I waited at the foot of the bed. Whenever I laid my head down, a noise from the forest made me raise it again. I did not like these woods, full of eldritch smells and sounds, made by creatures no man had seen.

The woman slept fitfully, twitching and coughing at intervals. At one point, I put my paws on the bed. If she were a pup, I’d fetch her a deer and feed her the good, raw offal, splintering the bones to give her the marrow. Then I’d lick her face and let her sleep curled against my heavy, furry body.

She smelled like the herb of her name, along with the scent of honey and sunshine. Her hands gripped the coverlet and her lips moved a little as she slept.

“Willow,” she said aloud, and her eyes snapped open.

I rose to my feet as she rose up, muttering. She swung off the bed and came towards me, her eyes wide and unseeing.

“I need to go,” she said. “I need to get the money to the friar.” She wiped her brow with a shaking hand, and when she took a step forward she nearly stumbled and fell. She caught herself and grabbed a broom leaning against the wall. “No more sleeping.”

She was sick, feverish. Half awake, half in a dream.

Heaving a deep breath, I Changed. The magic washed over my body like a cool bath, leaving me twitching a little. Her eyes focused on me as I became a man, and she shivered from head to toe.

“Get back in bed,” I rasped on a raw throat. “We will care for you.”

I took a step forward and she cowered behind the broom. “The nuns won’t like it. I have to work.”

“They are not here,” I growled. “They cannot hurt you.”

“Will you hurt me?” she whispered.

“No.” The word ended on a whine as the beast inside me clawed for control. “Sage,” I started in a gentle voice, then gave up. I lunged for her, using Berserker speed. The broom clattered to the floor as I caught her up in my arms.

“Enough of this,” I murmured to her as she turned a pale and petrified face to me. “Enough hiding our strength so you will not fear. You will grow used to us, and learn you are not in danger here.” I set her on the bed.

“Please, I don’t want you to hurt me,” she shrank under the blanket, still caught in a dream. “I can work, I promise. I’ll be good…”

“You are not to work, nor serve us.” I pulled the blanket from her hands and tucked it around her. “It is our turn to care for you. You will sleep,” I ordered. “Close your eyes.”

Her lashes fluttered against her cheek and her breathing evened out.

I wiped my brow of sweat. My heart raced as if I’d run a mile. I let myself slide down to the floor with a thump. I’d fought whole armies, watched my comrades lose their minds, spent years in agony fighting the beast’s feral nature. But as I watched Sage writhe and moan in the grip of fevered nightmares, I knew that caring for her might be the hardest thing we’d ever do.

Rolf? How goes it?

Sage is safe. I threw another log on the fire. The wood the witch had stocked here let off a pleasant smoke.

Did she wake?

Not really. She did something strange.

The woman twitched in sleep, moaning a little. I laid a hand on the coverlet, not daring to breath. After a moment, the lines on her face smoothed and she let out a deep sigh.

What did she do? Thorbjorn sounded impatient.

She woke up and thought she was back at the abbey. I had to change from the wolf to speak to her.

Did she say anything?

She said she couldn’t sleep. She had to finish her duties.

This is what the witch spoke of.

I stiffened, and forced down my sick feelings—nausea, and a touch of impotent rage. I forced myself to remain calm. Did you meet with the witch?

She said the sickness is in our mate’s mind. Sage bears the weight of guilt from what she did at the abbey. She will try to serve us, to stay alive. That is what she knows. She will sacrifice herself to survive.

I gritted my teeth. I strode to the door and almost jerked it open, before I remembered the sound might wake her. My fist pressed against the wood in silent threat. I was a strong wolf. I was no longer weak, and unable to defend myself. If someone came for me, my warrior brother or our mate, I could destroy them.

Are there any left in the abbey we can kill?

Thorbjorn laughed, a vicious sound. You know as well as I we killed the only one we could. And one day we will kill every last servant of the Corpse King, and the mage himself. She will have no enemies to fear. But she must overcome her fear of us.

What can we do?

We do what we planned. Care for her. Cherish her. Teach her she is worthy, no matter if she is ill.