Chapter 22: Open

Catriona's POV

The pack hall office was smaller than I had pictured.

It had a desk, a window, a folded cot against the wall and one of Tobin's crayon wolves taped over the blotter.

That was where he had slept for weeks, while I told myself I didn't care.

I walked across the room and put my arms around his neck.

I did it first, before I said a word.

He made a sound I had never heard from him, as if something in his chest had been waiting years to be let out.

"You didn't come to talk about the stone," he said into my hair.

"No."

"I have to tell you something first.

"I won't ask you for anything. I'm only telling you."

"Tell me."

"The old woman gave it back," he said. "I didn't drink it, and I won't.

"Whatever happens with the bond is yours to decide."

He took the little glass vial out of his pocket and held it out on his scarred palm.

"That's all of it," he said. "It's yours."

I looked at it for a long moment.

Then I took it to the window, shoved the sash up, and tipped it over.

The water ran out in a thin clear line and vanished in the snow on the sill.

"Catriona."

"I want to look at you," I said, "and I want you to look back.

"You've been watching through a window for a month.

"I'm opening the door."

He stood absolutely still, with his hands hanging.

I crossed the room and pulled the cot flat.

It creaked loudly.

"Sit," I said.

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