Chapter 26 · Feral Behind the Steel

The silver hit the air before I heard it.

A thin hiss, high up, from the vent over the vault door. Then the taste. Sour metal, like licking a coin dipped in battery acid.

"Vane." I coughed. "The vent."

He didn't turn. He stood with his back to me and his palm flat on the iron door, the deadbolt thrown. His shoulders were shaking.

"Get to the far wall," he said. His voice had gravel in it. Too much gravel.

"Not a chance."

The vault was a stone box under the old cells. Empty weapon racks, a cistern dripping in the corner, one oil lamp guttering on a hook. My breath fogged. His did too, in short, ragged pulls that sounded like something being dragged over rocks.

Outside, boots hammered the corridor. Then Garrick, muffled by the steel.

"Open up, Alpha! You're sick, and everyone's seen it. Hand over the girl and the elders might let you keep your teeth."

Vane's knuckles cracked against the door. A dent bloomed in the metal.

I moved. I yanked my coat off, shoved it in the cistern until it dripped, and climbed the rack to the vent.