Chapter 21: The Quiet Wolf

The grey-vested man put his hand around my upper arm.

It was a big hand, and it did not hurt, and that was how I knew it was meant to be polite.

"Miss Tarrant," he said. "This way."

"Take your hand off me."

"The Alpha says."

Across the hall, four wolves had pinned each of my Tidewater guards.

One of them shouted something I could not hear.

Winifred watched me with her head on one side.

"There's no need to make a scene, dear," she said. "We only want you safe."

I looked at the hand on my arm.

I thought of the garden gate, and the red-eyed girl in a green dress who had gone through it without a plan.

I had been so quiet all my life.

My wolf had always been the quiet one, slow to come and soft when she did.

The other girls had become big grey shapes at twelve.

I had never minded.

I minded now.

"Let go of me," I said, and it came out different.

It came from low in my chest, and it had weight.

The man looked down at me, startled.

Heat rolled up my spine.

My skin pulled and prickled along my forearms, and I felt the hair coming through.

"Wynne," Bree whispered. "Wynne, you can't, the baby."

"She's fine," said the old woman with the white braid, in a loud, clear voice. "Let her."

It was slow.

It had always been slow.

My bones changed one at a time, with a long, deep ache.

I dropped to my hands and knees on the boards of the hall.

The man's hand fell away from my arm.

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