Chapter 5: On His Knees

The border post stood at the river bend, a log tower with a floodlight and a gate across the road.

Jasper lay in the mud outside it.

He had crawled the last stretch on his elbows, and his jacket was torn open down one sleeve.

The Black Fork sentries had formed a half circle around him and nobody had touched him.

More wolves were coming down the hill from the lodge, still pulling on coats.

By the time I reached the gate there were fifty of them, and every one was watching.

Jasper raised his head.

His face was gray and his lips were split.

"Imogen," he said. "Imogen, thank the Moon."

I stopped three paces from him.

Ezra stood at my right shoulder and did not say a word.

Clover stood on my left with her phone in her hand, and for once nobody told her to put it away.

"You shouldn't be here," I said.

"I had to." He tried to push himself up and failed. "I can't feel my wolf. Imogen, he won't come when I call. He hasn't answered since you said it."

"Good."

He flinched.

"I didn't mean what I said in the lot," he said. "I swear to you. I panicked. I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of the pack. Of your father. Of Celia." He stopped. "I don't know."

"You knew in the lot."

"I know what I said. I don't know why."

"That's not an apology," Clover said.

He did not look at her.

He kept his eyes on me and his voice came out low and rough.

"Take it back. Please. I'll do anything. Say it was a mistake."

The fifty wolves on the hill did not make a sound.

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