Chapter 13: The Cellar

The cellar under the guest lodge smelled of apples and wet stone.

Two wolves walked us down the steps with a hand on each of our elbows.

They sat us on a bench against the wall and locked a chain from our cuffs to an iron ring in the floor.

The silver burned.

It took the strength out of my arms and the shift out of my blood, and I could not have broken a twig.

"Don't pull," Roz said through her teeth. "It eats the skin."

"I'm not pulling."

"You are. Your whole body is pulling."

I made myself sit still.

Above us the floorboards thundered with boots, and through the stone I heard the pack gathering on the drive.

Somewhere in all that noise, a baby was crying for me, and I could not get to her.

"They took her out of my hands," I said.

"I know."

"I let go."

"You didn't let go, Teagan. Four of them peeled you off."

The door at the top of the stairs opened.

Orson came down with a lantern, and Vera behind him in a clean cardigan.

She had put her belly back on.

Roz laughed out loud, one hard bark in the cold.

"Nice pad," she said. "Does it come in other sizes?"

Vera's hand stayed where it was.

"Don't," Orson said to Roz, without heat.

He set the lantern on a barrel and sat on an upturned crate in front of us, with his big hands between his knees.

He looked like a grandfather about to explain the weather.

"I'm going to make you an offer," he said, "and I want you to hear all of it before you answer."

"We heard enough in the nursery," I said.

"You heard what I told the pack. This is what I'm telling you."

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