“I don’t understand,” Grant murmurs to Vlad. We all hear it, all turn to look at him, and his face flames and he takes a step back.
“That’s all right,” Deacon says kindly, so patient, especially given the circumstances. “We wolves might say things as though we are made up of two halves, as though one could live without the other, but that is hardly the case. We are not human. We have never been human. Our wolves are what we are, and to remove them is—”
I cast my gaze away because I do not want Deacon to look at me with sympathy in his eyes.
Kieran is an anomaly, one that occurs only when a wolf mates with a human who has magic enough to sustain their would-be wolf child, too. He will never wield it, but it is what keeps him whole.
Magic is what sustains me as well. That magic is why I can never challenge the Huntsman the way Maurice did; it is why I keep my head down and do my job. If he takes my blessing back, I will die. There is no question. I should have died in the snow, and he hollowed me out and gave me magic enough to survive.
Maurice is right; Bryn will not survive this if we cannot find his wolf and return it to him.
“He’ll die, then?” Grant whispers.
“Who could have done this?” Deacon asks. “You’re saying fae, but who?”
“High fae,” Maurice says. “Or someone almost as powerful.”
“The twins?” Vlad asks.
“More than likely, but look, there are a dozen fae in the city alone who could have done this. What do we know about Bryn? That might be the best way to narrow things down,” Maurice says.
“Not much,” Deacon says. “We track the lone wolves, tell them to keep to the territories, but otherwise we leave thembe. They’re not here for any kind of pack. We’re responsible for them, but there are lines we try not to cross.”
“Is he conscious?” Vlad asks and Maurice shakes his head. “Then we begin by investigating. Maurice, I want that list of fae you have. Our high fae are the prime suspects, but we should be able to assess the others and perhaps tick some off.” He looks at Grant. “You will go over the list with me.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You have the most contact with them. It will be helpful.”
Maurice takes a seat in the room, drawing Vlad and Grant along with him. I hesitate.
“Can I… Can I see him?” I ask Deacon.
He blinks at me, apparently taken aback. He exchanges a look with Maurice, too, and I don’t like that at all, but then Deacon pushes off from the desk and pats me on the arm. “Sure. Let’s go.”
This pack house isn’t overly large, even though they’ve clearly taken a couple of the townhouses on this street and renovated them so there’s more space, but it’s a winding route to reach the room where Bryn is resting.
Deacon knocks politely on the door before he pushes it open. A young woman sits by Bryn’s bed, but I don’t necessarily think she knows him. It’s just kinder, isn’t it, not to leave him alone?
“We’ll be a moment,” Deacon says to her softly, and she nods, baring her throat slightly before she leaves the room.
I recognise him. OfcourseI recognise him because Vlad’s being cautious and thorough, but we all know there are only two high fae on the loose right now who might have done this.
Whyhave they done this? I trace Bryn’s face with my eyes. He looks older than me, though he must be younger than Deacon, and even unconscious, pain is etched into his expression.
I have to tell them. I half turn towards the door, ready to go back, but then I remember—
Quinn.
Quinn has bargained something to fight. He must have. And I don’t want to believe he’d bargain his wolf, not with how upset he seemed last night over feeling like he’s lost him…
What if he has?
Throwing the twins back through the veil won’t void the deal. Nothing short of killing them will. And the Huntsman won’t sanction killing them for one young wolf.
I don’t even think Vlad will.
“You know him,” Deacon says. His words are quiet enough that they won’t travel through the door, but then I think unless a member of the Hunt is on the other side, we’d never hear them anyway. His wolves are loyal.
