Chapter 15 · Six Minutes

His forearm hit my throat before I heard the branch snap.

Two weeks in this timber and I still hadn't learned him. The rain, I had. The hunger chewing a hole in my gut, I had. Him, no. Valerius moved through trees like they owed him rent.

"Easy—"

My knife was against his ribs before the word finished.

He looked down at the blade. Then at me. Rain ran off his jaw and his eyes went flat gray, a decision closing behind them.

"Left side," he said. "You always go left."

So I went right. He caught my wrist and walked me into the rock shelf, forearm across my windpipe, mud crawling up my spine. I couldn't get air without leaning into his chest.

He was warm. That was the insult. Frozen ground a hundred miles in every direction and the man put off heat like a stove. My body leaned an inch before I hauled it back. My wolf rolled over for him. Belly up. Traitor.

"Breathe."

"I am."

"You're turning purple."

"Then get off me."

He didn't. His head tilted — listening at something I couldn't hear —