Chapter 15: Sorry at the Grave

I woke in the guest wing with someone's hand around mine.

The light at the window was the pale gray before sunrise.

Jasper sat in the chair beside the bed with his head tipped back against the wall.

His shirt was stiff with dried blood, and his jaw had two days of beard on it.

My wrists were wrapped in white gauze from the knuckles to the elbow.

"How long?" I said.

His eyes opened at once.

"Two days."

"The test is tomorrow night."

"I know. Lie still."

I tried to sit up, and every inch of me ached, but the ache was ordinary.

Under my breastbone, my wolf shifted once and lay back down.

She was weak, but she was there.

"Tell me what you did," I said.

"The healer cut your scars open and we drew it out." He looked at his own hands. "I did the left arm."

"With what?"

"With my mouth."

I stared at him.

The corner of his lip had a raw white blister on it, and so did his tongue when he spoke.

Silver had burned him on the way out of me.

"You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did."

He took the water glass from the table and held it to my lips.

"It's from the sealed jug," he said. "I poured it myself."

I drank.

Then I put the glass down and looked at him straight.

"Why did you keep the passes?"

His hand went still.

"Calla."

"Five years. You went to the gate every time."

He was quiet so long that I thought he would get up and leave.

"On the day they locked you in, I stood outside that gate for an hour," he said. "I told myself I was there to watch you suffer."