Chapter 7: The Taunt

I had spent the day with Maud's words about my shoulder and had not slept.

"You run too politely," Bram said.

It was past midnight on the second night, and the Stonefell yard was empty except for the two of us and a lantern on the well.

I stood on the frozen flagstones in a borrowed shirt and breeches with my arms hanging, out of breath.

"I've never run before," I said. "Not as a wolf. Not for seven years."

"Then you're doing well for someone who never practised." He rolled his shoulders. "Again. Shift, and come at me low."

"You'll knock me over."

"I'll try."

I shifted. It was easier than it had been on the stairs the night before.

My wolf came up willingly now, shaking out her coat, and I felt her notice the cold and the stars and the smell of him.

Then I came at him low.

He sidestepped and caught my scruff, and I twisted under his arm and went for his ankle.

He swore and went down on one knee, laughing.

"Better."

I came out of the wolf with my hands on the stone and my hair over my face.

He had dropped his coat across the well, and in the lantern light the burn scar showed down his forearm, shiny and old.

I wanted to put my mouth on it.

I looked away fast.

"Hands," he said. "Let me see your hands."

"It's nothing."

"You cracked two knuckles on the paving."

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