A deal?” I asked.
He nodded, looking past me, eyes unfocused as if seeing another time.
“Years ago,” he said. “Before you. Before… most of this.” His jaw clenched. “We were losing. Wolves. Land. Food. The elders were desperate. My father was…”
He stopped.
A tremor ran through his body.
“Lucian?” I said, wary.
He shook his head once, sharp, as if trying to dislodge something burrowing into his brain.
“A witch,” he spat. “From the north. From—”
He broke off with a strangled gasp.
His hands flew to his temples, fingers digging in as if he could physically tear the pain out.
A low groan tore from his throat, teeth gritted.
The veins at his neck darkened again, but differently this time—not the heavy flood of a full surge, but a sharp, punishing spike.
“Stop,” I said. “Don’t push it
