Chapter 11 · The Hunt Goes Public

“Don’t touch me unless you’re planning to break my wrist.”

Caelan’s hand stopped around Lyra’s arm.

His fingers were still tight enough to bruise. His breath hit the side of her face, hot and uneven, carrying the sharp metallic smell of the curse. A thin black line crawled up his neck and vanished beneath his collar.

“Then stop reaching for the door,” he said.

“Move.”

“No.”

She twisted hard. He caught her other wrist and pinned both above her head against the iron door.

The old watchtower shook under the force of something hitting the outer wall. Dust dropped from the ceiling. Somewhere below, a wolf pack screamed for blood.

Lyra bared her teeth. “You’re losing control.”

“I know.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I didn’t take it as one.”

His eyes looked wrong. One was still gray. The other had gone silver-black, the pupil stretched thin like a knife cut. The curse had been quiet since they crossed the Moon Gate, but quiet had never meant safe.

It meant the thing inside him was waiting.

Lyra jerked against his grip. “If you turn in this room, I’ll have to put you down.”

“Can you?”

“Try me.