“When I look at you?” she echoed. “I—” She wet her lips with her tongue. He could see the way she searched for words, just as he had, struggling to pull them up out of herself.
“I remember the boy I met once, long ago,” she said, closing her eyes. “I see my friend from childhood. Strong and… graceful.” She broke off. “I see Shadow.”
She was hiding something. It was in her voice. The answer was not what he wanted, though he didn’t know what he did want. And she was afraid again.
“You were never afraid of Shadow,” he said.
Her eyes opened. She circled the table and stood with her back against the counter. Her breasts rose and fell, pressing against her shirt in an irregular rhythm.
“It’s late, Kieran,” she said. “I’m really tired. It’s been a long day, and we’ll need to begin working on your memories tomorrow. I think we’ll both be better for a good night’s sleep.”
Sleep. Had it only been hours since he returned to human form, lost and confused and barely capable of speech? It seemed like an eternity.
But part of that was because of Alexandra. He felt as if he’d been bound to her all his life.
“There’re blankets folded up on the foot of the sofabed if you get cold,” she said, edging away. “I put plenty of wood in the stove. If you want to read, help yourself to the books on the shelf. If you need anything else…” She didn’t finish but retreated into the hall. He followed, and she stopped at the entrance to her bedroom, one hand on the doorknob.
“Good night, Kieran.”
He turned on his heel before Alexandra closed the door, strode to the sofabed, and stared down at the white, sterile sheets.
Stiffly he undressed, examined the pajamas Alexandra had bought him, and tossed them aside with the blanket. His body—the body she saw as Shadow—had no need of them.
When he found it impossible to sleep he rose and went to the kitchen in search of food. Alexandra’s notebook lay on the table where she had forgotten it.
He picked it up carefully. All day she had kept it close to her, as if it were a part of herself. Or as if she kept a part of herself inside it. He opened the cover.
Her writing was neat and precise and easy to read. His name was there.
In one day, Kieran has taken away any hope I had of peace here.
Peace. Maybe it was always asking too much. And I promised him—all that time ago, I promised to help him—and I’ll never break a promise again. This is my chance to make good.
But if he weren’t what he was—if he weren’t Shadow—I don’t think I could do this. Today proved I can’t trust him to be human, that the wolf is still just under the surface. And yet that’s the key, Mother.
As long as I remember he’s not really a man at all, I can do what I have to do.
The rest of the words blurred into nonsense. Kieran shut the book and went back to the living room, past the bed and to the door.
The night called to him. He could smell it through the wood, through the glass. He opened the door and lifted his eyes toward a sky brilliant with stars.
Constellations. They had a sweet familiarity, and he knew he had gazed at those patterns a hundred times. Somewhere. The memory was of no use at all. He remembered the shapes and some of the names—heroes out of ancient tales, and creatures spun of myth. As he was himself.
A creature Alexandra wanted no part of and couldn’t trust.
Kieran jumped from the porch and dug his bare toes into the crusty snow. He hardly felt the chill—a mark of his inhuman nature, the wolf in him.
She sees what you are.
The Voice. All the hairs rose on the back of his neck. He went very still, turning his senses inward.
Fight the Beast, boy. You must be human. Only human, or you cannot be saved.
He knew those words, as if he’d heard them a thousand times before, and not only in his mind. Bleak rage took hold of him. “Who are you?” he snarled.