“You could be gone by now,” I tell her, my voice rough in the quiet.
Her eyes open, fixing on me. “You want me to run.”
“I want to see what you’ll do.”
She steps closer, the snow crunching beneath her bare feet, the wind pulling strands of hair loose across her face. “You want to measure me. Like Roman does.”
That hits harder than I let show. “I’m not him.”
“You keep saying that,” she says, her tone sharp.
We walk the edge of the courtyard slowly. She drags her hand along the fence, the metal sparking faintly as she touches the live current. It doesn’t stop her. The smell of ozone hangs sharp in the cold air, and she keeps her gaze fixed on me.
“You ever wonder what you’d be if he hadn’t made you his,” she asks suddenly, her voice carrying across the silence.
“Every day.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” I say. “Because wondering doesn’t change the fact that I stayed.”
She stops, snow falling into her hair, her wolf glowing in her eyes. “You stayed because you wanted to. Don’t lie to me.”
I step closer, meeting her head on. “I stayed because I thought there was nothing else. Roman was my world before I knew the world was bigger. You don’t understand what it’s like to be bound before you even realize you could choose.”
Her jaw tightens, her hands curl into fists. “I do. You think I haven’t been used? Manipulated? You assume that I don’t know what it’s like to bleed for someone else’s cause?”
“I know you do,” I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut the night. “That’s why you don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the only one who’s ever carried chains.”
She lunges forward and shoves me, hard enough that my boots scrape through the snow and my back hits the fence. The current hums just inches behind me, buzzing like a warning. I straighten, chest heaving, but I don’t raise a hand.
“You want me to believe you’re different from him,” she snarls. “Prove it. Stop talking and prove it.”
The snow falls heavy between us, muting the world, leaving only our breath steaming in the cold. My heart hammers, the fox in me restless, the man in me burning.
“I want out,” I say finally, the words rough, torn from my chest.
Her eyes narrow, suspicion sharp as claws. “I don’t believe you.”
I take a step closer, the fence buzzing at my back, the cold sinking into my bones. “Then let me prove it.”
The words hang there, heavy as stone, heavier than the storm pressing down on us. She stares at me, searching for the lie, searching for weakness. And at last, I don’t want to give her either.
11
MARY
The storm hasn’t let up. Snow falls thick as ash, blanketing the courtyard in silence, muting even the hum of the fence. I stand near the edge, the wolf pacing hard under my skin, pressing, straining, restless with the taste of freedom even though the fence still cages us in. Silas leans close enough for me to hear him over the wind.
“Tonight,” he says, voice low, steady. “We’re doing it tonight.”
I don’t answer right away. The wolf snarls for release, and part of me wants to tear straight through the fence and take my chances with the storm. But the other part—the part that has been watching, weighing, waiting—stares at him and wonders if this is another test.
“You mean it,” I say finally.
His amber eyes catch the moonlight, sharp and pained. “I wouldn’t bring you this far if I didn’t.”
He leads me back into the stairwell, his boots sure on the slick stone, mine bare and cold. The old steel door groans shut behind us, echoing in the stairwell. He doesn’t look back. I don’task questions. I just follow, because the wolf is already howling for blood and the air tastes like something about to break.
