“Wolf.”
“I am not here for sport,” the Wolf said. It was a he, for now, poured into a stocky and vaguely familiar man in his twenties. Somerset had seen him before, but the thread of recognition didn’t catch. “Mind what business sent you here, and I’ll mind mine.”
Somerset ignored that as he looked at Dylan. He looked at the bruises, the way the Wolf’s fingers dug into Dylan’s throat, and he felt the same inexplicable flush of temper at the man that he had last night. Humans were so fragile at times. How could they not take better care of themselves?
The thread finally caught, and Somerset glanced quickly at the Wolf to confirm.Thatwas where Somerset knew him from, when he’d been a man with a weak chin and a glittery bra in one hand. It didn’t matter. For now, he was the Wolf. But at least Somerset didn’t have to worry too much about what state the man would be in when the Wolf left.
He shifted his attention back to Dylan. “Are you OK?”
Despite the situation, the corner of Dylan’s mouth twitched into something that tried to be a smile.
“I always heard being hung upside down could make you taller,” he cracked, his voice rougher than Somerset was used to.Thatwas irritating as well. This world moved fast by his standards. Once he was used to something, the last thing he wanted was for it to change again. “Thought I’d try it.”
“Do you want to change your answer to my earlier question?” Somerset asked. He raised his eyebrows.
There was a pause as Dylan visibly thought about that. He met Somerset’s gaze steadily, his eyes calm and clear. “No.”
The Wolf made a rough sound in the back of its throat and shook Dylan hard enough to rattle teeth.
“Talk when I tell you,” he said harshly. Then he narrowed his eyes at Somerset. “I told you once, Foundling, but let me try again. This is none of your concern. I won’t tell you a third time.”
Somerset held up both hands, palms out, and fingers relaxed.
“I heard you the first time,” he said, angling his body toward the stairs. “The unCourted have enough troubles without getting on a Wolf’s bad side.”
The Wolf looked smug. He showed the thorn-teeth that studded his gums in a grin. “So,” he said, “we havenotbeen forgotten.”
Somerset didn’t know about that. The last time anyone had let the Wolves out into the mortal side of things had been long enough ago that, even though he’d been there, the details were sludgy in Somerset’s memory. None of the factions in the last coup had been desperate enough to go that far.
“Not by me,” Somerset said vaguely. A noise echoed up the hollow tube of the stairwell. It was half-howl and half the tortured creak of a tree in a high wind. It caught the Wolf’s ear, and he glanced away from Somerset briefly to look down for his pack.
Somerset took advantage of the Wolf’s distraction. He took two long, quick steps forward and grabbed Dylan by the shoulder. In his peripheral vision, he saw Dylan’s eyes widen. Somerset grabbed the waistband of the Wolf’s sweats, fleece twisted around his fingers, and lifted him off his feet.
The Wolf made a strangled noise of shock, and then Somerset tossed him over the rail. Dylan jerked toward the drop, too, the Wolf’s hand still locked around his throat. He grabbed the railing, as if he needed anything but Somerset to stop him from falling. Somerset pulled his knife out of his coat, the frost-forged edges still wet and the hilt heavy and familiar in his hand, and brought it down in a short, brutal arc onto the Wolf’s wrist.
Flesh split and bark splintered. Under it, bone came apart along the joint. The Wolf fell, and Dylan staggered backward, clawing at the hand still locked around his throat.
Somerset wiped the knife on his sleeve. The Wolf's blood would ruin the fabric, but better that than his knife. Hetechnicallyshould have given it back along with his rank. He’d certainly not get another one.
“We should go,” he said. “That won’t stop him for long.”
Chapter Five
Dylanclawedathisthroat.
The man’s fingers were still dug into his skin; he could feel the pressure against his windpipe. It took a second before he could rip it off. The severedthingdropped to the ground and twitched as it clenched slowly into a fist.
The cool, detached thought thatI should put that on icefloated through Dylan’s head.
Before he could do anything, Somerset stretched his foot out and booted the hand off the landing. It skidded under the railings and dropped after the rest of the man.
“Did you hear me?” Somerset asked. He grabbed the back of Dylan’s neck and gave him a shake. Technically, that wasn’t hot, but Dylan still felt heat flush through his body at the contact. “Move.”
He shoved Dylan toward the stairs. Dylan stumbled over his own feet as he took a couple of steps in that direction. He was calm, but it was the sort of disassociated calm that made it hard to keep track of his extremities.
“What was that?” he asked. “What’s goingon?”
“A Wolf,” Somerset said. He somehow managed to enunciate a capital letter. The knife in his hand dripped blood on the concrete as he slammed the door. “And your guess is as good as mine.”
