He didn't hear Tara approach. She moved with light steps even in human form, like a dancer on tiptoe. She stood quietly by the manor's terrace doors.
"We need to talk," she said softly.
He didn't turn. "Now? After everything?"
"Yes. Now."
The weight in her voice made him glance at her. She was holding a small wooden box with a lock. She opened the box to reveal a carved pendant, shaped like a wolf's head. The wolf's eyes were set with deep red stones.
"This belonged to my mother. To her mother before her," Tara began. "And now it belongs to you."
Therese had received a ring shaped like a wolf's head, its ruby gleaming, when she shifted. They were Redmoon Wolves. The bloodline was older than this city, older than the Mendez name.
Tristan almost laughed aloud.
He pictured himself in wolf form wearing a dangling pendant by the neck. Likewise, he pictured Therese with the ring gleaming on her claw. But Tara was serious. So he kept the images to himself.
