The Wolfless Girl He Marked novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Four in the Morning

Cade skates alone on suppressants until a bleeding girl falls through the rink door, kisses him, and her lash scars tell him she is the runaway his handler wants; he hides her and his wolf says one word.

Cade's POV

I skate at four in the morning because the pills make everything else too quiet.

The rink is empty, and the lights are on half power.

I take two white pills at ten and a blue one at six.

Anson Greaves sets the dose, and he has set it since I was sixteen.

It keeps Hark, my wolf, flat and gray at the back of my head.

On the ice I can almost hear him breathe.

My phone buzzed on the boards an hour ago.

I looked at the text between laps.

Anson: Soderstrom's runaway daughter. Wolfless, white-blond, a fresh strap back. If she shows up, call me before you do anything else.

I had stared at the word strap for a long time.

I put the phone face down and went back to skating.

At ten past four the service door banged against the wall.

The cold came in with a scent that went straight through the pills.

Juniper and snow, and under them blood.

Hark lifted his head for the first time in six years.

I stopped so hard my blades threw ice across the glass.

A girl stood in the doorway holding the frame with both hands.

She had cropped dark hair and a thin jacket, and she was swaying.

She took one step onto the rubber mat and her knees went.

I crossed the ice without deciding to and caught her before she hit the floor.

She weighed nothing.

She was shaking so hard her teeth knocked together, and her skin was ice against my neck.

"Sorry," she said into my collar. "Wrong building. I was looking for a dorm."

"You're freezing."

"I know. I walked from the station."

That was nine miles.

I carried her to the bench and sat with her across my lap, because there was no other way to warm her.

I pulled my sweatshirt over both of us.

She looked up at me.

Her eyes were the pale gray of the ice under the lights, and they were not afraid.

They were not afraid of me, which nobody's were.

"You're warm," she said, almost angrily.

"Stay still."

"I don't want to."

Her hand came up and curled into my shirt.

My control had held for six years on twice the dose a man my size should take.

It broke right then.

She pulled my head down and kissed me.

Her mouth was cold, and then it wasn't.

I felt my canines come out and I couldn't stop them.

I kissed her harder than I had ever kissed anyone, and she made a sound that I felt in my spine.

My hand found the curve of her hip and dragged her closer.

I turned my mouth to her throat.

She tipped her head back and let me.

I scraped my teeth along the pulse there, slow, over skin that tasted like salt and snow.

Hark was awake and pushing hard against my ribs.

Mark her, he said, in my own head, in a voice I had not heard since I was sixteen.

Not yet, I answered.

I did not bite down.

I kissed the place instead and lifted my head.

She had gone slack against my chest.

Her breathing was shallow, and her lips were blue again.

"Hey," I said. "Hey. Stay with me."

My hand slid under the back of her jacket to hold her up.

It came away red.

I turned her carefully, lifted her sweater and swore.

Fifteen cuts ran across her back above the waist.

They were fresh, stitched badly and torn open by the walk.

They were laid in pairs, with the little double bite at the end of each stroke.

I knew that pattern.

I had worn it for ten years.

Gunnar Soderstrom's pack-law strap.

The text on my phone had not lied.

This was Soderstrom's runaway daughter, and Anson wanted her before I did anything else.

I looked at the phone on the boards, and I did not pick it up.

I took the girl to the infirmary instead, and I carried her the whole way through the dark halls.

The night nurse took one look at the blood and went for her bag.

I put the girl on the table and laid my sweatshirt over her shoulders.

Her eyes opened once more, and they found my face.

"What's your name?" I asked.

She hesitated for the length of one breath.

My wolf heard the lie coming, and he went still to listen.

"Nora," she said. "Nora Keene."

It was a lie, and Hark did not care.

He rose up in my chest, and for the first time in six years he spoke to me clearly.

Mine.

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