Page 157 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“Beautiful work,” the archer approves, watching me struggle. “How long will the transformation last?”

“Forever.” The mage shrugs easily. “I’m the only one who knows the specific weave to this curse. He’ll die a wolf unless I break it.”

His words echo in my head as they lead me through the forest, growing louder with each repetition until they’re all I can hear.

Every step is humiliation. My tail tucks between my legs no matter how hard I try to control it, broadcasting my fear to anyone who looks. But the worst thing is the sensory overload that never stops.

My nose catches the path of a rabbit from hours ago and something in my brain insists I should track it. The urge makes me sick but I can’t ignore it.

Every sound is magnified. My ears swivel toward a bird landing fifty feet away and a stream trickling somewhere far to the east. I can even hear the archer’s fingers drumming against his bow.

It’s too much. All of it is too much.

But the collar keeps me moving forward toward whatever fate the guild has planned. Each step takes me closer to Tiamat and the crypts, to whatever punishment awaits a failure who tried to run.

I think of Aurora.

I imagine her running through the forest. She’s fast and she’ll make it to the border. Hope burns in my chest despite everything. The image sustains me for exactly three steps before doubt creeps in.

No, she definitely made it.

Her feline grace and years of training will get her to some distant city where she will be free living the life she always wanted. I have to believe it. I have to hold onto the hope that at least she made it out.

At least one of us survived.

I think of Garrett.

Does he know I ran? Does he know what happened after I fled Aelfheim like a coward? The questions circle my mind like carrion birds, picking at wounds that won’t heal.

I picture him waking up alone and finding me gone. Maybe he assumed I abandoned him. I didn’t leave him a note for fear the Hunters might use him to get to me. Perhaps he thought my contract was over and I left. He’s better off thinking that than knowing the truth.

“Missing someone?” the archer asks, noticing how I’ve slowed. He knows exactly what he’s doing, picking at wounds for entertainment.

I don’t respond. Well, I can’t.

My throat works uselessly, trying to form words. All that comes out is a soft whine that makes Stark laugh.

“Don’t worry about your friend,” he continues, his tone light and conversational. “The guild only sent two hunters for Wolf the failure. But Aurora Vortigern? Five hunters and the best trackers we have. She’ll be found soon enough.”

No.

The word screams in my head but dies in my throat as another pathetic whine.

She can’t be.

Aurora has to be safe somewhere far from here. But five of the guild’s best are tracking her. She’s been running for days, exhausted and alone. It doesn’t work in her favor.

“Maybe I’ll be her first customer when they drag her back to the Gilded Lily,” he adds, and the words are vile. “I hear she was quite popular before the guild bought her contract. I’m curious to see if she lives up to the reputation.”

Something snaps inside me.

Rage floods through my veins, incandescent and all-consuming. I lunge at him with everything I have, compulsion be damned. All the disconnected instincts align for one perfect moment. My jaws aim for his throat and that smug voice, for anything I can rip apart.

He stumbles backward with a shout of surprise, arms coming up to protect his face.

My teeth almost find flesh and—

“Stand down!” Quinnlan’s voice cracks like a whip.