Chapter Thirty-Two: The Boy Who Woke

The young patrol wolf woke on the third morning.

His name was Tobin, and he was barely nineteen. I learned that from the healer, a stern woman named Greta, who let me into the healing house only after Adrian promised I would stay no longer than a quarter of an hour. She did not like visitors. She liked even less that the visitor was the reason her patient had been hurt, though she was kind enough not to say it out loud.

Tobin lay in a narrow bed near the window, his arm wrapped in white cloth, a purple bruise spreading along his jaw. He looked so young. When I stepped into the room, he tried to sit up, and Greta pushed him gently back down.

“You will stay flat,” she said. “Or I will tie you to the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I sat in the chair beside him. For a moment I did not know what to say. Then I said the only honest thing I had. “I am sorry. You were hurt because of me.”

Tobin blinked at me. “No, my lady. I was hurt because some men wanted to hurt someone. It could have been anyone on that road.”

“It was not anyone. They left a message.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “They told me to remember it word for word. They made me say it back to them twice.”

Adrian stood in the doorway, his arms folded, listening. I felt the bond tighten faintly in my chest, the way it did now whenever his feelings ran strong. He was angry. He was holding it down very carefully.

“Tell us what happened,” he said. “Start from the beginning. Take your time.”

Tobin told it slowly. He had been walking the eastern road alone at dusk, a short patrol that had always been quiet. A man stepped out of the trees and spoke to him politely, asking for directions. While he was answering, three more came from behind. They were not wolves. They were human, but they moved like trained fighters and carried ropes and short clubs.

“They did not try to kill me,” Tobin said. “I thought that was strange, even then. They tied my hands and took me deeper into the woods to a small camp. There were maybe twenty men there. Tents. Horses. A table with maps.”

“Did you see the man in charge?” Adrian asked.

“I saw someone. Not Hale, I think. Hale was described to me once, plain face, plain clothes. This was a woman.”

The room went still.

“What did she look like?” I asked.

“Old. White hair, very thin. She sat in a chair by the fire and she did not speak for a long time. She only watched me. Then she asked one of the men to bring her a cup of water, and she dipped her fingers in it and closed her eyes.” Tobin’s voice dropped. “She said, ‘The first layer is gone. I felt it break three nights ago.’ And then she looked right at me and said, ‘Tell her the second layer will break sooner than she thinks, and when it does, we will already be waiting.’”

My hands had gone cold in my lap.

“Did she say anything else?” Adrian asked quietly.

“She said the girl would not be able to stop it. She said it was written in her blood, and that the only choice was whether she came willingly or was brought.” Tobin looked at me, and his eyes were full of fear that had nothing to do with himself. “I am sorry, my lady. I wish I had more. I tried to remember everything.”

“You remembered more than enough,” I said. “Thank you. You were very brave.”

He gave a tired little smile. “They let me go in the end. They said they wanted the message delivered. Then one of them hit me on the head, and that is all I recall.”

Outside the healing house, the afternoon was grey and cold. Adrian walked ahead of me, fast, his shoulders tight. I followed him around the corner of the building where nobody could see us.

“A woman who can feel the seal breaking,” I said. “Like Mathis warned.”

“A seer.” His voice was low and rough. “Or something close to one. That is how Hale has been finding his way. He does not simply guess where the old magic is. He has someone who can sense it.”

“Adrian.”

“They put hands on a boy, Elena. A boy. They tied him up and used him as a pigeon to carry a threat.” His hands had curled into fists. “I should have put more warriors on that road. I should have”

He stopped. His whole body went rigid.

I saw it happen before I understood it. His eyes flashed, the dark brown sliding into something gold and wild. A low sound rose in his chest, not a word, not a growl, something between the two, and the air around him seemed to shift and tighten. The snow near his boots trembled. His breathing turned fast and ragged.

I had been told his wolf was unstable. I had never seen it.

“Adrian,” I said again, carefully this time. “Look at me.”

“Step back.” The voice was not entirely his. It came out deeper, rougher. “Elena, step back. I cannot hold her.”

I did not step back. I stepped closer.

Something inside me answered before my mind could. My own wolf rose, calm and steady, and I felt the bond between us open like a door. I put both my hands flat against his chest and pushed warmth through it, the quiet, sure feeling I had found in the clearing under the moon.

“You are not alone in there,” I said. “I am here. I am right here.”

For a long moment nothing changed. His whole body shook under my palms. Then, slowly, the gold in his eyes began to fade. His breathing slowed. The trembling in the snow stopped. He sagged forward, resting his forehead against mine, his breath warm and unsteady.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I am so sorry.”

“Do not be. It is over.”

“It is getting worse.” He said it like a confession. “I have kept it from the pack. From Corwin. From almost everyone. It has been getting worse every month, and tonight it nearly took me completely.”

I held him in the cold behind the healing house, the old curse I had only heard about now real and trembling in my hands, and understood, with a sinking certainty, that Marcus Hale was not the only clock ticking against us.

Adrian’s curse was running out of time as well. I had just felt it with my own hands.