LYSSARA
My wolf knew before I did.
That was how it always worked when the thing going wrong was the thing that mattered most, the wolf registered it first, in the body, below conscious thought, before the mind had assembled the information into something that could be named. I was in the corridor walking toward the kitchen when my wolf went still in the way she went still when she had detected something requiring all available attention, and I stopped and listened, and the pack house sounded exactly as it should, and I understood that what my wolf had detected was not sound.
It was the absence of the mark's pulse.
Not absent completely. Irregular. The specific quality of a rhythm that had lost its pattern and was searching for the next beat and not finding it and the searching itself w
