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A hand slaps across my back. I don’t need to look to know it’s Ashen. I heard him coming. “Hey.”

My fingers curl at my sides. “Did I not tell you to keep an eye on her?” I ask, emotion void from my voice. He was given one job while I stepped away.

“Yeah, I know,” he tells me, like it’s nothing that they sent someone clearly incapable of protecting herself into the dark maze of trees. Like they’re not responsible for the scratches on her hands and knees.

“Ignore her, deride her, but the next person who touches her…” I turn to my brother, who takes a small step back at the sight of the crawling shadows I know damn well are taking over my corneas. I may be able to contain them within me for the time being, but that doesn’t make them invisible to the rest of the world, especially when emotions are high. Anger seems to bring them out the easiest, and I have that in abundance. He, of all people, knows this, the same way he knows exactly what the shadows mean.

His reaction is appropriate, unlike with Vix. Where Ashen knows to step away, she seems to only come closer. Sumner searches for the darkness crawling inside me, not knowing just how much it wants her too.

“Sorry, man. I messed up. It won’t happen again.” Ashen raises an eyebrow, his way of lightening the mood. “Sooo, we were all going to head to Phantom’s Cove. You wanna come?”

Turning back, I let out a cleansing sigh. There’s a dull ache in the back of my skull. A headache that nothing can fix.

“Not tonight.”

It’s quiet when Ashen parts, making his way back to the group. Vix and the dog leave as well, walking back the way she and I came. My attention isn’t on them, though. I’ll deal with Sumner later. For now, the clearing just to their left has something far more interesting.

Foxes, like any nocturnal animal, hunt at night. They are clever and beautiful. Sly and cunning. Above all other creatures of the forest, I’ve always favored the fox. Their features are delicate, an ornament amongst the darkness. But delicate things bite. They are deceitful. Crafty. People only see the wicked side of the fox, ignoring the wonderment that makes them so captivating.

Male foxes are often referred to as dogs. They are, after all, a part of the dog family—the only good thing to come from that gene. It’s the females’ name that holds the most charm for me, however.

Beautiful and clever.

Vixen.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SUMNER

Josten walks beside me, giving me the space I need while also being the crutch my fragile state requires. I’m too scared to be alone, and I’m too closed off to tell him why. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to need an explanation. He can sense that I need him, and he’s here.

We turn down the street, coming to a large, gated driveway. Two pillars of stone arch high above our heads. Vines of the deepest greens crawl across the crafted gray walls encasing the mansion within, where at least an acre of manicured lawn surrounds the multi-story home.

“Welcome to Howlington Manor.”

I stare in awe as we get closer, never having seen a house of this size. Its granite exterior and large bay windows scream castle. All that’s missing is the moat and dragon.

“Just a warning,” Josten pauses at the entrance, “it’s a bit chaotic inside.”

I expect to walk into elegance and prestigious men in suits. What I see is a much nicer version of some of my past living arrangements—an open space with lots of shouting.

Two young boys chase each other across the living room. The one in front stops, turning to tackle the other. He’s taller than the one he took down, lanky, with a mess of brown hair that falls to his face. The other has a stockier build and curly blond locks that stick up in all directions.

I grew up around roughhousing, so it isn’t out of the ordinary. The difference, though, is the way they transform right in front of me. From playful kids to yelping creatures with heavy fur and long snouts. The clothes they wore fall to pieces at their paws, no longer recognizable as what they were.

“Hey,” a girl carrying a heaping basket of laundry yells as she steps into the room. “No shifting in the house.” They ignore her, running down the hall and destroying everything in their path. “It’s not like we want nice things,” she mutters, setting down the basket to pick up a glass that fell in the midst of the hurricane.

My view is mostly of her back, but I’m almost certain I know her voice.

“Ah, come on, cut them some slack,” Josten chuckles, closing the door behind us.

“You’re not the one who cleans up after them,” she argues, pulling her brown hair over one shoulder. “Besides, they have an entire yard they can destroy.” She finally turns to look at us, and the moment her navy-blue eyes land on mine, a smile spreads across her face. “Freaking Sumner?!”

Josten looks between us. “You two know each other?”

“Of course we know each other!”

“We work together,” I explain, surprised to see her.