“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.