I change course, weaving through the tall trunks, barely feeling the branches that scratch my face.

And I’m aware he is herding me again. He keeps jumping in front of me, teeth gnashing, as he dismembers trees and scatters the undergrowth. I keep having to change course, desperate to escape his fierce jaws.

He knows this forest. He knows something I do not.

I find out what it is when I burst into a clearing.

A fast-moving river cuts the path ahead, crashing against the rocks and weaving to the right. I veer left but there is a thicket of thorns so thick there is no way through.

“No!”

A low, threatening sound fills the clearing.

I turn.

Neon amber eyes flash in the gloom between the trees.

The wolf stalks forward.

“Blake. . .” I say, breathless, edging back even as the river crashes behind me. “You don’t want to do this.”

I do not want to beg.

I do not want to die.

“Blake. Please.”

He pauses, tilting his head to the side.

“You know. . . who I am.” I gulp down the thick air. “This. . . is a mistake.”

His eyes glint. Intelligence radiates from him, even in his wolf form.

I don’t know if he understands me. I don’t know if I could persuade him even if he did.

“What about the Heart of the Moon?” I try to reason with him. “If you kill me, you won’t get it.”

He looks up at the sky between the branches and howls. It is long and mournful, and it raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

“If you hurt me, Callum will kill you.”

The way his mouth moves. . . it almost looks like he is grinning. Dread fills me. Perhaps provoking Callum is the whole point.

He snarls, and the noise is primal. There is no way to reason with him.

I veer to the side, but it is too late.

He crashes into my chest, and my back hits the undergrowth. The air is knocked from my lungs.

I push and struggle against him, my hands sinking into fur, my head tilting away from gnashing teeth. He is crushing me, immeasurably heavy and strong. I kick one of his legs and he growls.

“Get off me!” I screech.

My fingers fumble in the dirt, my heart leaping when they close around a rock. I smack him in the head with it, turning and crawling from beneath him.

He bites the collar of my cloak and drags me back, turning me over with his paws so I’m forced to look up at him.

His eyes glint, a predator pleased he has caught his prey. He licks my face, as if taunting me, his tongue hot and rough and disgusting.

My skin crawls, but I do not have enough air in my lungs to scream.

When he bares his teeth, I know I’m dead.

The river crashes behind me. The wind stirs the branches above.

Fight, it seems to say.

Fight. Fight. Fight.

I bare my teeth back, feeling something feral and wild knock loose inside me.

His lip curls above his teeth. And then a lower, more threatening growl rumbles through the forest. It stirs the trees and shakes the earth. Blake’s ears prick up.

I cannot see beyond him, but something is approaching. From Blake’s reaction, it must be something even worse than he is.

Blake turns. I gulp in the sweet taste of the night as I scramble from beneath him, dragging myself closer to the river.

Another wolf prowls into the clearing.

He is huge, with tawny fur and bared teeth. The ground seems to shudder as he approaches. Fear grips my heart and squeezes. Fiona’s warning to stay inside the castle tonight resounds in my mind.

The wolf’s gaze locks onto mine.

His eyes are green, with flecks of gold and yellow.

“Callum?” I breathe.

He growls, his gaze moving back to Blake.

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Chapter Thirty-One

The two Wolves stare at one another across the clearing.

The air is charged. It’s as if the forest itself is holding its breath. Watching. Waiting.

All I can hear is my pounding heart, and the whispering leaves as they rustle in the breeze.

Fight, they seem to be saying. Fight. Fight. Fight.

A growl builds behind the bared teeth of the bigger wolf—Callum. It is so low that I feel it vibrating thought my bones. The shadows seem to cower from him.

Callum would be a terrifying opponent as a man. Tall and broad with muscles that look like they’re carved from rock. Now, he looks as feral as he is strong. His teeth are sharp enough to tear through flesh and his paws send shivers through the ground.

His eyes—they glow with the soul of the forest and they are enraged.

Blake answers with a snarl of his own. The dark wolf is standing close enough to me that I can feel his body heat. He’s guarding me, I realize. Keeping his prey close. If he moved suddenly, he could rip through my flesh.

I attempt to edge backward, sharp stones digging into my palms.

A twig snaps beneath my boot.

Blake’s head turns.

I recognize the intent too late to do anything about it.

Blake leaps on top of me as Callum races across the clearing. The wind is knocked out of my lungs. My pulse thunders as I push Blake’s head back, my fingers sinking into black fur. His teeth catch on my cloak, narrowly missing my shoulder, but then the force of the larger wolf knocks him flying. There’s a ripping sound as Blake takes part of my cloak with him.

I roll onto my front as Blake rolls back onto his feet.

Callum is close enough that I could touch him, and every muscle in his body is taut. He snarls. I eye him warily, as he glares at Blake with glowing eyes.

Blake takes off, part of my cloak between his teeth as he crashes through narrow tree trunks. Callum tears after him, stirring the carpet of wet leaves and skidding through the mud, slowing to a halt as he reaches the edge of the clearing.

He growls once more into the darkness, daring Blake to answer back.

Then he turns.

My heart stills.

Get up. My pulse screams. Get up.

I force my nerves to calm in the way I would when facing my father or the High Priest back at the palace.

Whatever hunting instinct Callum has within him, I do not want to provoke it.

“Callum,” I say softly, warily. “It’s okay. It’s me.”

I don’t know whether the male I have come to know is in there.

All I know are the stories I have been told of Wolves. Stories of monsters who hunt and kill without reason or mercy. They destroy villages, and feast on flesh. There are even ghost towns in the Northlands, discovered by our armies, filled with nothing but bones.

The wolf standing before me is capable of all of those things, I’m sure.

The murals on the walls of the Palace show the Wolves as scrawny, and ghoul like—with dull fur, and frothing mouths, and unintelligent feral black eyes.

Callum looks nothing like that. He is majestic. The way he carries himself is tall and proud. And his eyes shine with intelligence.

He prowls toward me. The moonlight sifts through the branches overhead, and reflects off his glossy coat. I edge back, though the river crashes against the rocks close behind.

“Callum,” I whisper. “You won’t hurt me.”

And then he is standing over me, close enough that I can feel waves of his body heat.

He stares at me—perfectly still. It’s like he’s trying to tell me something. He lowers his head, sinking into a bow. And I realize what he is telling me. I am safe. He won’t hurt me.

Relief crashes over me and mingles with a strange, burning curiosity.

Tentatively, I raise a hand. When he doesn’t move, I touch the side of his face, my trembling fingers sinking into thick fur.