The gravel drive opens up into a clearing of stone pavers, set against a wall of rough, grey field stone. There are three cars parked in the clearing—all big, and all very expensive-looking—and we roll to a stop behind the last of them. It seems unlikely he’s home alone. Not unless he keeps a lot more cars than he needs.

From the look of it, the place really is an old monastery or something—low and long, all stone and slate, tucked into the forest like a place forgotten. The outer wall disappears into the trees to the left, and a tall stone tower pokes up above the roofline from somewhere on the far side of the structure. Narrow lancet windows—all dark—peek out through the stone at random intervals around a wide archway, about a dozen paces in from the car park.

I look around as Brennan kills the engine, but there are no dogs in sight. In fact, save for the parked cars, the place could be abandoned.

I open my door and climb out, and Keely follows behind.

The air is damp and cool in my nose, scented strongly with wood smoke and decaying leaves. Somewhere in the middle distance, probably around the far end of the structure, I can hear the muffled sound of water running over stones.

“We go in?” Brennan asks, as he quietly shuts his door.

I glance at Keely—whose eyes are fixed on the archway—then around into the trees . . . but there’s no one about. I nod to Brennan.

I take the lead as I round the car, and we follow the pathway along the wall. The few windows are a bit too high for me to see in, and the effect leaves me uneasy, as if we’re being watched from behind, but I resist the urge to turn and check.

Within the archway, two massive, intricately carved wooden doors stand open, inwards, revealing a stone stairway up into a tree-lined inner courtyard. Warm light fills the space, cast from wrought-iron lanterns on either side. Under different circumstances, it would probably feel welcoming. But we aren’t welcome guests. Not yet, anyway.

“This the way?” I ask without turning, as I pause at the threshold. But I already know the answer.

“Yeah—up the stairs and to the left. There’s a door with a bell,” Keely says, stopping beside me.

I smile to myself—at least she’s figured that part out. I look to Brennan, but he just shrugs, so I step through.

At the top of the stairs, we emerge into a covered walkway that runs most of the way around the courtyard, supported by carved stone pillars. To the left, a short way down, there’s another heavy wooden door.

Across the courtyard, something grey, shaggy, and huge climbs to its feet and begins to stalk toward us.

I can’t imagine how Torrin will react when we introduce ourselves over his dead wolfhound, but I have a sinking feeling we’re going to find out.

The narrow valley opens up before us as we crest the ridge, a dense expanse of green and copper beech from edge to edge. Brennan down-shifts as we plunge into the darkness beneath the canopy, barely holding the road as it pulls sharply to the left, before straightening out down the valley wall.

“Torrin owns all this?” I ask—not without a little envy—as I peer out into the warm green twilight.

“Uh huh,” she replies bouncily. “The whole valley. There’s a river and everything.”

I glance across Brennan’s arms, down the slope, but the trees are too thick, and the light too dim—I can’t see through to the bottom.

But I have more pressing concerns. I tear myself away from the scenery.

“You think he’s likely to have human visitors today?” I ask.

“I don’t know . . . probably? Like I said, he did every other time I’ve been here.”

Great.

“How did your father . . . deal with them? I mean, how did he get Torrin alone to speak with him?”

“Oh, well . . . he didn’t have to say anything. I mean, they know each other—Torrin just excused himself and took us into his office.”

I nod just as a group of pheasants break cover and flee up the slope to our left. I spin around in my seat to watch, but they disappear from view in the dense underbrush almost instantly.

I can’t help but smile. This place . . . he can’t be all bad, not if he chooses to live here.

I drag my attention out of the forest and back to Keely.

“He’ll recognize you?”

She nods. “I think so. It’s been a while since I’ve been here, but, you know . . . it’s not like he’s going mistake us for humans, right?”

I chuckle—no . . . that’s not likely to happen.

She frowns, and adds, “I just hope the dogs aren’t out.”

My smile vanishes in a heartbeat. Dogs?

Brennan shoots me an anxious look, suddenly very alert. He lifts his foot off the accelerator, too.

“You can’t be serious.”

She holds my gaze for a moment, then nods apologetically.

Fuck. “Big dogs? Little dogs?”

“Um, pretty big? Setters, I think they’re called. Um, mostly? One or two wolfhounds. A few others—maybe a dozen in all, last time I was here?”

“A dozen,” I repeat.

I realize my mouth is hanging open and I feel the muscles around it twitch, like they don’t know whether I should laugh or cry.

A lone wolf. Hangs around with humans. Has a pack of dogs.

“What the fuck is with this guy?”

She shrugs apologetically and shakes her head slowly as she says: “Um, they were pretty friendly, last time I was here. I don’t think they’ll give us any trouble . . . .”

“Great.” I plaster on a tense smile and look away.

Outside, the forest slips by, full of warm light and quiet promise, in total opposition to how I feel. But it calls to me, in a way few other places have—its dark underbrush, its giant trees, so thick you’d need three people to reach all the way around them. The urge to be out in it, to run in it, is suddenly almost overwhelming. I want to be out there, free of all this mess. Free of all these weird people.

Is that so much to ask?

I snort out a breath.

Okay. fine, whatever. I’m going to have myself a nice, surreal little visit in the country. Two minutes, we’re in, we’re out. It’ll be fine.

I chuckle, though not because anything’s funny, and ask her, “So, is there anything else I should know before we get there?”

She shakes her head.

I wait a moment for her to change her mind, but she doesn’t. I settle back into my seat, and look down the road, through the forest I can’t go running in.

I guess it won’t be long now.

“We’re nearly there, right?”

“Mm hmm,” she answers, “maybe another five minutes?”

“He has a farm?” I ask, looking around at the surprisingly green meadows rolling by. We’ve turned down so many narrow, windy roads, I’ve lost track of everything but our heading: West.

“No, no—he’s restored an old monastery, or something, I think. It’s a big place, lots of stone.”

“Big family, then?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Just before I turn to look, she says, “Um, father didn’t tell you . . . about him?”

Uh oh. Now I do turn. “Ah . . . no? What exactly should he have told me?”

“Oh, no, no, “ she says, shaking her head quickly, “it’s nothing you need to worry about. It’s just . . . Torrin’s a bit . . . odd.”

“Odd,” I say, and wait.

She shrugs apologetically. “Um . . . well, he doesn’t have a family.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, it’s just . . . he lives alone, right?”

“You mean, completely alone,” I say, frowning. A lone wolf? Does that even really happen? “No mate, no pack, no nothing?”

She shakes her head.

But, how does he . . . . I shake my head, confused. “And he has a territory? All by himself?”

“Um, well, it’s not big, or anything. But, yeah. At least, well, Father insists on treating him like he does.”

Wait, what? “Meaning?”

She blinks at me, worried. “Well, I kind of get the impression Torrin would just as soon, well . . . not deal with any of us. He’s some kind of artist, I think? Famous, even. Every time I’ve been there, he’s had . . . human guests. I mean, he was nice enough about it, but, well, it just seemed like he’d rather we leave him alone.”

“Human guests,” I hear myself repeat, like some kind of idiot.

“Yeah,” she replies—again, apologetically.

I glance over at Brennan, but he’s giving nothing away.

A lone wolf. Who hangs out with humans . . . . What the fuck?!

I pull my attention back to the problem at hand. “Is he going to let us pass, then?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah,” she nods. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t think he really cares about his territory, to be honest. I kind of got the impression, last time, he thinks the whole formal thing is kind of quaint, unnecessary. But, well, you know . . . Father’s pretty insistent that the rules be followed.”

I nod slowly, though none of this is making much sense.

Suddenly, she thrusts her arm forward, past Brennan’s ear. “There! You’re turning there.”

Brennan slows, and pulls us onto a dirt road. We climb a ridge, and tops of trees come slowly into view.

For no reason I can put into words, I brace myself for trouble.

“You . . . live in the city, right?”

“Mm hmm,” I say, turning back in my seat to face her. I smile, but she doesn’t seem quite comfortable meeting my eyes. “Right in the middle.”

“Isn’t that . . . difficult? You know, living so close to all those people?”

I nod. “It can be. You’ve certainly got to be careful. I mean, no changing out in the open, no running around wolf during the day, that kind of thing; but, on the other hand, there’s lots of work to be had, it’s easy to blend in. Pros and cons, right?”

“You mean you only change at night?”

“Well, mostly. There’s a large park right behind our house, with lots of trees. I’ll sometimes run around in there during the day, but you have to be really careful. But, yeah, for the most part, wolf is for night.”

Frowning, she asks, “But . . . does that mean you only hunt at night?”

I laugh sadly, and reply, shaking my head, “Well, we pretty much don’t hunt.”

“You don’t hunt?!”

I shrug defensively. “Well, not where we live. There’s just nothing to hunt, and really no place to do it.”

“You don’t hunt,” she says again, shaking her head in disbelief. “But how can you . . . . ” She pauses for a moment, worried, then asks, “You know how, though, right?”

I burst out laughing, and the worry melts from her face, to be replaced with an embarrassed smile. “Of course we do,” I reply. “We still learn to hunt—and, frankly, we use a lot of those skills in our work. We’re just not hunting for our food.”

“Your job is hunting?” she asks, leaning in.

Brennan shoots me a glare, but I ignore him. There’s no harm in talking to her, as long as I don’t go into specifics.

“Well, sort of. We do odd jobs—for other families and sometimes for humans. Reconnaissance, investigations, courier services, protection, negotiations—you know, whatever needs doing. A large chunk of the city is in our territory, so if any other family wants to get stuff done in the city, well, they usually have to come through us.

“Oh, cool! So you’re like spies, or something?”

Brennan rolls his eyes, and I laugh again, as much at him as at the image of us as spies. “Well, not quite. But same idea, I guess. Anyway, some of the work we do is a lot like hunting. Just, you know—we don’t eat what we catch”—I waggle my eyebrows—“mostly.” She grins. “And, you know—in some cases, we just choose not to catch it at all.

“How about you? Doesn’t your family have a business?”

Her grin vanishes. She shrugs, and leans back into her seat. “Well, you saw our place. We raise sheep.”

“Really? I thought that was just a way to let you go hunting without the locals getting suspicious.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not all we have them for. We sell their wool, and some of the meat.”

She frowns. “That’s why we never have any money.”

She shrinks down into herself and looks out the window. For a moment, I wait for her to turn back, but she doesn’t.

“Well, I think it’s pretty cool,” I say. “It must be pretty nice to be so self-sufficient. I mean—if we go a few weeks without work, we’re fucked. As in not eating. But you guys, you don’t have that problem.”

She hesitantly meets my eyes again. “Well, I guess. It’s just . . . not very exciting, you know? We eat the same things every day, we do the same things every day. I don’t know, it’s just . . . there’s not a lot of room, you know?”

“What do you mean, ‘not a lot of room’?”

She frowns, and looks away for a moment. “Well, it’s . . . hard to explain. It’s just . . . I don’t know—I want more. I mean, my family’s big—everything that needs doing, well . . . it’s already being done by someone else. And as much as I love being able to run around . . . I just . . . ” She drops her eyes again, and goes silent. But I know what she’s thinking.

“You want somebody to trust you with something.”

She looks up, sadness—and maybe just a bit of hurt—in her eyes. She watches me silently for several moments. Finally, she nods.

I wake with a start to motion and blinding sunshine. I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the light, but the dream stabs at me from the backs of my eyelids, and I snap them open again. My shirt is damp with sweat, and I start to shiver, despite the warmth of the sun through the windscreen.

“You’re turning where that car is coming out,” Keely says hurriedly, pointing past me from the back seat. Brennan just nods and continues driving.

I arch forward in my seat, to separate my shirt from my back, but it clings stubbornly. I reach back and pull it away.

“Have a good nap?” Keely asks. I can hear the smirk in her voice even before I turn to see it.

I shrug, and run my hand up past my forehead. Even my hair feels damp.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Uh, maybe a couple of minutes?”

Really. Felt like longer.

The image flashes again, across my eyelids as I blink—him, the older me, standing over her. I clench my teeth and pull away.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, a hint of worry in her voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

“I’m fine,” I reply, and shake my head. “Probably just woke up too quickly.” I try to laugh, but it doesn’t quite come out right.

“Maybe you should go back to sleep for a while. It’s most of an hour before we get there.”

I shake my head again, but don’t meet her eyes. “No. I’ve slept enough.

“Were we talking about something?” I ask, more for the distraction than because I care.

She goes silent, but I can feel her eyes on me still.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asks again, doubtfully.

“Yes!” I growl emphatically. “For fuck’s sake, I’m fine! Will you leave it alone!”

I regret my tone almost before the words are out of my mouth. Brennan turns to look at me, and I hear Keely drop back into her seat behind him.

Nice job, Tiergan. Nice fucking job.

I crane around in my seat to apologize, but she’s staring out the window, her jaw set.

“Keely . . . I’m sorry. That didn’t come out the way . . . . ”

She doesn’t respond.

“You were right—I’m not feeling quite myself, just now. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’m sorry.”

She nods once, but doesn’t turn back.

I wait another moment, then resettle myself in my seat. I’ll just have to give her some time—I’ve got nobody to blame but me, anyway. Brennan shakes his head at me slowly, a look of . . . something—contempt? disappointment?—on his face, then returns to his driving.

Yeah, well, whatever, Brennan. If that’s who you want me to be, I’m happy to disappoint you.

The cabin goes silent, except for the purr of the engine and the hum of the tires against the road.

Chapter 6

I watch him, from behind—I can’t see his face, but it’s Faolan. He stands over her, his feet apart, his hand raised . . . ready to strike. Again.

She cowers before him—afraid, but there’s defiance in her eyes.

It’s the wrong play.

I try to stop him, to jump forward, to grab his hand before it descends again. But I’m not really here.

“No!” she growls, but he’s not in the mood to listen. He leans forward and grabs her by the hair, then drags her to her feet. She scrabbles at his hand, and he throws her against the wall.

“Bitch!” he yells, glancing at a red line on his hand where she scraped him.

“Please stop!” she cries. The defiance has softened. She cradles her shoulder protectively with her left hand. There’s blood on her right temple where she hit the wall. Tears form in her eyes. From the pain. Or from the hurt. But she holds his gaze.

It’s not a play, but it is a mistake.

“No!!!” I yell, and dive forward to stop him, but I’m not really here. He flies across the room—through me—and viciously kicks at her. She pulls away, and his foot smashes into the wall. He clenches his fist and swings it back, toward her as she moves away. He catches her across the mouth, and she spins away, collapsing to the floor under me.

There’s more blood on his hand now.

I climb to my feet and try to push him back. Away from her. I can feel her breath on my leg, his sweaty, hairy chest against my palms, my cheek.

“Faolan, please stop,” I beg him. “Please.” He steps through me and I grab at his back, but I can’t hold him, because I’m not here.

“Please, no,” she sobs. “I love you, you’ve got to know that.”

“You stupid bitch!” he yells, and kicks at her again. She jerks out of the way, and his foot smashes into her shoulder. She hits the floor and her head bounces. He turns.

“Oh, no,” I breathe, as my hand jerks to my mouth. For he’s not Faolan. He’s me. Older. Bigger. And there’s a savage anger in his eyes, an all-consuming rage that rakes over me as he turns. I shy away from it. He roars as he drives his fist into the dining room table. Plates and cutlery rattle and bounce loudly against the dark walnut surface.

“What happened to you, Tiergan?” she whispers to the floor. Tears leak from her eyes and spill off her cheeks, splashing to a growing puddle beneath.

A snarl forms on his lips at her words. His muscles are tense, down his neck, down his arms. His fists are clenched, his breathing’s heavy. He’s fighting with himself.

But he’s losing.

I grab his thigh and try to hold him, try to pull him back. “Please, Tiergan, please . . . . This isn’t you. Please . . . don’t let this be you.”

And for some tiny instant, we connect. His rage pierces into me, not through me, and I can feel the recognition in him.

“Please, Tiergan,” I beg again, struggling to hold his monstrous gaze, “this isn’t you . . . . Please.”

His body shakes as he presses his fist harder and harder into the table where it hit. And then the moment is over. His face contorts with a yell, and I lose my grip on his leg as he spins back to her, his shoulders rolled in, his fists clenched, his muscles shaking from the tension.

“Keaira,” I whisper as I slump to the ground. But she can’t hear me.

Because I’m not here.