Chapter 17: The Fragile Wolf

I had not shifted in five years, and I did it in the doorway of the boathouse without thinking.

The change tore through me, and then it was only speed.

My wolf was a grey-red animal, long in the leg, and she knew the river road better than I did.

Torin ran beside me, black and enormous.

I felt every stride of his in my own chest.

*Hotel,* I thought.

*I know,* said the voice in my head, low and steady, and under it was the same fear I had.

We took the mud road along the water, where the reeds whipped our flanks and the ground sucked at our paws.

Behind us, Rowan was shouting something, and he fell back.

The hotel came up out of the dark with every window lit.

The front doors stood open and the night clerk was flat against the wall with her hands over her mouth.

We went through the lobby and up the stairs, nails skidding on marble.

On the fourth floor, the corridor was torn.

The carpet was ripped in long furrows, and the door of my suite hung off one hinge.

My investigator lay against the opposite wall with his shirt open and a long wound across his ribs.

He was breathing.

He lifted his head and looked at me, a wolf in the corridor, and his eyes were furious and apologetic.

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