Page 15 of White Horse Black Nights

Shifting my feet under me, I manage to lower to the ground and pluck off a piece of the rabbit meat to hold out, though Wolf’s rope certainly doesn’t make it easy. The mouse’s nose works double-time as it scampers closer.

“What are you doing?” Wolf’s bark from across the fire makes me jump—I’d thought he was asleep.

“There’s a mouse,” I answer coldly.

“I know there’s a fucking mouse. I heard it rustling the grass ten minutes ago. What are youdoing?”

One of his eyes is open, glaring at me suspiciously like feeding a mouse is somehow part of a grand escape plan.

Scoffing, I don’t give Wolf another second of my time and turn back to the mouse with a smile reserved only for it. In a softer voice, I murmur, “It’s hungry.”

The mouse creeps up to my hand, whiskers exploring as it happily accepts the scrap of meat, making a dining table out of my palm.

Wolf is silent for a long time, but I feel his eyes studying me. His energy chews up the air around us as surely as the fire devours the wood.

“Never seen a mouse before that you didn’t want to stomp?” I mutter in a hard tone. “I’m not surprised you’ve never had a pet. Or anything else to love, I’d wager.”

He adjusts his position, arms clenching tighter. “I’m trying to figure out what you hope to gain by feeding a fucking mouse.”

A sigh slips out of my lips. I’m prepared to have choice words for Wolf, but when I turn to him, I’m surprised to see that his suspicion has vanished. Instead, he looks positively fascinated, even gobsmacked, by what I’m doing.

Something about that look softens my anger.

Taking a deep breath, I explain, “It isn’t always about personal gain. All creatures, even a mouse, deserve to be understood.”

Judging by his pinched brows, this concept is completely foreign to him. There’s a challenge in his voice when he says, “Even the wildcat that will eat that mouse later tonight?”

“Yes, even the wildcat.”

His jaw works for a moment, and then he says in a guarded tone I haven’t heard before, “And me? Can you understand what’s in my head?”

An owl hoots from the dark canopy, unseen high in the trees.

I roll my eyes. “My gift only works on animals. You’re a person.”

His eyes devour me as he says in a dangerously low voice, like a warning, “No, little violet. I’m a Wolf.”

A shiver runs through me, spooking the mouse enough for it to scamper away. The darkness of the night feels palpable, heavy. The fire burns low, sending sparks skating toward the stars overhead. Suddenly I can’t look at Wolf without feeling like he can sense every fear in my body.

I roll away from him, curling up in the grass, using my bound hands as a pillow. My heartbeat wallops.

Does he sleep?

Does he stay awake all night, guarding me? Watching me? Jailing me?

The owl hoots again like it’s sending out a warning to all the forest. The clouds are loud overhead as the wind drags them across the stars.

When I dream, I dream of wolves.

* * *

In the morning, Wolf’s shadow blocks the dewy morning sun.

My heart kicks into a gallop, and I keep my eyes mostly closed, afraid to alert him to the fact that I’m awake.

He’s standing over me. Why is he standing over me?

A breeze ruffles my borrowed shirt hem, and it dawns on me that while tossing and turning in the night, his shirt has ridden up over my hips. My bare legs and the curve of my ass are on full display. With my wrists and ankles bound, I must look like a trussed pig for him, ready for the feast.

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