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might I ask?”
    Daciana’s chin rose. Ulric could not help but notice the slight flush the bitter air forced onto her cheeks. “’Tis a secret, one which I have kept near and dear to my heart.” She glanced his way. “I am afraid I cannot tell thee, as I do not know whether my secret can be kept well hidden behind thy lips.”
    Ulric concealed his grin. “I am trustworthy, milady.”
    She gave him a sidelong look. “Thou art? Most men cannot be trusted.”
    “Aye, but perhaps I am not most men.” He watched her take this in, watched her rose-tinted lips thin and purse themselves together. He admired her dark hair, as dark as the bark of the trees in the forest ahead. And her eyes? He could not be sure, but they seemed radiate a burnt gold.
    A though struck him. No, it could not be! She was too beautiful, too graceful, to even be considered a monster. But he could not mistake the idea—those deep yellow eyes he had seen before, just a week ago. They haunted him through nightmares and unpleasant daydreams. He feared for his safety, and the safety of those he loved most. ’Twould make sense, though, that he had not seen the wolf before . . . until Daciana moved to Colchester.
    “Thou art not well.” Daciana stated, sucking Ulric out of his dreadful accusations.
    “I fear the wintry air has invaded my senses and left me troubled. Forgive me, milady, but I must retire for the night.” He bowed once, avoiding eye contact, and left in a daze.
    Before he could reach the entryway, Daciana called behind him, “I hope to see thee again, and soon!”
    Ulric searched for Alaric. He was in a corner surrounded by fellow gents and a few ladies, and, surprisingly, did not seem all that intoxicated. Alaric met Ulric’s eye and wiggled his way free from the small crowd gathered around him.
    “What is it, brother? Ye look as if ye have seen a ghost.” Alaric chuckled at his own joke, but Ulric did not join in with his own mirth. Alaric stopped laughing and became serious. “What is it, then?”
    “Come with me. I have much to tell.” Ulric ushered Alaric outside, where they shivered under winter’s mantle. “Ye may believe I have gone mad, but I need ye to believe in me, brother. That is all I ask.”
    Concerned for Ulric’s mental stability, Alaric politely nodded, yet wondered what could muddle him so. The list of possibilities was endless, and Alaric suppressed the urge to presume. He would be better off listening to what Ulric had to say.
    When they arrived at their cottage, Frederic was fast asleep in his room. Alaric stoked the embers in the dying fire and added new logs. Ulric anxiously paced the room, working out a plan to explain to his brother he felt possessed by the eyes of a giant wolf, they consumed his every waking hour, and that he might never forget the horror he witnessed a week ago. Yet no townsfolk had reported, or spoke of, a large wolf attacking any persons or livestock. It seemed the wolf was only after one thing: Ulric.
    “Out with it, then,” said Alaric, as he turned the cinders into a crackling blaze of warmth.
    Ulric began his version of witnessing the wolf only a week prior at the edge of the forest, how it came directly at him and he feared for his life, and the lives of Alaric and their father. He mentioned that he had not seen the wolf since, and had not heard of any persons reporting an attack. Then, with some hesitation, he told Alaric of Daciana, of her eyes that burned as brightly as the flames in the hearth now, and how they closely resembled the wolf. ’Twas too eerie to dismiss.
    Ulric stopped pacing long enough to hear his brother’s words. “What say ye?”
    Alaric stared at the floor, lost in his own thoughts, and stroked his chin. “I would say ’tis just a coincidence, brother. Surely ye do not believe Daciana is capable of turning into a wolf. This is clearly a thing of myth and legend, passed on from generation to generation to scare young children from creeping into