Chapter 8: The Greyback Pass

The shift tore through me, and it hurt more than it ever had.

My bones cracked and lengthened, and fur broke through my skin, and the silver in my blood fought every inch.

Then the world went sharp.

I could smell every horse, every rider and the old leather of the collector's satchel.

I could hear the beat of seven hearts.

I was a pale grey wolf, almost as tall as a pony, standing in the middle of the road.

The horses screamed.

The first rider's mount reared straight up and threw him into the heather.

I went for the next one.

I hit its shoulder with mine and it staggered sideways into the horse beside it, and two grey cloaks tumbled off together.

"Hold her!" the collector shouted. "Don't let her bolt!"

A rope whistled over my head.

I ducked under it and snapped at the rider who had thrown it, and he dropped the coil and flung up his arms.

I did not want to kill anyone.

I wanted them to be afraid long enough for Hester to move.

"Neve!"

Hester was already running with her cane, hobbling hard toward a riderless horse that stood trembling by the verge.

She grabbed its reins and hauled herself up with a grunt.

"Come on, you great lump!"

The collector spurred his horse straight at her.

I sprang.

I caught his stirrup leather in my jaws and wrenched, and he came off sideways and hit the road on his shoulder with a grunt.

His satchel flew off the saddle.

I seized the strap in my teeth before it could land.

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