Chapter 13: The Closed Road

The north road had a chain across it and a sign that said CLOSED FOR LOGGING.

Mathias drove the truck straight through the chain.

It snapped with a crack, and the sign went under the wheels.

"There's no logging up here," I said.

"No," he said. "There hasn't been for years."

I held the dashboard.

Snow had started, thin and dry, and the headlights picked out tire tracks that were fresh.

Jasper's tracks.

We drove in silence for a mile.

I had a thing to say, and I had been carrying it for seven years.

"My father sent three scouts down to the river the spring I was seventeen," I said.

Mathias's hands tightened on the wheel.

"They were looking for a wolf who'd been caught in a trap. Dad thought he was a spy."

"I know."

"They never came home. Your pack found them on the bank."

"Yes."

"One of them was a big, quiet man who used to give me butterscotch."

I stopped, because my voice had gone.

"I was never told who killed them," I said. "I was told it was a Crowe, and that Crowes don't say sorry."

"My beta did it," Mathias said. "While I lay in a hunter's cabin with a hole in my leg."

"He thought they'd come to finish me."

"Did you ever tell my father you were sorry?"

"I sent a message about the girl. I never sent one about the scouts."

He kept his eyes on the road.

"That was cowardice," he said. "I'm sorry, Valerie. I'll say it to their families, with my name, in front of your pack. Not tonight. But I will."

I looked out at the snow.

It did not fix anything, and it was the first time anyone had said it.

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