Color floods her face. Immediate—cheeks, ears, throat. She tries to find somewhere safe to look and fails.
I glance down.
Right. Naked.
Wolves shift in front of each other all the time. Nobody cares. I'd forgotten—
Oh.
Also hard.
Half-hard, at least. Getting there—fast.
"She's stable." Her voice cuts through.
High-pitched, almost squeaky, too light for a blood-stained cottage. I've heard it before—snippets through the trees, laughter too bright for the deep forest. Up close it's—
"The fever broke a few hours ago. She woke up, we talked, she went back to sleep about twenty minutes ago. The wound's still healing but the poison's receding and she should—"
"Move."
She blinks. "What?"
"Move."
I'm already crossing to Kestria, dropping to my knees beside her. The human scrambles out of my way. I press my hand to my sister's forehead. Warm but not burning. Thebandages around her torso are clean, applied correctly, tight enough to hold but not so tight they'll cut off blood flow.
Better than most wolves could manage.
Kestria's heartbeat thrums under my palm when I check her pulse—strong, maybe a little fast, but strong. Her breathing is deep. Healing sleep. The bond confirms it.
"Here."
I look up. She's holding out a blanket, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. Working hard to keep them there.
"For—" She gestures vaguely at me. All of me. "You're—there's a lot of—just take it." She shoves the blanket at me. "I'd be more comfortable if you were covered. Not that your body doesn't deserve to be observed—it should. Very observed. Thoroughly, even. In a gallery or something. Extensive viewing hours."
Her eyes widen.
"I mean. Not by me. Or. Fine, by me. But not right now. I mean, not ever—no, that's also wrong, not ever is a strong statement, I don't know you. I just—put the blanket on. Please. Before I keep talking."
I take the blanket. Wrap it around my waist. Rough wool, scratchy, barely covering what matters, but enough.
Her shoulders drop with visible relief.
"What happened?"
"Oh, you know. Normal day." She's still wiping her hands on a rag that stopped being clean hours ago. "Nugget got into the dye pot, so she's pink now. Kestria brought me a deer she definitely didn't hunt. Then Theron showed up—the one who calls himself the Forest Warden—with five men on horses. They tried to take me. Kestria shifted right there in my yard. Got stabbed with something that turned out to be concentrated moonbright because apparently that's a thing that exists. I used the paste I've been making for a decade without knowing what it actually was. Fever broke a few hours ago. Oh, and I found out werewolves are real."
She pauses.
"That last part probably should've come first."
I know that name. Theron. One of the ones pushing for more aggressive containment for years.
Kestria shifted.
In front of five men. In front of a warden.
