Chapter 16 · Live Weight

I got his hand off my stomach before he could press.

Wrist first. Then the fingers, one at a time, like taking a trap off a dog. He let me do it. That was the part that scared me.

"What is that, Seraphina?"

"River root." I dropped his hand. "Tastes like soap. Want the recipe?"

Gold bled into his eyes. Slow. Wrong. A man holding a match in wind.

"Your scent changed six weeks ago. I figured you were sick."

"I was."

"You're not sick."

"No." I let it sit. "I'm worse."

He stepped in. I went back — heel caught a root, spine into bark, hard enough to knock the air out of me. He stopped dead when he saw me flinch.

The bond pulled. Rope behind my ribs. The tribunal cut it in front of the whole pack, and the thing doesn't care. It scabs. It bleeds on both ends every time he gets within ten feet.

I saw the jerk behind his eyes. He felt it too. His hand came up, reaching.

Then it went in his pocket.

"If there's a child—"

"Quieter." Steady. Surprised us both.