Aralorn wasn’t certain if he’d chosen the mask out of irony or if there was a deeper meaning behind it, and she hadn’t thought it important enough to ask. He used the mask to hide the scars he’d gotten when he’d damaged his voice—and to put a barrier between himself and the real world.

It was her vexation with his mask rather than a reluctance to answer his question that prompted her to ignore his query and ask one of her own. “Why did you leave me again?”

She knew why; she just wondered if he did. Ever since he’d first come to stay with her, even back when she’d thought he really was a wolf, whenever they grew too close, he would leave. Sometimes it was for a day or two, sometimes for a month or a season. But this time it had hurt more, because she thought they had worked past all of that—until she awoke alone one morning in the bed she’d shared with him.

She might not need him to tell her why he’d left, but she did intend to discuss it with him. She needed to tell him, if he didn’t already know, that the change in their relationship meant that some other things would also have to change. No more disappearing without a word. Anger would distract her from the bleak knowledge that her father was gone, so she waited for Wolf to explain himself. Then she would yell at him.

He caught up her bags in a graceful motion and took them to the wardrobe without speaking. He closed the door, and, with his back to her, said softly, “I—”

He was interrupted by a brisk knock at the door.

“Later,” he said, then with a subtle flare of shape and color, he flowed into his lupine form. She thought he sounded relieved.

Aralorn opened the door to four sturdy men bringing in steaming buckets of water and a woman bearing a tray laden with food.

Watching them pour water into her old copper tub in the corner of the room, she rethought the wisdom of pushing Wolf.