Free Shadows by Ilsa J. Bick

He’d shucked the wolf skin, pushing the lupine mask back like a hood. Why only you, and not Chris? There was nothing she could glean from his scent either, which remained as inscrutable as his expression. In this, Chris was the same as well: guarded and secretive, good at erecting barriers, putting up walls. When he let her in and opened himself, however, there was a sweetness there. Chris’s only desire had been to care for and protect her—and look where that had gotten them both.
    Numb, she could only watch as Wolf bent to a knee, took hold of her left boot, and guided her foot into a snowshoe, gently clipping her in the way he might a child and with something almost like tenderness. He followed suit with the right. When he was finished, he pushed to his feet and slid a hand around her uninjured arm. Wolf tugged—and she followed, heart hammering, on legs as stiff as wooden pegs. What choice did she have anyway? Whatever Wolf and the others had in mind would not happen here. If they’d wanted to place her head on that pyramid, Wolf would’ve cut her throat, not skinned a slice of Alex-bologna.
    So she went: out of the circle, past the flayed wolves—the empty sockets of all those skulls staring after and into forever— and away from Rule. Away from Jess and Nathan, the other girls, Kincaid. Away from Chris and into whatever future awaited.
    Which, she thought, might be very short.

    * * *

    After a half hour or so, her brain kicked in again as the shock drained away. Her head ached, a steady pounding like the beat of a bass drum. Her shoulder throbbed in harmony with her pulse and hurt like hell. With the wound open to the wind and cold, now that Wolf had so nicely sliced away that portion of her parka and shirt, the pain was like nails being hammered into the exposed meat. Her nose was full with the tang of wet rust from congealing blood, though some still oozed in a warm, wet trickle down her forearm to seep into the ruined sleeve of her parka. Her wrist was damp, too, the glove a little squelchy. No pumpers, as Kincaid would say, and no glimmer of bone, which she supposed was all good, but the knowledge that she wouldn’t bleed to death gave only slim comfort.
    Still, if she made it through the next few hours, she’d have to figure a way to take care of her arm. She flicked a quick, sideways glance at her backpack hooked over Wolf ’s right shoulder. Had Jess included a first-aid kit? She couldn’t remember. But wasn’t it a good sign that Wolf had bothered to bring the pack in the first place? She worried the thought, turning it over, considering. It might be, if the Changed planned on keeping her alive for a little while. She didn’t think they were into energy bars and trail mix, but a captive would need food.
    Job one was to keep track of where she was and where she might be headed, maybe devise a plan to get away. Yes, but to go where? Not back to Rule. She thought of the whistle her father had given her, which she’d found in the lining of that boy’s jacket. Chris discovered the boy up north, near Oren. So that’s where she should head. For all she knew, Chris might even go back.
    But do I want that? The memory of Chris, unconscious and facedown in the snow, sent an arrow through her chest. That was her fault. Chris had tried to save her. All Chris had ever wanted was for her to be safe. She wished she could warn him now about Jess and Nathan and their crazy scheming. And this boy, his brother—what the hell was that about?
    Oh, Chris, be careful. There are more shadows and secrets in Rule than you kn—
    Her left snowshoe skittered on an icy patch. Suddenly offbalance, she let out a little grunt of surprise. Her left foot skipped into thin air, but then Wolf ’s hold on her arm tightened to steady her.
    “Tha—” The word was automatic, a reflex. She let the breeze claim it. This is not your friend. Looking at Wolf was too disconcerting.
    Then, she thought about the fact that she had