Chapter 17 · Poison at the Threshold

The scroll hit the floor and rolled, and I saw the red wax before Vane's boot came down on it.

Elder Council. I knew that seal. Every wolf in Frostveil did. It had been stamped on my exile order too.

"Don't," he said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

His voice came out like gravel in a bucket. Behind him the big oak desk was split clean down the middle, splinters buried in the furs. One punch. He hadn't aimed it at anything in the room. He'd aimed it at whatever was screaming inside his skull.

Black veins crawled up his neck. His eyes were more gold than gray now, the pupils gone to slits. The room was so hot my shirt stuck to my spine. The fire popped. Outside, the storm threw itself at the shutters, and the chain on my wrist clinked when I shifted my weight.

He bent, snatched the scroll off the floor, and shoved it into the iron-banded chest by the hearth. The lock snapped shut. He dragged a key on a leather cord out of his collar, turned it, and tucked it back against his bare chest.

Then I saw his arm.