“Make your choice. I’ll find you.”
When she left, he thought he’d already found her. And that, like Doyle’s exceptional pizza in Kildare, was unexpected.
She went to her room, changed into loose cotton pants. She decided she’d do an actual chart for the task schedule, with names, days of the week, and appropriate chores and errands.
Before she got started she walked to the terrace doors, opened them to the sound of the storm.
And saw the shadow of the wolf.
She caught the scream, swallowed it back. “God. You scared me, Riley.” She took a deep breath because her voice had trembled. “I don’t know if you understand me. That’s a question we should’ve asked.”
And when the wolf strolled into her room, she swallowed again.
“I guess that answers that. I’d offer to towel you off, but that just seems really strange. Stranger. Ah, Sawyer started a fire for you downstairs. He’s sweet that way, and thought of it.”
The wolf simply stood, watching her. Unnerving, Sasha thought, to look at the wolf—sleek and wet and fierce—and see Riley’s eyes. “You should try to get some sleep tonight—I don’t know if that’s how it works, but if you can, you should get some sleep. Doyle called for calisthenics at dawn.”
At this, the wolf growled low.
“Okay, you definitely understand me. It actually makes sense, as a whole. I’m going to do a household supply list, and task assignments. And we’re going to start the training—by skill set—tomorrow. The men are going to get together down in the kitchen, talk battle strategies.”
The growl came again, and now the wolf paced.
“Yeah, I had the same reaction, except you’re invited onto the war council.” When the wolf stopped pacing, Sasha nodded. “Right. We figured you had some experience where Annika and I don’t. But we will. We’re going to take tomorrow, seeing as you have to make it a short day, to start putting the training together. See, it makes sense.”
She wasn’t sure if the sound the wolf made was agreement or resignation, but it wasn’t quite a growl.
“You should go down, get warm and dry. You might not be able to add anything to the strategy session, but you can listen.”
The wolf walked to the door. Sasha followed, opened it.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
She closed the door quietly on what she decided was the strangest conversation she’d ever had.
Suddenly, it struck her. Could she sense Riley’s feelings—in wolf form? Feelings echoed thoughts. So if she could, there could be more of a conversation.
She’d ask Riley if she was open to trying it.
But for now, with the storm blowing out to sea, she got her supplies, and began creating a chart.
She did a draft, edited it, re-edited it. It took longer than she’d imagined. She finished it, perfected it, then wrote out a supply list with a lot less fuss.
Done, she forced herself to put in fifteen minutes with Riley’s bands, and tried some push-ups. She would get stronger.
Still alone, she slid into bed with her sketch pad.
And fell asleep with a half dozen sketches of the wolf on her page.
When Bran slipped in beside her, she sensed his warmth, turned to him.
“It’s late.” He brushed his lips over her brow. “Sleep.”
So she slept on, and dreamed of a room lined in gold and silver, studded with jewels, mirror-bright.
She dreamed of the god who sat on her golden throne, staring into those jewels, her beauty dark and unearthly.
The reflections, dozens and dozens, covered those walls, and were wizened, hideous, twisted.