A glint of something like admiration appeared in the Guardian’s eyes. “You are as wily as a veiled fox. But I cannot agree to your terms.” His expression grew serious. “Everything I do will be to find the girl. To bring her back alive. If we share that aim, we shall have few disagreements.”

Twelve narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, but could find nothing objectionable in his face. After a moment, she held out her hand.

“Shake on it,” she said.

He laughed a laugh like pebbles rattling in a glass. “My first handshake.” Carefully, he lifted a paw and placed it on top of Twelve’s hand, the weight of it enormous. “You should call me ‘Dog.’ It is simpler than ‘Glorious Guardian of the Hunting Lodge.’”

Twelve snorted, then saw that he wasn’t joking. “People actually call you that?”

“Yes,” he said. “But Dog will do.”

“Well, I’m Twelve,” she said, scrambling up onto his back. “And this is Widge. But I’d prefer you call me ‘Stupendous Student of the Hunting Lodge.’”

Dog gave her a definite look over his shoulder. Then, without another word, he sprang along the sweeping tracks.

Twelve clung on fiercely as, with ever-lengthening strides, they raced toward the glowering mountains.

Chapter

Ten

They streamed across the snowfield and through a narrow, deeply shadowed gorge. Beyond that, a broad, pine-filled valley spread before them. The ridge of the First Fang reared into view, its face scored with indigo shadows, snow-kissed in shades of lilac. The moon carved an upward path through a deepening velvet sky and the first valiant stars peeped out. Night was closing in, and Dog ran as though he could outpace it.

The temperature dropped steadily and the wind scoured Twelve’s cheeks, freezing her snot and whistling down her neck. Her eyes streamed and the tears froze on her lashes, but she kept quiet, determined not to complain. The only warm part of her was over her stomach, where Widge was curled up beneath her furs, apparently fast asleep. At least one of them was snug. Dog hadn’t lied—riding him was uncomfortable: his back was hard, cold rock and he leaped across the snow in huge, flurried bounds that bounced her mercilessly.

The good news was they were moving fast. Twelve’s heart lifted as icy air whipped past. Maybe they had a chance to catch up with Seven after all. Hope bubbled in her chest as they sped through a dense stand of pine.

When Dog stopped, it was so sudden that she was thrown off, narrowly missing a tree trunk.

“What the . . . ?” Twelve spat snow furiously. Beneath her furs, incredibly, it seemed Widge was still asleep.

“Something is following us,” Dog growled. His hackles stood up in stony ridges as he looked back, his head cocked to one side.

Twelve strained her ears, but could hear nothing. “Are you sure?”