

I stared up at the ceiling, still clutching the band shirt in my lap like it was a security blanket. The shower kept on hissing behind the door. Steady. Constant. Weirdly soothing, like white noise. 

Minutes blurred. My eyes got heavy. The storm outside mingled with the shower noise. My thoughts drifted, a half question here, a half panic there, until even those started to blur at the edges. My eyelids started to droop and right before I nodded off...

Skrrk.

The squeak of knobs sent a spike of adrenaline down my spine and I quickly kicked off the bed as my eyes snapped open. 

My eyes were fixed on the bathroom door like it had grown teeth. The water stopped, followed quickly by silence, soft shuffling, and a deep groan. My cheeks heated as I imagined that sound near my ear.

The door opened.

And out walked Asher.

He was still steaming from the shower, heat curling off him in faint wisps like he had brought the warmth from the bathroom with him. A towl was wrapped around his waist, low, the fabric clinging slightly where it had gotten damp. His skin was slick with water, droplets catching on his shoulders, sliding down his chest  in maddening paths that my eyes did NOT need to track to the towel's edge. 

He was... entirely unfair.

Muscle carved over muscle, not bulky like in a bodybuilder way, but strong like built for survival type of way. His broad shoulders tapered down to a hard stomach, lines of definition that made my brain short circuit. His hair was damp and slicked back, darker when wet, a few strands still loose new his temples.

My gaze dropped before I could stop it and caught the dip of his hips, those stupid little dimples at the front that should not exist on such a specimen.

I forgot how to breathe. 

I jerked my eyes back up with a tiny squeak. 

Asher's gaze landed on me, leaning against his bed like I belonged there, and something softened in his face.

He smiled. Not teasing nor sharp. Just warm. 

"You okay?" he asked, voice lower, rougher from exhaustion.

I nodded too quickly, like that could erase the fact that I had been staring at his... everything. 

He glanced down at me, his smile still there.

"Your turn." 

My brain short circuited again.

"My... what?"

His brow lifted slightly, as if he found my confusion adorable.

"Shower?" he said as he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

"Oh. Right. Yes. Shower. Definitely. Absolutely."

I pushed off the bed so fast that the silk sheets lifted off the mattres. I all but sprinted into the bathroom, cheeks on fire, and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary.

I stood there, leaning my forehead against it and tried to remember how lungs worked.

"Do not think about his hip dimples... Do not think about how good he looked wet... Do not think about..."

I pushed the thoughts out of my head with a quick shake and unstuck my head from the door. Walking over to the sink and mirror, I stared at myself.

My cheeks were so red I looked like I'd been slapped. Or bruised. Or like my body wanted to broadcast HEY LOOK! SHE HAS A CRUSH! in the most humiliating way possible.

"Oh my Gods!" I whispered to my reflection, then scowled at myself, "Savannah. Come on girl. Get it together..."

I dragged my hands down my face and groaned.

"You are not fourteen," I muttered, voice low and fierce, "You are not a lovesick little girl in a teen romance novel. You are a grown woman who is currently trapped in a wolf-man's bedroom... Well that didn't help did it..." I pointed at my reflection, "You need to stop acting like... like he's..." I flailed the same hand at the mirror as my cheeks burned hotter, "UGH."

I turned away from it before I could argue with myself any more. 

I reached for my coat's zipper, yanking it down with force and tossed it over the edge of the tub. A soft thump was heard as damp wool slumped down the porcelain side like it was as tired as I was. I then started to peel off layers with a kind of frantic purpose. 

Boots were first, kicked off, heavy and clumsy.

Jeans next, shoved down my hips and stepped out of in a hurry. My fingers caught on the seams because my hands we still slightly shaky. I yanked my sweater over my head, hair making static pops and sticking out in every direction. I caught the slightest glimpse of myself in the mirror I had been arguing with: flushed, frazzled, and looking like I had just sprinted a mile.

"Pathetic..." I whispered at no one, even though my heart still hammered. 

My bra came next. It was simple not exactly boring. A deep wine red, because apparently my subconscious thought 'Oh hey, if you end up getting lucky tonight atleast you will match the bedroom.' 

The cups were smooth with a faint lace trim along the edges, soft, delicate, usually the kind of thing that I would wear for myself and not anyone else. The straps slipped down my shoulders as I unclasped it. I folded it quickly, almost angrily, and tossed it next my jeans.

My panties matched the same wine red color with a thin band of lace at the hips and a little bow at the front that I suddenly realized looked ridiculous in this context. It's like I had shown up to war carrying a ribbon. I ripped them off as heat crawled up my neck, tossing them next to my bra.

"Oh fantastic," I muttered, "Cute bow. Great choice, Savannah. Really Mature. Definitely not going to squash the 'fourteen your old with a crush' vibe we got going on here... not at all. Get in the shower." I ordered myself, pointing into the still steaming glass cube, "Wash the stupid out of your brain."

I stepped into the shower, reached for the knobs, and cranked the hot water so I could scald the embarrassment right off my skin. Steam began to bloom almost instantly, thickening around me as the bathroom filled with heat.

As the water cascaded out of the shower head above me, I closed my eyes and turned, stepping into the stream.

It hit like a wall of lava.

At first it was a bit much, hot enough to sting, hot enough to make me gasp as it slapped against my shoulders and ran in fast rivers down my spine. But then my body remembered that I was in the snow for a long period of time, wandering, lost, confused on how I got here. I was chilly, but not the 'oh I just walked in from the car after getting home from the store', but deep cold. Like the kind that burrowed into joints and made bones ache.

Steam wrapped around me, turning the world around me into a soft blur of white fog. The sound of the water filled every inch of the bathroom, it was louder than when I was on the opposite side of the door. It was endlessly steady, like it was determined to drown out every thought that I had been clinging to. 

I tipped my head back, closed my eyes, and just... stood there.

For a few seconds, I didn't have to think about wolves in heads or stupid hip dimples. I didn't have to think about Asher's dark eye's or the way I almost collapsed when he said my name or the way my hand had felt in his. I didn't have to think about the way he said mine or how it stuck to my ribs like a thorn. 

The heat sank into me instead.

My shoulders unclenched first, slowly, reluctant, like they didn't want to admit how tense they had been. Then it was my neck, then my lower back, where the cold had settled like a weight. My muscles softened, one by one, as if the water was untying knots I hadn't even realized were tight. 

A shaky sigh slipped out of me, and it sounded somewhat like relief. 

I grabbed a bottle and popped the top, squeezed a handful before scrubbing shampoo through my hair. My fingers worked against my scalp in small circles that felt extremely comfortable. The suds ran down my face as I rinsed until the water ran clear, until my hair hung heavy and sleek against my back. 

Soap next. I picked up a purple bar that smelled of lavender and something woodsy. I lathered it over my arms, stomach, chest, and legs. My brain kept going back to his smell, how everything in this bathroom smelled like him. The longer I stayed under the water, the clearer my head got.

Not clear clear, but quieter, considering my reality was still ridiculous. The steam softened the edges of my panic, turning it into something I could grab a hold of. 

My breathing slowed.

My heart stopped tripping over itself and trying to punch its way out of my chest.

And the heat... it warmed me all the way through. Pask my skin and muscles, deep down into my bones, into places the cold tried to claim. The ache in my hands eased. The tremor in my knees faded. Even my feet, still sore from stumbling through snow and fear, finally felt like they belonged to me again. 

I stood underneath the water for a little longer than I needed, letting the water run over my face, letting it wash away the last of the outside world.

When I finally turned the knobs off, the sudden silence made my ears ring. 

The steam lingered, curling lazily around the glass, fogging the mirror until my reflection was only a vauge shape. I grabbed a towel, thick, soft, absurdly luxurious, and wrapped it aorund myself. Grabbing a second towel, I twirled my hair and flopped it ontop of my head. 

For a peaceful moment, I felt human again. 

Warm.

Safe.

Breathing like a person again instead of a cornered animal.

Then my eyes flicked to the small heap of my clothes near the tub. 

My stomach sank.

I stared. Blinked twice, Then stared harder, like something would appear out of pure spite.

Nothing.

"Oh of course. I forgot..." I whispered, voice flat, "Ya know when you're found in the frozen wilderness usually means you don't have a change of clothes." 

A laugh tired to come out, small and hysterical, but it died halfway. I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead, towel shifting. 

"This is... this is perfect," I muttered, "absolutely perfect."

Because it wasn't enough to be stranded in a mansion full of so called wolves. It wasn't enought to have a magical box that might annouce what I am to the world. No... now I was trapped in a bathroom with no change of clothes and a towel that suddenly felt like the world's flimsiest protection.

My brain finally caught up to reality, and the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Shit!" 

Loud. Echoing. The kind of swear that bounced off tile and stone and absolutely did not stay private. 

I froze.

For one glorious second, nothing happened.

Then there was a knock.

Gentle, but immediate. 

"Savannah?" Asher's voice came through the door, calm but on edge, "Are you okay?"

I didn't answer.

Not because I didn't hear him, but because my soul had left my body and was currently sprinting into the mountains.

A moment passed.

Then another knock, slightly firmer.

"Savannah?" he said again. "Are you hurt?"

I stayed silent, gripping the towel so tight that it would glue to my skin if I held onto it hard enough. 

Another pause.

Then the doorknob began to turn. 

My blood turned to ice.

The latch clicked.

I squeaked a humiliating sound and panic hijacked my limbs. I launched myself into the giant tub like it was cover in a battlefield, crouching low and hugging my knees as if the porcelain could protect me from my embarrassment.

The door opened and Asher stepped in.

And froze.

For a second, his eyes landed on me. Towel clad, wide eyed, curled in the tub like a feral raccoon. He jerked back so fast, he nearly stumbled, turning his head sharply toward the wall like the tiles suddenly become the most fascinating thing on earth.

"Oh. Gods. Savannah, I'm sorry." His voice came out rushed, genuinely alarmed. He lifted a hand up to the side of his face, palm angled out, blocking his view like a shield, "I am not looking. I'm not looking."

I stared at him, mortified beyond speech.

He kept his gaze firmly locked away, his jaw was set tight, and his shoulders were tense as if he was trying to find a way to physically rewind time. 

"When I didn't hear you answer," he said, the words tumbling out fast, "You swore and then went quiet and I thought..." he swallowed. "I thought that you might be in trouble.

I continued to stare at his face, and even throught the steam, even with his face away and mostly covered, I noticed it.

A faint blush warming the tops of his cheeks.

Which, unbelievably, made this way worse.

"As you can see, I'm not in trouble," I managed to croak out. It sounded like my voice was coming from someone else.

Asher didn't move. Didn't even look. His hand stayed up. The pristine picture of rigid, but respectful panic.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should've... oh I don't know... waited longer? Knocked again?"

I swallowed, shifted in the tub, then forced myself to sit upright. The towel was still clutched in my hands like it was my last shred of dignity.

"It's acutally kind of... cute that he's embarrassed. Big muscle man blushing at the sight of a lady dressed in a towel..." I thought to myself.

It's... fine." I muttered, which was the complete opposite of the truth. That lie was so big it could have had its own zip code, "I just..." I cleared my throat, "I realized that I don't have a change of clothes and those are the only pair of under things I had on me... the only thing that I have is what you offered."

I pointed with a finger toward the folded band tee on the counter.

A quiet sound left him as he turned slightly, still refusing to look at me.

"I had a feeling," he said gently. "Considering you were wandering a frozen wasteland with only the clothes on your back." 

I wanted to argue with the phrasing. Frozen wasteland sounded dramatic, but honestly... he wasn't wrong. 

"I had something brought up for you." he continued. "Just in case."

He stepped around my pile of clothes, back out the door and then leaned in, eyes closed, with a small box. It looked like a box you'd get at a department store for like gifts. Usually clothing. He leaned around the frame of the door and blindly felt for the edge of the counter. 

A small giggle escaped my lips before I could stop it, which caused his brows to lift. 

"Oh so seeing me struggle makes you laugh? I'll have to keep that in mind."

I could do nothing but scoff.

His head looked in my direction, and he bowed slightly.

"Consider it a gift." he added, voice steadier now, "I'm leaving now. You're safe. I'm sorry again."

Then he slunked back out the door and it shut with a small click.

I stayed frozen in the tub for a few seconds, letting my humiliation ring through the thick steam. I tilted my head so that I could hear if his footsteps were fading. When I was reasonably sure I wasn't about to die from embarrassment, I slowly stood and stepped out. 

A sleek black clothing box sat on the counter, matte and elegant, tied with a neat bow like this was Christmas and not the most mortifying night of my life. 

Beside it sat a small card.

Thick paper. Black with a slight sheen. My name, Savannah, embossed on the front in silver lettering.

I stared at it and my stomach did another one of its little flips. I swear I'm going to sign it up for gymnastics.

"Of course he would be that type of person... Of course he would have a card." I though to myself as I picked it up slowly. 

My fingers were still damp from the shower so I took extra time to be careful not to smudge anything. The paper felt expensive, sturdy, intentional. Like it had been chosen, not just grabbed willy nilly.

I slowly undid the bow with trembling hands, part nerves, part lingering embarrassment, and set the ribbon aside.

"Don't," I muttered to myself, staring at the card, "Don't you be affected by a card, Savannah. You're stronger than..."

I opened the card.

Inside, Asher's handwriting was neat though heavy. Each line pressed as if he had written it slowly, like he wasn't used to putting feelings into ink.

It was a short poem.

My eyes skimmed it once, too fast to catch everything. I huffed then forced myself to reread it, slower this time.

Savannah,

You came to my door with winter in your hair,

and stormlight in your eyes that you tried to hide.

I am teeth and old law,

But I would be a shelter not a cage.

If you fear the beast, you are allowed to fear it,

Yet know this:

I will stand between you and all that hunts.

Not to claim you,

Only to keep you safe,

Until you decide what you want of me. 

I stared at the words, throat tight in a way I didn't appreciate.

A small laugh pushed up, my usual instinctive defense, and I let it out, soft, disbelieving.

"Oh my Gods...." I whispered as I closed the card, then opened it again. Like that could change it. I scoffed shaking my head at the slowly defogging mirror, "That's actually... cute. Like, genuinely. Who writes poems anymore these days? Are you trying to convince me that you aren't a monster, Asher?"

I snorted, but it didn't have any definition behind it.

Because through the haze, through all the panic and the ridiculousness and the fact that I have just jumped into a bathtub from a half naked man, something stirred in me. I could feel it.

Not certainty, nor trust.

But... a shift.

A small crack in my fear. He wasn't acting like a monster. He was acting like someone trying very hard not to be one. 

And some infuriating piece of me was starting to see that.

The card stayed in my hand for a moment longer before I laid it carefully on the counter like it mattered, because, annoyingly, it did, before lifting the lid of the box.

Black lace met my eyes.

A matching set, bra and thong, folded like they belonged in a store display instead of in my life. My face warmed instantly, but I forced myself to breathe through it.

"Okay," I muttered, "This is just one of many adult decisions and mature choices I will be having to make. Honestly its just fabric..."

I peeled the towel off my dried skin and, moving fast before I could talk myself out of it, slipped into the lingerie. The lace was softer than it looked. It was light against my skin, delicate yet sturdy. Its like he chose it because he understood comfort as much as appearance. I stared at myself in the mirror, cheeks still pink, and made a face.

"Fine..." I told my reflection, "This is fine."

The nightgown and robe underneath were both made from crimson silk that matched his bed. Bother were elegant enought to make me feel like I belonged in that room, but everything thing in my brain IMMEDIATELY screamed NOPE at the idea of wearing something that... intimate.

So I didn't.

I opted for the band tee, tugging it over my head and let it fall around my thighs in that cozy-way-too-big way that made me feel a bit less exposed and more like I was hiding behind cotton. It covered almost everything... almost.

If I lifted my arms, the hem would creep up just enough and show the curve of my ass. A sliver of black lace and the faintest glimpse of the thong followed. Enough to make my cheeks heat even more for no good reason.

I stared at the mirror and then, very deliberately, I nodded to myself as if I had made a sound tactical choice.

"Good." I whispered, "Covered. Mostly anyways. We are fine."

I cracked the bathroom door and started to step out, only to immediately regret existing.

Asher was standing there, near his dresser, his hair still somewhat damp but less slicked back. He had changed out of his very distracting towel to his sleep clothes. My eyes looked him over. He wasn't doing anything dramatic. He wasn't even looming. Hell, he wasn't even moving much.

He was just... watching.

Those dark eyes of his tracked me the whole way as I crossed the room, and I swear that the air was getting thicker with every single step. My skin prickled, my pulse spiked like it didn't understand the concept of self-preservation.

I finally tore my eyes away from him and locked onto my salvation. My hiding place. My objective.

His bed.

I moved fast, clambering onto the mattress, and dove underneath the crimson sheets like it could erase me from all of reality. I yanked them up to my chin and then a little higher until I was basically a blanket burrito with eyeballs.

Finally I was safe, hidden somewhat and totally not blushing at all.

I heard a small chuckle and then Asher's footsteps on the rug. I followed him from underneath the sheets as he moved toward the wall.

A soft click, and then everything went dark.

It spilled across the room, leaving only the faint glow of smoldering embers in the hearth and the pale rays of moonlight through the curtains.

His footsteps crossed the room again, this time toward the couch.

I heard it creak as he lowered himself onto it, then heard him let out a low groan. It was a deep and tired sound, the sound of a man settling to rest.

And for some reason, it slid under my skin.

Heat pooled low in my belly like my body had decided this was the perfect time to be feral. 

I tightened my grip onto the sheets, cheeks buring even in the dark.

"Oh my Gods... No. Absolutely not. Why did that even just happen?" 

I turned my head slightly, peeking out just enough to see his silhouette stretched along the couch. Broad shoulders, one arm draped over his forehead. Relaxed in a way that made him look soft, adorable even.

The room quieted.

And despite everything: the fear, the embarrassment, the face that literally none of this made any sort of sense. My eyelids got heavy. 

The warmth of the bed seeped into me, the silk cool and smooth against my exposed skin. The weight of the blankets were comforting.

Somewhere in the dark, Asher's breathing evened out.

And my body, the traitor that it was, started to relax. Adrenaline faded.

Time blurred.

My eyes closed and my thoughts drifted.

The slipped.

At some point, sleep took me deep enough that the world disappeared.

Snow. Cold. The forest swallowing me whole. Branches like claws. The wind screaming my name in a voice that sounded like laughter. Something was chasing me, too fast, too close, and everytime that I tried to run, my feet sank deeper, deeper, deeper, into the white until it became a grave.

A roar split the darkness.

Not protection.

Not comfort.

A warning.

I woke with a gasp, heart hammering against my ribs, sweat cold on my skin. My hair stuck to my neck and my hands shook under the blankets like I'd never warmed them up at all.

For a second, I didn't know where I was.

Then the room came into focus. The faint glow of embers outlined the couch.

The couch.

Asher lay there still asleep, his shape dark even against the darkness.

"Asher?" I whispered through a tight throat. My voice was small and rough, scraped raw by fear.

No response.

My heart hammered louder.

I tried again, a little stronger, the word trembling.

"Asher...?" 

END OF CHAPTER 5.