Chapter Twelve
The Long Hunt
The air inside the Gray Ravines felt like crushed glass.
Every breath scraped Willow’s throat raw.
She ran anyway.
Black spruce branches whipped across her face and caught in her hair. Thorned brush tore through the sleeves of her linen shirt. Frost-slick roots twisted beneath her boots, waiting for one careless step.
Behind her, the hounds bayed.
The sound ricocheted between the stone walls of the ravine until it seemed to come from every direction at once.
Closer.
They were getting closer.
Willow forced her legs to move faster.
Her body no longer belonged entirely to her.
Heat burned through her veins where the wolfsbane had begun to fade, while the damage left by sixteen years of poison dragged against every movement. Her senses arrived in violen
