CHAPTER THREE GEORGIE AT THE DOOR
G eorgie held Marion’s hand as if she meant to keep her mother nailed to the earth by sheer stubbornness.
Marion could not blame her.
The child had seen too many people leave.
She looked down at Georgie’s small fingers wrapped around hers. There was dirt beneath the little nails, a tear in one sleeve, and that stubborn tilt to her chin that Marion knew too well because it was the same one she used when Duncan spoke down to her. The sight of it made her heart pinch.
“Love,” Marion said softly, “I need my hand back.”
Georgie’s grip tightened. “No.”
Morna made a sound somewhere behind them. Not quite amusement, not quite impatience. Marion ignored her.
“Georgie.”
“No,” the child repeated, and this time her voice wobbled. “When people let go, they go away.”
The words struck Marion low and deep.
For a moment she was not in a cavern beneath Castle McFarland.
She was back in the cottage years ago, standing beside a cold bed while Georgie was too young to understand why her father did not wake.
Then later, watching Euan walk into the moonlit trees because he thought leaving would save them.
Then the Blood Moon cavern, Euan’s face above hers, blurred with agony.
Oh, that man.
If he survived long enough for her to reach him, she was going to shake him until his teeth rattled. Then she was going to hold him so tightly neither of them would know where one heartbeat ended and the other began.
Marion knelt in front of her daughter. The motion was easier than it should have been. Her body folded with a grace that felt borrowed from something wild.
Georgie noticed. Her eyes widened, but she did not move away.
“Look at me,” Marion said.
“I am.”
“Properly.”
Georgie’s mouth pressed into a small line. She lifted her chin and stared straight into Marion’s strange gold eyes with a bravery that made Marion want to cry and laugh and bite someone all at once.
“I am going to bring him back,” Marion said. “But to do that, I must leave for a little while.”
Georgie shook her head. “Take me.”
“No.”
“I can run.”
“You can trip over your own stockings.”
“I can ride.”
“Not fast enough.”
“I can sit on your back if you are a wolf.”
Behind her, Tavish made a strangled noise. Marion glanced at him. The young warrior looked as if he would rather face Aldrich’s laboratory than this conversation.
“Do not encourage her,” Marion warned him.
“I said nothing,” Tavish answered quickly.
Georgie tugged Marion’s hand. “Can I?”
“No.”
“But if you are a wolf, you will be large. Euan is large.”
“I am not discussing the size of my wolf when I have not even met her properly.”
That seemed to give Georgie pause. “You have not met yourself?”
“No. And that is part of the problem.”
The child frowned, taking this more seriously than Marion expected. “Then be polite when you do.”
Morna coughed, and this time Marion was quite sure the old woman was hiding a laugh.
Marion brushed a damp curl away from Georgie’s cheek. “Listen to me. I need you to stay with Morna.”
Georgie’s eyes flicked to the healer.
“With me?” Morna said, sounding less than delighted by the honor.
“Yes,” Marion said. “With you.”
“I am not a nursemaid.”
“No. You are frightening and difficult to disobey. That is exactly what I need.”
Tavish lowered his head, but Marion still saw the smile he tried to hide.
Morna glared at him first, then at Marion. “I taught chiefs how to breathe through broken ribs.”
“Then you can manage one child.”
Georgie looked between them. “I am not difficult.”
All three adults looked at her.
She sighed. “Not always.”
Marion pulled her into another hug before the tears could come back.
Georgie smelled of smoke, wool, and salt.
Her little body trembled despite her brave face.
Marion held her, trying not to think of what could happen if she failed.
If she reached the Grove too late. If Euan was already gone.
If Georgie lost another person because the grown world was full of laws made by fools.
No.
She could not let that thought live.
She kissed Georgie’s hair. “You are going to go upstairs with Morna. You are going to eat something if she tells you to. You are going to stay away from windows, doors, tunnels, armed men, strange wolves, familiar wolves if they are bleeding, and anything that hisses, smokes, glows, or smells like silver.”
Georgie leaned back. “That is a lot.”
“I am your mother. I am allowed to make long lists.”
“What about Tavish?”
Marion glanced at him. “What about Tavish?”
“He let me bite him.”
Tavish straightened. “I did not let her. She is very quick.”
Georgie looked faintly proud.
Marion narrowed her eyes at the young warrior. “You will help Morna keep her safe.”
His amusement vanished. He bowed his head, not deeply, but with real respect. “With my life.”
The words sat heavily in the cavern.
Marion did not want anyone else giving their life tonight. Not for her. Not for Georgie. Not for Euan’s cursed idea of honor.
“Keep it instead,” she said. “You may need it.”
Tavish blinked, then nodded.
A rush of noise moved above them. More feet, more voices. The castle had woken into confusion now. Marion heard her name in whispers. The word impossible. The word dead. The word silver, spoken like prayer and fear had tangled in the same throat.
Morna noticed the change in Marion’s face. “They know.”
Marion stood, keeping Georgie tucked against her side one last moment. “Of course they know. Wolves have worse gossip than village women.”
Morna’s mouth twitched. “Careful, lass.”
“I died tonight. I am allowed one insult.”
“You did not die.”
“Tell that to everyone carrying burial cloths.”
Morna’s expression sobered. “Aye.”
For a heartbeat they understood each other too well. Marion saw the cloth again, white on the cavern floor. She saw Morna coming to wrap her in it. She saw what Euan must have seen. Her own hand went to the bite before she could stop it.
Warmth answered under her fingers.
The far heartbeat pulled.
Slow.
Farther.
A tremor ran through Marion’s body. Not weakness. Something gathering.
Morna saw that too. “It is rising.”
“What is?”
“The wolf.”
Georgie looked down at Marion’s hands.
Marion followed her gaze and watched, with a curious detachment that was somehow worse than panic, as her nails sharpened another fraction.
Silver light slid beneath her skin in thin threads.
Her hearing stretched, caught the wind moving above the castle, the scrape of claws in the outer hall, an old man crying into his beard, a horse stamping in the yard.
And beneath all of it, Euan.
The beat had changed.
Not slower, exactly. Resigned.
That hurt more.
Marion pulled her hand from Georgie’s as gently as she could.
This time Georgie let go.
Her little face crumpled for one second before she forced it back into fierce order. “You will tell him I am angry.”
“Oh, I will.”
“And that he was very rude.”
“Extremely rude.”
“And that if he dies, I shall never forgive him.”
Marion swallowed. “I will tell him that first.”
Georgie nodded, then suddenly flung herself forward and hugged Marion around the waist. “Come back too.”
The simple words nearly undid her.
Marion bent over her, one hand cupping the back of her head. “Always.”
“You promised.”
“I promised.”
Morna’s eyes moved away, giving them privacy in the only way the stern woman knew how. Tavish shifted awkwardly near the tunnel, staring at his boots.
When Marion finally released her, Georgie wiped her nose on her sleeve.
Marion gave her a look.
“What?” Georgie said. “You are a wolf now. You cannot complain about sleeves.”
“I can complain about anything I like.”
That earned the smallest smile. Good. Marion needed that smile. She tucked it into her chest beside Euan’s heartbeat and the sharp new hunger in her blood.
Morna came forward and touched Georgie’s shoulder. “Come, wee terror.”
“I am not wee.”
“No. Enormous terror, then.”
Georgie seemed to accept this.
They started toward the tunnel, but at the entrance Georgie turned back. Her eyes moved over Marion’s silver streaked hair, the glowing bite, the strange light beneath her skin. Marion held herself still again, the old fear returning.
Then Georgie smiled, soft and trembly.
“You are pretty, Mama.”
For all the power waking under her skin, Marion had no defense against that.
“Oh love,” she whispered.
Georgie was led away before Marion could embarrass them both by sobbing.
The cavern felt too large once the child was gone.
Marion turned toward the far opening that led out beneath the castle and up toward the winter dark.
She had no cloak. No boots. Her shift was torn and stained from the ritual.
Her hair hung wild around her face. She looked, no doubt, like something that had crawled out of a grave and argued with the moon.
Well.
Perhaps she had.
Morna returned to stand beside her. “You are afraid.”
Marion snorted. “What gave me away?”
“Your sarcasm worsens when you are near terror.”
“That is unkind.”
“It is accurate.”
Marion looked down at her bare feet. “What if I change and cannot change back?”
“Then bite Euan before he can make any more noble decisions and we shall solve the rest later.”
Marion stared at her.
Morna lifted one shoulder. “You wanted quick advice.”
Despite herself, Marion laughed. It shook in the middle, but it was real. Then she looked toward the unseen Grove, and the laughter faded.
The wolf inside her pressed forward.
Not cruelly. Not like the fever. Not like something tearing her apart for pleasure.
It waited.
That frightened her most.
Before, the change had been a war in her body. This felt like a door with something breathing on the other side.
Marion closed her eyes.
Euan’s heartbeat answered again.
She saw him as she had first seen him, chained in the rain, refusing to beg. Saw him in her cottage, feverish and dangerous. Saw him with Georgie, awkward and gentle. Saw him leaving. Saw him returning. Saw him in the Blood Moon cavern, broken over her body.
No more leaving, she thought fiercely.
No more dying without permission.
She opened her eyes.
“Tell me what to do.”
Morna stood straighter, all humor gone. “When the pain comes, do not mend it. When the bones move, do not hold them. When the wolf rises, do not treat her as injury.”
Marion nodded once.
“And lass?”
“What?”
“If you reach him in time, do not waste your first breath weeping.”
Marion looked at her.
Morna’s eyes gleamed. “Scold him. It will do him more good.”
Marion smiled then. A sharp, dangerous smile that did not feel entirely human.
“Oh, I intend to.”
She stepped out of the cavern and into the snow-bright mouth of the mountain.
The cold wind struck her face.
The wolf rose to meet it.