Chapter 6: Wolfsbane and Wedding Cologne

Nora didn't sleep.

She sat cross-legged on the floor of her cottage at five in the morning with Lake Larch's deed spread across the rug and a mug of black coffee going cold at her knee. The Council clerk had mailed the paperwork on Monday. She had skimmed it on the train. Now, with two anonymous texts burning in her phone and Alexander's gold eyes still hovering at the edge of her mind, she read it properly.

The cabin was small: three rooms, a dock, two acres of birch and pine. The deed named her mother as the original owner. Marian Whitlock, née Greene.

Greene. Nora sat very still. She had never heard that surname in the old Nora's memories. Silver Hollow had always said her mother was a quiet Silver Hollow woman who died young.

On the last page, below the signatures, was a clause in tiny type. She almost missed it.

Held in trust for the daughter of the green line. To be opened by her hand alone, under moonlight.

A small brass key was taped inside the folder, blackened with age.

Nora turned it over in her palm. It was warm. Not body-warm, but warm like a mug someone had held a moment ago, and as her thumb slid across the teeth, the faintest green light pulsed along its edge and faded.

"Well," she whispered. "That's not creepy at all."

She threaded it onto a string, tucked it under her shirt, and went to class.

---

Hudson Pierce was waiting at the bottom of the Birchwood steps with two paper cups and a smile that was not quite as easy as yesterday's.

"Mrs. Whitlock."

"Miss."

"For now." He handed her a cup. Cinnamon latte. She had not told him how she took her coffee, which meant someone had asked Poppy. "How do you feel? Nobody in the infirmary has stopped talking about the girl who put Reed to sleep with a handshake."

"Don't joke."

"I'm not. They'll forget in a week. Cameras are bad at remembering." He walked beside her down the gravel path, hands in his pockets. "Mason's awake, by the way. Already complaining about the food. He asked if you'd visit."

"I'll go after class."

"He'll like that. He'll pretend he doesn't, but he'll like..." Hudson trailed off. His steps slowed.

Ahead of them, on the lawn in front of the lecture hall, a small crowd had gathered around a man in a cream-colored coat. He stood with one hand on a silver-topped cane he clearly didn't need. Four attendants fanned out behind him in matching gray.

He looked a good deal like Hudson. The same russet hair, the same narrow amber eyes, even the same easy way of standing. But where Hudson wore a lazy smile as a kind of armor, this man's smile was sharp, and every line of his face was arranged to be looked at.

"Ah," he said, as though a long-lost friend had wandered up. "There he is. The faithful dog."

Hudson's face went smooth and blank. "Preston."

"Young Master Preston. You know the form of address. I'm sure you've said it a thousand times." Preston turned his head, and his gaze slid over Nora like a hand running along a shelf. "And this must be the wife. How charming. I'd heard she was a C-plus, but it's one thing to read about it..."

The crowd tittered.

Nora said nothing. She was busy breathing in.

Under the heavy cologne, something bitter and green curled in the back of her throat. It was a smell she knew, and it took her half a second to place it, because the last time she had smelled it was in a cup of tea.

Wolfsbane.

Not a lot. A faint, steady trace, the kind a wolf might carry if he drank a small dose every day to keep something under control. She kept her face blank and filed the smell away.

"Hudson and I were just discussing how lovely it is to be back," Preston went on. "The Pierce family has arranged a welcome banquet for me on Sunday. My mother insists on a proper gift."

"Congratulations," Hudson said evenly.

"I've decided what to give her." Preston tilted his head. "A level-twelve heartstone. A Thornback, from the ridge east of Lake Larch."

Nora's head came up.

A murmur ran through the crowd. A Thornback was a feral beast the size of a truck, covered in bone spikes. Most hunting teams took three level-fourteen wolves and a full medical crew to bring one down.

"And I thought," Preston said sweetly, "my loyal captain would be delighted to lead the hunt. Tomorrow at dawn. Just the two of us, and my men, of course."

"Level twelve is above my rank," Hudson said, still calm. "You know that."

"Yes." Preston smiled wider. "I do."

It was a death sentence, wrapped in a ribbon, and everyone on the lawn knew it. Hudson was level ten. A wolf like that would be torn apart in under a minute. A feral beast cared nothing for banquets.

"You'll go," Preston said softly, "because the Council signed the order this morning. And because I know where you keep your mother's papers, and you wouldn't want anything to happen to them."

Hudson's hand curled at his side. For the first time, the grin was gone entirely.

Nora stepped forward.

"May I see the order?"

Preston blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Council's hunt order." She held out her hand, palm up, polite as a clerk. "Any hunt above level ten requires a registered soother on the team, in writing. Section nine of the Moonstone Guard Charter. I read it this morning."

That part was true. She had read the whole charter between three and four a.m., looking for any clause that could help her mates survive the next week.

Preston's smile twitched. "A soother is a formality."

"A formality that's the law." Nora produced her phone and opened the Moonstone Ledger, the same app that had recorded her ten matches. "Under the Charter, a mated female may register as the soother on any hunt that includes her mate. Hudson Pierce is my match. I'm registering now."

A pause. Her thumb tapped Confirm. A soft chime rang out over the lawn.

"There. You'll want to amend the order. Unless you'd like me to file a complaint with the Council that you tried to send a guard captain to a level-twelve hunt without the required soother?"

The silence stretched. Somewhere in the crowd, Poppy let out a very small, very delighted wheeze.

Preston's eyes narrowed. Under the cologne, the bitter smell sharpened for a moment, then smoothed.

"How resourceful," he said at last. "Very well. Bring your little soother. I'll enjoy watching her faint."

He swept away, cane tapping, the four gray attendants trailing behind him.

---

Hudson caught her wrist the moment they were out of earshot.

"What did you do?"

"Section nine."

"Nora." He turned her to face him. His amber eyes were burning. "That beast kills wolves four ranks above me. Do you understand? I was going to walk into it alone and let him have his show. You just put yourself on the list."

"You hid my hands from three hundred cameras last night," Nora said. "I pay my debts."

He stared at her. Something flickered across his face, relief and fury and something much softer underneath, and then he laughed once, short and unsteady, and let go of her wrist.

"You're the most ridiculous woman I've ever met."

"Thank you." She sipped her latte. "Who is he, Hudson? Really."

He was quiet for a long moment. The wind moved through the redwoods overhead.

"He's my cousin," Hudson said. "And he's wearing my name."

"The heir."

"I'm the heir. I was the heir. There was a fire at the Pierce estate when I was seventeen. When the smoke cleared, my father was dead, the records were gone, and Preston stood in front of the Council with a ring and a sworn statement saying he was the eldest son." His mouth twisted. "I can't prove otherwise. He has the paper. I have a face that looks like his, which is worth nothing."

"And the papers he threatened?"

"My mother. She's in a care home in Spokane. He pays the bills. I take his missions." His voice was flat. "It's been eight years."

Nora looked at him for a moment, then reached up and, before she could think better of it, flicked his forehead.

"Ow!"

"Stop it. You're not a dog."

Hudson blinked at her, then started to laugh in earnest, helpless and a little wild.

She waited until he was done. "Preston's wearing a tonic," she said quietly. "Wolfsbane. A little every day. I can smell it."

The laughter died. "Wolfsbane is a poison."

"It's also what was in the tea they fed me at Silver Hollow." Her eyes met his. "So the question isn't whether he's lying about the fire. The question is who's helping him."

Hudson was no longer smiling. His hand drifted to her shoulder, warm and careful. "Nora. If this is bigger than my family..."

"It is." She turned her cup in her hands. "Tell me about the Thornback. Where exactly is the ridge he named?"

He told her. As he spoke, a cold weight settled in her stomach and the brass key under her shirt grew warm against her skin.

East of Lake Larch.

It was one road, one ridge, and one cabin. And somebody had just sent her there.