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But he looked bigger. The gold bands around his biceps looked stuck there, so dense and thick had the muscle in his upper arms become. His shoulders seemed broader, his trousers more closely fitted over his thighs.

And there was blood on his mouth. Human blood.

Oliver swallowed with difficulty and glanced toward Ragnar, who’d gone to sit – whining faintly – at Leif’s feet, still in his wolf shape.

“He can’t shift here,” Leif said, and his voice was deeper and rougher than Oliver remembered. “He’s stuck as a man in our world, and here, apparently, he can only be a wolf.”

Interesting, but not important now. Oliver looked back to Leif and said, “‘Here’? You know where we are?”

Leif frowned and shook his head. “I only know it’s not a dream.” He turned and glanced off across the waving sea of grass, toward a distant shadow along the horizon. “There’s a forest there.” He jerked his chin toward it. “That’s where we are, usually. There’s other drakes there. Black ones. And a woman with dark hair.” His voice took on a strange resonance when he saidwoman.

“Amelia,” Oliver breathed, and earned a sharp look. “It must be my cousin, Tessa’s sister: Amelia.”

Leif’s frown deepened. “Or a sorceress. A Sel mage, like the one who was about to snog you.” He bared his teeth in a show of disgust, and at his feet, Ragnar started panting, tongue lolling from his bloodied jaws in a manner that looked distinctly like a wolfish laugh.

“I wasn’t – I didn’t–” Oliver spluttered, before he recalled that he was the elder and gathered him composure. He shot Ragnar a dirty look – blue eyes slitted in delight, fangs glinting in the sun – and said, “That was no mere Selesee mage. That was the emperor himself. Romanus Tyrsbane.”

Leif’s brows jumped. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. He put some sort of enchantment on Percy, and it worked on me, too, I suppose.” He shook his head, skin clammy with memory of that treacle-slow, unreal moment when he’d been caught in the man’s gaze. “How did you know to find me?”

“We could smell you.”

“Ah. That was lucky.”

The breeze gusted hard across the field, bending the grass, tossing Oliver’s too-long hair in his eyes.

There were a dozen things Oliver ought to have said to him. Your mother is worried. Your uncle fears Ragnar has too much influence on you. Why didn’t you wait for us? Why are you pushing away your family when all we want to do is to love you, and help you, and understand what you’re going through?

But he couldn’t bring himself to voice any of that. Instead said, “Can you show me the forest? If Amelia really is here, I’d love to talk to her.”

Leif’s expression twitched. Ragnar leaned into his leg and whined something incomprehensible to Oliver, but which caused Leif to stroke the top of his head absently. “Yeah,” he said. “Follow us.”

Oliver scratched at Percy’s chin. “Come along, you.”

They set off across the plain…but somewhere along the way, the Between faded, and Oliver blinked himself awake in the dark study, Erik snoring against his neck.

He turned his head and pressed his face into silver-shot black hair, felt the texture of braids he’d woven himself, breathed deep the pine scent of oil. He was home, safe; far, far away from grasping white hands, and burning lilac eyes.

But he shuddered all the same.

12

Another night, another village. This one south of the river, a strange and sprawling settlement all of timber and thatched roofs, set a mile within the Inglewood. The road leading to it had been wide, and well-traveled, deeply-rutted from wagon traffic, hoofprints sunk in the mud. Leif knew the forest proper was a tangle of wilderness, but here, an inn had been established, a village of craftsmen and farmers sprouting up around it, to serve and service weary merchants brave enough to travel the road that led into the trees. The whole settlement was encircled by a tall, pointed fence of logs, designed to keep out the wild things, Ragnar had said with a chuckle.

They’d traveled in wolf-shape, all save Ragnar, of course, and Leif too, slinking through the underbrush alongside the road. But as the sun set, and stomachs rumbled, and Leif began to scent the sharpness of desire on his pack, he’d weighed the options and ordered them to shift to two legs. They’d approached the gates, and the watchmen stationed there, in their man-shapes, offering false names and stories about their travels.

Thunder had rumbled overhead, and the watchmen had peered at them carefully, in the last of the daylight. “Travelers, you say? And young lords? Yes, yes, you look it. From up north? Of course, of course. Welcome, then, to Riverside. We can’t be too careful these days. There’s Sels about, and scarier things in the forest besides.”

Leif thought they probably counted as “scarier things in the forest.”

Another night, another village. Another girl. An inn, this time, and a hot meal first, decent ale, and then a private room. Bed, washstand, window. Candles burning, flames dancing up the mud walls. Rain drumming on the roof overhead.

And a girl moaning with abandon.

Leif sat against the headboard, naked, absently pumping his slick cock. He’d had his turn first, as his right as alpha, and was buzzing now with the pleasant aftershocks, enjoying the view and ready to go again, when Ragnar was finished. For now, he was content to watch.

The girl was pale blonde, long and slender, situated on her hands and knees at Leif’s feet. Despite her slim build, her breasts were full and heavy, and they swung forward and back, forward and back. She gripped the bedclothes in white-knuckled fists, face contorted with pleasure as Ragnar rode her hard from behind. Ragnar had one hand fisted in her hair, holding her head upright so Leif could see the wet O of her mouth, the teardrops standing on her lashes, his other hand gripped tight to her hip, pulling her forcefully back onto his cock each time he thrust into her.