“It’ll end here too,” Jack said bluntly.
Nick sighed but didn’t argue. He looked mostly tired and cold as the wind sapped whatever protection the bird had given him.
There was a wall and a gate. A Beware of Dogs sign had lived there longer than Gregor had, the red letters updated every spring when hikers appeared. Some of the wolves had curled their lip at it in protest, but it was easier than the police turning up to look into reports of “large, unleashed dogs.” Someone had scratched the cold, faded letters out with a rock so it read war of Dogs.
Nobody was there to either greet them or chase them back to the lowlands. But Danny had been here. His scent hung thick and salty on the air—blood and fear.
It was Gregor’s turn to put his arm out in front of Jack.
“Find out what happened first,” he said urgently. Blood and fear meant Danny was alive. The dead might want and fear—that was Nick’s preserve—but all they smelled of was meat and rot. “Then you can kill whoever is involved.”
Jack pressed against his arm for a second, all heavy muscle and a hot swell of smoky anger that had its own weight. Then he took a step back.
“Since when are you the voice of reason?” he asked grimly in a thin attempt to use humor to hold himself back. Words had always been more useful to him than they had been to Gregor.
Gregor snorted. “Trust me, I don’t like it either,” he said. “But the dog has always made you stupid.”
Jack glanced at Nick, who’d climbed onto a rock to peer up the hill. The black tails of his coat flapped around his legs as he stretched onto tiptoe. “Pot and kettle, brother.”
It wasn’t the same. “I—”
“There’s someone coming,” Nick interrupted.
Gregor and Jack turned at the same time. The door of the house lay open, a flicker of firelight bright and unsteady behind, and a dark shape, hunched against the wind, picked its way down the path.
“That’s not Da,” Jack said.
Gregor snorted. He’d lost his wolf, not his eyes. Da was twice the size of whoever had just left the house, half-wolf even when he was human. But the Old Man had always done his own dirty work. Even if he’d washed his hands of his only living sons, he’d still come out to teach two… to teach a lesson to a wolf that trespassed.
“He’s not alone either,” Gregor said. He tracked shadows through the darkness, wolves in their winter coats with their ears flat to their heads as they skulked stiff-legged between the cottages. “I don’t smell the prophets’ monsters. You?”
At one time he wouldn’t have had to ask. He’d spent more time as the wolf than Jack, kept the sharpness of his nose and his fangs. That had faded quicker than he’d imagined.
Jack shook his head once, the muscles in his jaw tight as he clenched his teeth. They both stepped away from the gate at the same time and ended up back to back in the middle of the path. Nick hesitated for a second as he glanced between them and the strange wolves, and then he stayed perched on the rock. He shifted his weight to get better purchase on its icy angles as the first wolf reached the gate and leaned against it. The hard-frozen wood creaked dangerously under his weight and the thick coat of frost melted under his fingers.
“Lach,” Gregor said. Recognition relaxed his muscles and loosened the hard set of his jaw. They’d been… not friends exactly. Allies. Even if the Wolf Winter hadn’t pressed the issue of succession, Numitors never died of old age. There’d been fault lines since the twins were inked with their first rank. Lachlan Givens had always been on Gregor’s side of it, and even if that had changed, he wasn’t wolf enough to be a problem. “We need to talk to the Old Man.”
One of the wolves jumped over the wall in one fluid leap, all thick fur and muscle. Gregor felt that same tug of bitter envy he had when he saw Danny change his skin for fur. It was as sour as anything the prophets had left to fester in his wounds, but it didn’t come from anywhere but him. The wolf—lean and gray with streaks of black in its ruff—circled around Nick with interest. She pinned her ears flat to her skull and wrinkled her lips back, all gum and teeth as a snarl gargled up from her broad chest.
“Ellie,” Jack murmured her name in Gregor’s ear. That was enough for Gregor to put a past to the wolf. They’d come up from Hull and fought for her place in the Pack. Most of the time Gregor didn’t think much of the Southern wolves—even if they could fight, there was a softness to them—but she’d impressed him.
Then. He thought less of her now as she feinted for Nick’s legs. Her teeth clacked shut an inch from his ankle, baffled in the flapping tails of his coat. Nick flinched in surprise and then kicked out sharply. The toe of his boot caught Ellie in the nose, and she stifled a yelp as she jumped back. Blood dripped from her nose onto the snow between her feet. She shook her head and pawed at her nose, eyes still focused on Nick.
“Yeah, well, you should have done as he said, then,” Lach said. He met Gregor’s eyes for a second in blunt challenge and then glanced away as he lost his nerve. To save face, he pretended to check the positions of the other wolves. “One of you was exiled, one of you ran away, and the Numitor said we didn’t need either of you. This isn’t your pack anymore.”
“Pack or not, he’s still our da,” Jack said. “We want to see him. And my dog.”
Lach skinned his lips back in an expression that had more of wolf’s snarl to it than a smile. “Yeah, well, you ain’t the wolf prince anymore, Jack. You better get used to wanting and not getting, especially where that dog is concerned.”
A growl trickled out through Jack’s teeth, a thin warning that the wind peeled off his lips. Maybe Lach even missed it. That would explain why he was stupid enough to stay where he was and keep that stupid sneer on his face.
“You sure that’s a fight you want to pick, Lach?” Gregor asked. He stooped down and grabbed a handful of snow. It crunched in his hands as he wadded it into a hard-packed ball and the pricks of cold jabbed under his nails. He winged it at Ellie as she stalked a step closer to Nick, her tongue bloody as it poked out between her fangs. The ball caught her in the side, and she yelped a high-pitched yip of shock as the impact knocked her off her feet. She landed hard in the snow, breath knocked out of her. “And leave him be. If anyone’s going to eat him, it’ll be me.”
Nick laughed. The cackle of real, gleeful humor cut through the cold and tension like wire, and everyone stopped to stare at him. He swallowed hard. The corners of his mouth twisted in an apologetic smile.
“Old joke.”
One of the wolves still behind the wall panted out a laugh between white teeth as they got it. Lach’s face darkened and red smears colored over his cheekbones as his control of the situation started to slip. He’d always been the sort of wolf that thought he was butt of every joke—one reason he’d never liked Danny—and that obviously hadn’t changed.
