Sunlight pulled me back. The air smelled faintly of pine and smoke. My bed sheets tangled around me, cool and familiar. The clearing was gone and so was Remus. I sat up slowly. The mark pulsed in soft waves with quiet contentment. Maybe it had been a dream. Maybe not. But when I glanced toward the balcony doors, I could still see pawprints in the thin layer of dew on the stone, leading away from my room and disappearing over the edge.
My throat tightened. “Not a dream, then,” I whispered.
By the time I got out of bed, the mark had settled back to its faint shimmer, but every now and then, I swore I felt a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.
I showered, dressed in the soft gray sweater and black slacks Lyric had left folded on the chair. My reflection looked less like a professional assistant an
