Four wolves at the gate at midnight meant one of two things: a declaration of war, or something worse. Renwick's steward had the sense to know the difference.
"How many men did he bring?"
"Four, Alpha. His Beta among them."
"Send him in. And wake Cassian."
Nicholas Shadowfell entered the study with his Beta behind him. The other three remained in the corridor.
He looked worse than Renwick had ever seen him. Sweat had dried on his temples, and his skin held the grey undertone of prolonged pain. His jaw was set rigid like he had been clenching it for hours and had forgotten how to stop.
"Renwick."
"Nicholas. You look terrible. Sit."
Nicholas sat with reluctance.
"She's in pain."
Renwick's expression did not change. He folded his hands on the desk.
"Define pain."
