Chapter 11: Your Rule, Your Door

The silver hunters did not come that night.

Lucian stopped them.

He stood in the middle of the Great Hall with his burned palm hanging at his side.

In a flat, shaken voice he told the Elders that no one would be hunted under his roof until he had heard the whole of it.

The Elders protested.

He said, "Dawn," and walked out.

I did not watch him go.

I had a man's hand around mine and a hundred wolves singing on the ridge.

The light under my ribs would not go dark.

Ronan did not speak all the way up the east stair.

He did not speak when he shut the door of the Wolf Tower behind us and slid the bolt.

He stood with his back against it, breathing.

The fire was low.

The red moon filled the sea window.

I turned to face him.

"You said a lot of things in that hall," I said.

"I did."

"You said you'd be on your knees."

"I meant it."

"You said you wouldn't touch me until I asked."

"I'm standing by the door," Ronan said hoarsely. "I haven't moved."

I crossed the room to him.

I put both hands flat on his chest and felt the heart under them going like a hammer.

"I'm asking," I said.

"Isobel..."

"Don't read anything into a meal."

He gave a quiet, dry laugh.

"I said I wouldn't dream of it."

"Your rule, your door," I said. "You're the one who's been standing at it."

He kissed me.

It was nothing like the night before.

There was no patience in it.

His hands came up into my hair and held my head.

He kissed me against the door until my back hit the wood and my knees would not hold.

I tore at his shirt.

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