Chapter 2 02

Elara stared at her palm. The cut was not deep, but it had been clean. Blood had welled dark against the pale skin, running in a thin line toward her wrist. She had felt the sharp sting of the bark. She had expected the usual slow, ordinary healing of a low-ranked wolf. Instead the edges of the wound were already pulling together. She watched, breath held, as the skin sealed itself in front of her eyes. First the bleeding stopped. Then the red line thinned. In less than a minute only a faint pink mark remained. A minute after that, even that was gone. Her hand looked as if nothing had happened. The forest around her felt suddenly too quiet. The wind moved through the trees, but the sound seemed distant. Elara's heart beat hard against her ribs. She closed her fingers into a fist, then opened them again. Still smooth. No scar. No evidence. Rowan's voice came from a few steps ahead. "You coming?" She looked up. He had stopped and turned back. In the moonlight his face was all sharp angles and shadow. He was waiting, but not impatiently. Just watching. Elara curled her hand against her side and nodded. "Yes." She caught up to him without speaking. They walked the last stretch in silence. The cabin appeared between the trees like something that had been forgotten on purpose-small, dark wood, one window boarded over, the door hanging slightly crooked on its hinges. No light showed from inside. Rowan pushed the door open with his shoulder. The smell of dust and old wood drifted out. He stepped in first, checked the single room with a quick sweep of his eyes, then nodded for her to follow. There was a narrow bed against one wall, a cold fireplace, a table with two mismatched chairs, and a shelf that held a few tin cups and a rusted lantern. Someone had left a stack of dry wood beside the hearth. Rowan crouched and began building a fire with the ease of a man who had done it many times in places worse than this. Elara stood near the door, still holding her hand against her dress. The fire caught. Light pushed the shadows back. Rowan stood, wiped his hands on his pants, and finally looked at her properly. "You're shaking." "I'm cold." It was only half a lie. The night air had been sharp, and the thin ceremonial dress offered nothing. But the real cold sat deeper, under her skin, where the torn bond still burned and the memory of her palm closing itself would not leave. Rowan pulled a rough blanket from the end of the bed and held it out. "Here." She took it. Their fingers did not touch. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and sat on the edge of the nearest chair. The wood creaked under her weight. For a while the only sound was the fire. Rowan moved around the small space with quiet efficiency-checking the boarded window, setting the lantern on the table, pouring water from a skin into one of the tin cups. He placed the cup near her without comment. Elara stared at the dark surface of the water. "Thank you," she said. "For earlier." Rowan sat on the opposite chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You don't need to thank me." "I do. No one else moved." He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Packs are good at watching. Not so good at intervening when the Alpha has already spoken." Elara's fingers tightened on the cup. "He wasn't wrong about my blood. Everyone has always said it. My family line is weak. Tainted. That's why no one ever claimed anyone from it." Rowan's grey eyes stayed on her face. "And you believe that?" "I've never had a reason not to." She almost told him about the cut. The words rose and then died in her throat. If her blood was truly corrupt, maybe this was just another sign of how wrong she was. Things that healed too fast were not natural. Things that healed too fast got people killed or studied or worse. She kept the secret behind her teeth and drank the water instead. It tasted of metal and old rain. Rowan did not push. He only watched the fire for a while, then said, "We'll stay here until the sun is up. After that we move north. There's less patrol activity that way. Once we're clear of Blackthorn territory you can decide what you want to do." "I don't have anywhere to go." "Then we keep walking until you do." The simplicity of the statement settled something in her chest. No grand promises. No pity. Just a practical next step. Elara pulled the blanket tighter. The torn bond still throbbed, a constant reminder of the man who had looked down at her and decided she was not worth keeping. She could still hear the laughter from the crowd. She could still feel the stone under her knees. She closed her eyes. Sleep did not come easily. When it did, it was thin and full of the sound of Kael's voice repeating the same words. Corrupt. Kneel. Do not come back. She woke before dawn to the smell of smoke and the quiet movement of Rowan near the hearth. He had kept the fire low. Grey light pressed against the cracks in the boarded window. Elara sat up. Her body ached from the cold and the walking and the leftover shock. She looked at her palm again in the weak light. Still perfect. Still unmarked. Rowan glanced over. "You slept." "A little." He nodded toward a small pile of clothes on the table-dark pants, a thick shirt, a worn coat. "Found these in the chest. They'll be big, but better than what you're wearing. Change. We leave as soon as you're ready." Elara took the clothes into the narrow space behind a half-wall that served as a privacy screen. The fabric smelled of dust and cedar. She stripped off the ruined white dress and pulled the new clothes on. They hung loose on her frame, but they were warm. When she stepped back out, Rowan was already at the door, a small pack over one shoulder. He looked at her once, checking that she was steady, then opened the door. Cold morning air rushed in. They stepped out into the grey light. The forest was quiet except for the distant call of a bird. Elara followed Rowan down a narrow path that wound between the trees. Her boots-also from the cabin, slightly too large-made soft sounds on the damp ground. They had been walking less than an hour when Rowan stopped so suddenly she almost ran into his back. He lifted his head, scenting the air. His whole body went still. "What is it?" Elara whispered. Rowan's voice was low and tight. "Wolves. Not Blackthorn. Something else. Moving fast." He turned, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her off the path into denser cover. They crouched behind a fallen log. Elara's heart hammered. She could hear it now-the soft, rapid sound of paws on earth, more than one set. Rowan's mouth was close to her ear. "Stay down. Do not run unless I tell you." The first wolf broke through the trees twenty paces away. It was larger than a normal pack wolf, with dark fur and eyes that caught the morning light in a way that looked wrong. Two more followed. They moved with purpose, noses to the ground, following a trail. Elara's trail. She felt it then-a faint, unfamiliar pull under her skin, as if something in her blood had noticed them and woken just enough to pay attention. One of the wolves lifted its head and looked straight toward their hiding place. Rowan's hand tightened on her wrist. The wolf took a step closer. Then another.