Flames licked Asra’s skin. Her head pounded, and her ears rang so loudly that the crackling fire sounded distant, as if it were in another room and not actively threatening to consume her. Muffled screams and shouts drifted in from outside the walls.

Asra knew what this was. This was the attack on her home, the aftermath of the explosion that claimed her siblings’ lives. When she opened her eyes, she would see their bleeding, broken bodies, her brother’s face locked in permanent horror, her sister’s face obliterated beyond recognition. Asra could hear her mother screaming, feel her father dragging her from the innards of their ruined home.

Was this what death was? Reliving your worst nightmares over and over? Asra had hoped that death would finally allow her some rest …

Something else licked at Asra’s skin, warm and wet. It worked from her arm up to her face, and Asra finally mustered up the courage to open her eyes.

Her vision was filled by brown fur, a wet nose, and two amber eyes.

Bane.

A short length of his leather leash hung from his collar, frayed at the end. Asra reached up to him, stroking his chin with a shaky hand—the only one that was available to her. Her other arm remained fastened to the wooden chair, now toppled on its side.

“Oh, you clever son of a bitch,” Asra whispered to the ridgeback, then admonished herself. She must have spent too much time with Ciaran if she was starting to use human swears.

Ciaran.

The image of him, bloody and battered, crawling to the gun snapped her back to reality. She twisted her neck to look for him. The entire room was engulfed in flame and rapidly filling with smoke. She needed to get them out now.

She looked down. Three of the restraints held firm, but her left arm was free. She released the other buckles, the task impeded by her trembling fingers.

Coughing, she pushed herself to her feet. She squinted against the harsh light of the raging fire, scanning for Ciaran.

She spotted him slumped against the far wall, unconscious. One of his eyes had swollen shut. His breathing was ragged and shallow, and blood gurgled from his throat and out his mouth. He wouldn’t last much longer.

The sound of crunching glass from the other side of the room captured Asra’s attention. Nolan stood there, blood streaming from his nose and temple. He was only feet away from the heavy metal door.

Asra wrenched the broken arm from the wooden chair beneath her and advanced on him.

Someone slammed the door from outside. The wolf, most likely. It wouldn’t take her long to blast through the door, and when she did, Asra would be no match for her. She needed to kill Nolan now.

Bane’s whimpering keened and he paced frantically between Asra and Ciaran. As Asra moved towards Nolan, the dog’s teeth snatched the wooden bludgeon in her hands, and he growled. She tried to shake him off, but the dog’s grip was iron.

Her eyes flicked to Ciaran. By the look of his injuries, he likely had a significant concussion and internal hemorrhaging. If there was any chance of saving him, he’d need help now.

A force thudded against the door again, and a dent appeared on the inside.

She could kill Nolan or she could save Ciaran. There wasn’t time for both.

Bane whined beneath her. She swore and released the wood.

Asra raced to Ciaran, pushing through the pain as the flames bit her skin. When she reached him, his rattling breath was even slower than before. She pressed her fingers to his throat.

There was a pulse, but it was faint. She pulled his arm over her shoulders and hoisted him up, then she followed Bane down a narrow path through the flames.

Asra flung the opposite door open just as the door behind her burst apart. She caught a glimpse of the shapechanger across the room through the flames as Asra slammed her door shut.

She started to hobble down the hall, but Bane’s bark stopped her. He pawed at an oddly colored brick in the wall. It depressed into the wall at Asra’s touch, and a hidden door swung away from her, into a dark tunnel.

“Good job, buddy,” she said to the dog, and dragged Ciaran into the opening.

As she pushed the false wall closed again, she heard the door to the burning room slam open against the wall. Asra froze, her ears straining for the sound of the woman’s heels. The hound’s woe would have eliminated the risk of her sniffing them out, but her ears would be as keen as ever. After what felt like an eternity, the woman’s footsteps echoed down the hall.

Asra sighed as she dragged Ciaran further into the passage. It was dark aside from the glow of a spell along the tops of the walls—the same spell that lined the tunnel through the mountains they’d passed through several weeks before. She took a deep breath and forced her mind from the images of the ceiling collapsing in on them.

Ciaran’s ragged breathing was loud inside the deathly silent hallway. Asra set him down as gently as she could, leaning him against the rough brick wall.

“Watch out for trouble for us, will you?” Asra said to Bane, and he wagged his tail at her.

She hoped the legends of dogs with the gift having near-human intelligence were true. She had no idea what the proper command for making him guard was. She wished she’d paid more attention to Ciaran’s rambling about his dogs and their training. There were a lot of things about Ciaran she wished she’d paid more attention to.

Asra roused him with a gentle stroke across his cheek. His skin was cold and clammy. His eyes slowly peeled open, and Asra breathed a sigh of relief.

“Asra?” he croaked. “Is Nolan… Did you… get him?”

“No.”

His brow creased. “Then what are you doing?”

“Well, you know,” she mumbled as she felt gingerly around his head. “You rub my belly, I rub yours.”

He coughed, and droplets of blood sprayed from his mouth. Asra realized he was trying to laugh.

“I knew you had a sense of humor in there somewhere,” he said, his smile bright despite his gruesome appearance. “Just really, really deep down.”

“Stop talking,” Asra said. “You’re gonna cough up what little blood you have left.”

She tried to call her healing magic to her palms, but it never came. She swore under her breath. The spell must still have its hold over her. She was cut off from her magic and her fur. She took a deep breath, trying to push the panic away.

Bane growled behind her, and a familiar voice cut through the air.

“I’m impressed you made it this far.”

Bane’s nose curled and his growl progressed into a savage snarl. Footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, closer and closer, until Vincent appeared in the dim light.

Asra threw herself over Ciaran, covering his body with hers as best she could, and snapped, “Don’t take another step!”

Vincent glanced dramatically around the dark corridor, his hands held out at his sides. “Or what?”

Asra swallowed. There wasn’t much she could do against him in her state.

“You can stop with the theatrics,” Vincent said, rolling his eyes. “In case you couldn’t tell, I’m here to help you escape.”

Asra’s body did not relax as she asked, “Why?”

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“Because it’s not advantageous for either of us for you to die here.” He gave the growling dog beneath him a sidelong glance, then continued, “You need to warn your people what’s happening.”

Asra eyed him for a moment, then moved her gaze to Bane. The dog’s tail tucked beneath his legs, his ears pinned back and his brow worried as he continued to growl. He wasn’t sure what to make of Vincent, either.

“It’s your fault we’re in this situation to begin with,” Asra said. “Why the change of heart now?”

“Oh, there’s no change of heart. I’m not doing this for your sake.”

Asra narrowed her eyes at him.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was after the throne,” he said with a huff. “And I wasn’t lying when I said I planned to use Ciaran as leverage against you and Nolan both. I had rather hoped that plan would work.” He sighed. “But obviously it didn’t. And I won’t be able to stop an army of shapechangers, or Nolan’s weapons. They’ll destroy everything. And with this wolf-woman helping him … ”

“Jealous you’re not Nolan’s favorite kiss-arse anymore?” Ciaran croaked.

“We don’t have time for this,” Vincent said, his words short and clipped. “I’m risking my life helping you, too. You can either leave with me now or stay here and rot.”

Asra glanced at Bane again. He looked up at her and whined softly. She sighed and gave Vincent a single nod.

“Help me get him up,” Asra said as she stood.

He grimaced at Ciaran. “You look like shit.”

“You always say that.” He barely got the words out before he started coughing again. Asra glared at Vincent as she bent down to wipe more blood from his chin.

“Don’t give me that look,” Vincent said. “From what I understand, he did this to himself.”

“Get over here and help me carry him.”

Vincent sighed and hoisted Ciaran’s arm over his shoulders as Asra took the other.

“We’ll need to move quickly if we have any hope of leaving undetected,” he said as they dragged Ciaran forward.

They hobbled through the dim passageway. Bane trotted tight circles around the trio, ears and nose alert for danger. Occasionally he looked back to Ciaran and wagged his tail to him encouragingly.

“You could have killed Nolan if you’d attacked him as soon as he’d shown up,” Vincent said. “The spell takes time to set in. Why did you let Ciaran talk to him for so long?”

“I promised him he could say goodbye.”

Vincent scoffed. “You’re as much of a sap as he is.”

They reached the end, and Vincent cautiously pushed the false wall aside. They entered a bright hallway lined with paintings in ornate frames. Asra couldn’t tell if their footsteps were actually as loud as she feared they were.

“If it weren’t for him being a sap,” Asra whispered, “I wouldn’t have gone back to heal you after Bane attacked you. You might have bled out.”

He smirked. “Or worse, become one of you.”

“You don’t deserve the gift.”

As they approached a wide open intersection where two halls met, Vincent stopped dead in his tracks and waved his free hand to Asra, indicating to her to step back. Heavy boots echoed down a parallel hall, and slowly disappeared. The four of them hurried across the opening.

“Who is that woman?” Asra asked. “The wolf?”

Vincent made a disgusted noise. “Ekkrin Softstep. She calls herself Pack Mother.”

“She’s their leader.”

“I assume so, yes.”

“Why would they make a deal with each other?” Asra asked. “Nolan hates shapechangers and wolves hate humans.”

“Lambert,” Ciaran rasped.

“Good to know you’re still alive,” Vincent said, though his tone said it was anything but good. “And yes. There are rumors Duke Lambert is planning to break away from Windemere. Violently, if he must. It would deeply fracture the kingdom. Nolan is desperate for any allies at the moment. And the wolf-woman … ”

“She’s planning an invasion,” Asra said, her mind returning to the plethora of blood vials. “She knows how to gain access to everyone’s concealment spells, and she has the blood to equip an army.”

“Well,” Vincent said, “she did. Fortunately, this fool destroyed her blood supply. It will take her time to replenish.”

“Where … ” Asra swallowed, not sure if she wanted to know the answer to her question before she asked it. “Where did she get the blood?”

Vincent paused before he spoke, as if he had to collect his thoughts before relaying them. “Some were from those she killed, and some were from those she still has imprisoned. I pity the ones who are still imprisoned.”

“But … who?”

“Loners. Strays. Couriers, as she called some of them.”

Asra’s heart sank. Margot.

Targeting couriers made sense. Each one had the blood emblem for multiple towns and cities, and it would be easy for a pack of wolves to overpower one or two travelers.

“She’s quite frightened of you, you know,” Vincent said. “Or of your kind at least. So is Nolan. You should hear how he’s fretted over your whereabouts.”

Asra’s pride flared, but she quickly extinguished it. Vincent clearly intended this as some small olive branch. Asra wouldn’t accept it.

“My people were some of the most powerful fighters against the wolves the last time they tried to kill us all,” she said. “They couldn’t get any foothold in the west because of us.”

Vincent nodded. “So I’ve heard. She wants your kind out of the way before she launches her invasion proper.”

Asra’s stomach twisted. She’d thought tracking down and killing all the soldiers who had access to her town’s concealment spell would ensure her people’s safety. Instead, it had only seemed to put a larger target on their backs.

“They’ll turn on each other eventually,” she said.

“Oh, I’m not so sure of that,” Vincent said, eyebrows raised. “They both have a vested interest in ensuring the other succeeds.”

“Why did you help Nolan in the first place, if you want him gone?” Asra asked.

“He knows how to hurt the people I care about. I’m sure you understand that.” He paused for a moment. “And … Well, Lala never would have let me hear the end of it if I’d gotten her favorite volunteer killed, directly or indirectly.”

Asra tensed. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing that would reveal your secret. Or get her into trouble.” He smiled. “She’s under the impression we’re after the same man.”

Asra scrunched her nose. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Depends on which man we’re talking about, I suppose.”

“Why do you even care about her?”

Vincent paused for a moment, his brow creased. Asra had never expected to find the noble dumbfounded for words. He blathered on just as much as Ciaran did.

“My mother and I would have starved to death without her help,” he said. “I told you I was born a commoner. I owe that woman more than I could ever repay her. And believe me, I’ve tried.”

Vincent froze again, and they all scurried behind a corner. A group of guards stormed down the hall, too focused on their destination to notice the fugitives hiding in the shadows behind them.

“This would be a lot easier if I had my ears and nose,” Asra whispered when she was sure the guards were out of earshot.

They hauled Ciaran up again, and hobbled through a door into a long foyer. This side entrance hall apparently doubled as a shed and flower cutting room. One wall was lined with a variety of gardening tools, from shovels to pruning shears, and vases of neatly organized cut flowers lined the tables on the other wall. Even without her usual senses, the fragrance of flowers and fresh cut grass permeated the air.

“Is there really no way to get rid of … ?” Unable to find the proper words, she gestured up and down to her whole body.

Vincent frowned. “Theoretically, a sufficiently powerful magical source may be able to flush it out. It would need to be something exceptionally strong, though. The wolf-woman’s own healing magic hasn’t been able to remove the affliction from anyone we’ve tested it on.”

Asra swallowed. Her thoughts shifted to Margot. The thought that she and the courier might be cut off from their fur forever nauseated her.

“I have a flask in my pocket for you,” Vincent said. “For him. You don’t want him going into withdrawals while he’s trying to heal.”

“He doesn’t need it,” Asra said.

Vincent’s gaze snapped to her, analyzing, as if he didn’t believe she understood the full severity of the situation. He glanced down to Ciaran, then back to her.

“I see,” he said, his voice clipped. “Well. Don’t expect it to last.”

“I can’t imagine why he’s never been able to kick the habit,” Asra quipped. “If I had to put up with you all the time, I’d probably become a drunk, too.”

Ciaran made a noise that sounded almost like a chuckle.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” Vincent said. “This leads out to the west gardens. I have a horse for you on the other side of the fence. And I have some supplies packed for you. I’ll watch you from here to make sure no one—”

The path in front of them erupted into a wall of flame. Bane barked at something behind them. Before Asra could turn to see who or what it was, she was thrown off her feet by an invisible force.

Reeling, she rushed to sit upright again. Bane stood in front of her, barking in his rhythmic warning bark, and Ciaran was sprawled on the ground to her left. She pulled herself over to him and checked for a pulse. He opened his eyes and grabbed her hand, and she sighed in relief.

She craned her neck to look behind her. Ekkrin Softstep stood by the door at the opposite end of the room, leaning against the door frame with her arms folded.