Chapter 4

Outside the bars, the massive black shape shook itself. Water and mud sprayed across the moonlit stones.

The wolf didn't run immediately. It turned back.

Thomas pressed his face against the cold iron. "Isolde? It’s me. It’s Thomas."

The beast stepped closer. Its eyes were twin discs of sulfur, glowing in the dark. It lowered its massive head, sniffing the air. It smelled the blood on Thomas’s hands. It smelled the sweat of his fear.

Thomas reached a trembling hand through the bars, palm up. A foolish, suicidal gesture. "Isolde... are you in there?"

The wolf stared at his hand. Its ears twitched. For a second—a heartbreaking, suspended second—Thomas thought he saw a flicker of recognition. A softening of the brow.

Then, the lip curled.

The snap was so fast Thomas barely registered it. Teeth clashed together inches from his fingertips.

He jerked his hand back, falling onto the wet stone of the tunnel floor.

The wolf didn't bark. It didn't howl. It just let out a huff of indifference, turned its powerful body, and sprinted away. It vanished into the tree line of the dark forest without looking back, disappearing into the night to hunt.

Thomas sat alone in the dark.

From high above in the city, the alarm bells began to ring. A rhythmic, clanging warning that a monster was loose.

Thomas looked at his empty hand. He looked at the dark forest. He realized then that he hadn't saved Isolde. Isolde had died in Tanner's Alley. He had just opened the door for the thing that killed her.

He leaned his head against the rusted bars and closed his eyes, listening to the bells, waiting for the dawn that would bring him no comfort.