Chapter 27 · The Lock Takes a Bite

"You idiot." Celia's voice is shaking. She's backed against the wall, jacket torn, face white. "You absolute idiot. Do you have any idea what you just did?"

The floor stopped shaking thirty seconds ago. That's worse than when it started.

I can hear something breathing under the stone. Not wind. Not pipes. Something with lungs.

Rafe's still on his knees, one hand pressed against the altar like he's trying to hold it shut. Blood's running down his arm from where he bit me—no, from where he forced the bond to break. His teeth marks are on my wrist, clean and deep, and they're not healing.

He doesn't look at Celia. He's looking at the floor. At the cracks spreading out from the altar in perfect lines, like someone drew them with a ruler.

"Yeah," he says. "I broke your leash."

"It wasn't a leash." Celia's laughing now, high and sharp. "It was a lock. The only lock that worked. And you just opened the door."

The breathing gets louder.

I grab Rafe's shoulder. "What is that?"

"Old," he says. "Older than the pact. Older than the first wolves in this city."

"That's not an answer.