Page 68 of Storm of Shadows

“You do?” Clare says, pushing her glasses up her nose, her face still flushed from the run.

“Yep,” I say, unable to stop from smiling, “although he’s a little unusual. Not strictly a student.”

“Oh my god!” Fly gasps, hands flying to his mouth, “a teacher?”

“No,” I say, “a wolf.”

Fly’s hands fall away from his mouth and my two new friends stare at me, unblinking.

“A wolf?” Fly says flatly. “What kind of wolf?”

“I have no idea,” I say, moving lumps of vegetables around my bowl with my spoon. “He lives out in the forest. Today’s run is the second time I’ve met him. The first time he saved me from an ambush. He’s really friendly.”

“I bet he is,” Fly mutters.

“What does he look like exactly?” Clare asks, eyes flicking to Fly.

“He’s gorgeous. Really beautiful. And big for a wolf. There are wild wolves out in Slate Quarter. Sometimes when the weather is really bitter, they venture closer to the town. They are always quite scrawny. This wolf, he’s huge, and his coat is like snow – pure white.”

“Oh Briony,” Fly says, dropping his cutlery down on the table.

“What?” I say. “I like animals, okay? And he wasn’t aggressive. He made me feel safe.”

Fly and Clare exchange glances again. “Should I tell her or should you?” Fly says.

“I will,” Clare adjusts her glasses. “Briony. He isn’t a wolf.”

“I know what a wolf looks like, Clare.”

“There are no wild wolves out here in this part of the realm,” Clare says. “There haven’t been for hundreds of years.”

“Well, you can ask the girls who tried to ambush me. I’m not seeing things.”

“He’s not a wolf. He’s a shifter,” Clare says.

“And by the sounds of things, Dray Eros,” Fly adds.

I nearly spit my mouthful of soup out across the table.

“What?!” I shake my head. “No … no …”

“Yes,” Fly says. “Possibly one of the other shifters but I’ve heard Dray’s wolf is pure white like you described.”

“But … But … he sniffed my crotch,” I mumble, my face now as flushed as Clare’s. “Oh my stars, he licked it!”

Fly roars with laughter. “That perverted son of a bitch.”

“I don’t think you should call him that,” Clare whispers nervously.

“Well, he is!” I say pushing my unfinished bowl away. I no longer have an appetite. “I can’t believe that was him.” I groan and bury my face in my hands. “I petted him like a dog.”

Fly keeps right on laughing. “I bet he loved that.”

“Why was he even in his wolf form?”

“I guess he likes to run that way,” Clare says.

“And are there other shifters?”