A flash of white moves beyond the window.
At first it is difficult to make out the shape through the falling snow, but those eyes are unmistakable. Luceran paces the length of the verandah, back and forth, restless and watchful, not in his Fae form.
He is the wolf tonight.
Snow gathers along his pale fur as if he is a part of it. When his gaze lifts and locks onto mine, the intensity of it sends a sharp thrill through every nerve in my body. He does not need to speak.
I already know what he wants.
I move to the window, push open the verandah doors, and step out into the snow. The cold bites immediately, but I barely feel it. His breath fogs the air as I approach, heavy and slow. I reach out, my fingers sinking into the coarse white fur along his jaw, stroking him with quiet reverence.
He dips slightly, just enough.
I grip his fur and pull myself onto his back.
With a powerful rise, he stands, lifting his head to the sky, and his howl splits the night, long and fierce, echoing beneath the full moon struggling to shine through the veil of falling snow.
Then he runs.
Straight into the white, carrying me with him, the world blurring into motion and cold and freedom as Castle Frostwyn disappears behind us.
24
In the beginning, there was a white wolf, standing at the edge
of the world, snow in his fur, hunger in his bones.
There was a red flame too, burning where it should not,
alive in the dark, aching to be touched.
Between them stretched a long, unlit silence,
a darkness thick with things unspoken,
with rules, with grief, with teeth bared against want.
And still, desire found its way through.
It always does.
Because even the coldest night remembers what it is to burn.
Ituck myself tight against him, fingers buried deep in the thick fur at his neck, my cheek pressed into the warmth of his shoulder as he runs.
The forest rushes past us in a blur of shadow and silver. Snow-laden branches sweep overhead, heavy with white, the world reduced to motion and breath and the powerful rhythm of his body beneath mine. Each stride eats up the ground with effortless grace, his muscles bunching and releasing under my hands.
The wind tears at my hair, steals my breath, but I laugh anyway, the sound torn loose from my chest. The freedom of it is exhilarating. As if I am seeing the world with fresh eyes, inhaling it all for the first time. Lost in the beautiful wild.
We race through valleys, and up steep, winding paths, his paws striking rock and ice. Pines give way to bare stone, the forest thinning as the climb grows higher. The air changes as we rise, cleaner and thinner, but still he runs, tireless, relentless, as if he could run to the edge of time and back again without breaking a sweat.
I cling tighter as the slope steepens, my pulse pounding in time with his until at last, he slows.
The path narrows to a ledge carved into the mountainside, hidden from below by jagged rock and drifting snow. He leaps the final distance with ease, landing before the mouth of a cave half-veiled by ice and stone. The world beyond falls away, the height dizzying, the silence profound.
He lowers himself, allowing me to slide down from his back.
When I turn, the sight is beyond anything I could imagine. Anything my books could dream into reality.
