I memorized everything. Then I backed away as quietly as I’d come, swallowing the urge to do something satisfying and useless like rip Dane’s head off his shoulders.
By the time I reached the main corridor again, there was just the hint of a faint, wrong taste on the back of my tongue. The feral stimulant was riding the ventilation lines now, carried by steam and pressure into the hall above.
I moved faster then.
The sound of conversation swelled as I slipped through the service door back into the main space. I moved as quickly as I could and found Tamsin, filling her in on what was happening. The hall looked the same at first glance. There were people standing in clumps, drinks in hand, faces pale or flushed depending on how much Bishop’s words had sunk in. A few humans coughed. One wiped at his eyes, frowning. Another loosened his scarf, like the air had gotten too warm.
And then I saw a face I’d never expected to see again.
Ashcroft.
I edged along the gallery until I had a clearer line of sight.
His hair was as perfectly arranged as ever. His gloves were spotless. His expression was composed in that way people inpower practiced in mirrors. Then he flexed his fingers at his side, and the mask slipped a fraction. His jaw flexed. A muscle in his cheek ticked like it was trying to pull free.
He exhaled once, a little too harshly, and his breath came back in on a hitch, like his lungs had stumbled over something that wasn’t quite air.
Interesting.
I watched Ashcroft’s pupils.
They were… off.
They were too wide for the light in the room, a little too dilated. His gaze flicked across the hall, and for a moment it didn’t look like he saw people so much as shapes, heat, targets, and non-targets.
A low sound escaped him.
Most of the room missed it, buried under the clink of glasses, the murmur of shifting bodies. But I was close enough, and I’d seen and heard enough wolves lose their grip on reality to recognize the beginning of it.
Ashcroft’s hand spasmed at his side. The councilor beside him frowned and leaned in. “Are you?—”
Ashcroft jerked away, just slightly, shoulders hunching for a heartbeat before he forced them back straight. Sweat beaded at his temple, catching the lamplight.
And then it hit me.
Ashcroft was a wolf.
CHAPTER 30
Tamsin
Ashcroft was here.
And there was something about him that wasn’t right.
He jerked away from the councilor at his side, breathing a bit too quickly. For a heartbeat he just stood there, shaking and fighting a part of himself.
He didn’t stay that way for long.
His spine arched with a sudden, ugly bend. His other hand clawed at his own collar, ripping buttons free. The hall went quieter as nearby conversations faltered and stopped. People turned. Faces tilted up toward him.
“Lord Ashcroft?” someone called from the floor.
Hedidn’t answer.
Bone shifted under flesh with a series of muffled cracks. His shoulders broadened, the seams of his coat straining, then tearing as his body pushed past the shape it was supposed to have. Fingers lengthened, nails darkening and curving into claws. His breath came out in ragged gasps that edged closer to snarls.
Someone screamed.
