“You can’t avoid it,” she told him. “You need to summon Root from your Mark.”

Barclay knew she was right. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Viola, Ethel, and Abel didn’t seem afraid—they were Lore Keepers; they could take care of themselves. And maybe not all Beasts were terrible, but the Lufthund wasn’t like the ticklish Stoolips. He was dangerous. Even if he had helped Barclay escape Soren.

Come out, Barclay told it, hoping this wasn’t a huge mistake.

The wind answered. A breeze cut across the trees, making Barclay shiver from his head to his toes. The Lufthund appeared at the edge of the grove, its black fur harsh against the white snow.

Abel hollered and stood up. “Barclay! You didn’t tell us your Beast was a Lufthund! They’re wicked powerful.”

“And beautiful!” Ethel called, frantically flipping through her sketchbook for a blank page. “He even looks like you, Barclay!”

Barclay didn’t answer. He was too preoccupied with the Lufthund, who had crouched down and was watching Barclay as though preparing to attack. Its tail gave a sudden, violent swish.

It leapt forward.

Barclay screamed and darted away. The sound made the Lufthund freeze, its black eyes suddenly narrowed, uncertain and wary.

“Careful,” Viola said sharply. Mitzi appeared from her Mark and stood on alert on Viola’s shoulder. “Don’t startle him. Try to feed him.”

Barclay carefully reached into his bag to grab some of the meat. His movements startled the Lufthund, who let out a low, throaty growl that made Barclay’s heart stutter to a near stop.

“I’m just getting you some food,” Barclay told it. He grabbed the elk meat and slowly unwrapped it. He held it out. “Here.”

When the Beast prowled closer, Barclay had to restrain himself from stepping back. Even if the Lufthund ate the meat, there was nothing stopping it from taking a bite of Barclay’s arm along with it.

And so, once it got close enough, Barclay tossed the meat into the snow in front of it.

“There you go,” Barclay offered, his voice hitched.

The Beast watched Barclay the entire time it ate, as though it would rather be eating him.

That night at the Ironwood Inn, Viola, Ethel, and Abel all pummeled Barclay with advice.

“You need to be his alpha,” said Abel. “He’s like a wolf, isn’t he? He needs to respect you.”

“If you keep feeding him, I’m sure he will grow nicer,” Ethel told Barclay. Then she paused and added, “And maybe a bit heavier, but I’m sure that’s fine.”

“You just scared him a little,” said Viola. “You only need him to trust you. You’re his partner. His Keeper.”

As she said this, Mitzi scampered onto the table and lunged for Viola’s mug of cider—Mitzi had developed an obsession with the drink. She stuck her wing in it and dumped it all over the table.

Viola scowled and wiped away the puddle. “On second thought, maybe you should be his alpha. Maybe then he will listen to you.” She shot Mitzi an annoyed look.