Chapter 7: White Wolf

Joss took me to the back pasture that afternoon, where the snow lay thick and nobody drove.

"Tell me how it goes," he said. "Every time it came, what were you doing?"

"Last night I was scared. Then angry."

"And this morning?"

"Angry again."

"Then we'll start there."

He stood ten feet off with his hands in his jacket pockets.

Behind him, along the fence, a dozen Ridgeback wolves had found reasons to lean on the rails.

The two girls from the porch were among them.

"Do they have to watch?" I said.

"It's a slow week."

"Joss."

"Fine." He didn't turn around. "Go back to the house. Everyone."

Nobody moved.

"They can watch," I said.

His mouth twitched. "Good. Now stop fighting it."

"I'm not fighting it."

"You've been fighting it for twenty-six years. Your whole body is braced." He said it flatly. "Ask her."

"Ask who?"

"Your wolf. She's not a muscle. She's somebody who has been in the dark a long time and is afraid of the door."

I closed my eyes.

I thought about a cup held out to me by a smiling woman, and my own hand taking it.

I thought about a man turning around after.

Something in my chest answered, low and slow.

It was not a word, but I felt her lean toward the door.

*Please*, I thought. *I'm done. Come out.*

The ache hit all at once, in my spine and my jaw and the backs of my knees.

My clothes tore.

I heard Joss say something sharp behind me, and then my hands were in the snow, and they were not hands.

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