Chapter 4: The Knee in the Straw

I woke before dawn with the quilt kicked off and Corwin's side of the bed empty.

His note was on the pillow.

Went to find coffee and a map of every exit. Stay warm. Don't go anywhere alone.

I read it twice and went to the barn alone.

The howl last night had come from the south side of the yard.

The tracks in the snow led from there to the barn door, and they were bare human feet.

I pushed the door open.

The barn smelled of hay and horses and cold iron.

Alaric sat on an upturned bucket in the aisle with his back against a stall.

He had no coat on. His breath came out in white clouds, and he was shaking so hard the bucket rattled.

"You came," he said.

His eyes were hazel again.

I stopped ten feet away.

"I heard you last night," I said. "The whole lodge did."

"I couldn't stop it."

"Alaric, what is wrong with you?"

He pulled his shirt up with a trembling hand.

Across his ribs, from his hip to his armpit, ran a ladder of old scars.

They were ridged and white, and they were not claw marks. They were burns, in a straight pattern.

Under them, the skin was grey.

"The bond," he said. "It was never settled. My wolf won't take her."

"Every night it tries to tear the bond open. Every morning I stitch myself shut."

"Beatrix is your mate."

"Beatrix is my wife."

He said it flatly, and I understood the difference.

"Tilda, I didn't choose her. I need you to know that."

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