The cold river rocks had been confronting, and would have left a collage of colourful bruises if he wasn't imbued with the gift of healing. Harsh elements, biting chilly air that had felt trivial to wolf hide but pricked and needled human flesh, and the remaining ache in his bones and muscles from the forced shift. The whole experience leaving him raw enough that there was nothing he could keep in.

Here, there is sweet lemonade, and the cuddly sweater he'd been given, and the hug of the couch he's in, and Marcus does not want to seem ungrateful, but it's strange how all these comforts jangle against his nerves. Maybe it's just the wolf, having had all that control for days on end, suspicious of domestic gentleness.

But Adrianna settles herself, looks at him. The power she exudes, he's beginning to grow accustomed to, and between that and Jude's aura beside him, it does something to remind him of where he is. And why.

"I don't really know your history," he admits. "Ours is long. That of mages, I mean. Centuries."

Marcus shakes his head, an indication that he will, if he can, pass on the responsibility of attempting to explain it. "My concern is the present, and whatever happens next. I'd know how this place came to be, and how it's run. How it's kept safe, within and without. How it's kept legitimate."

He stops there. It's a lot already.