He gives a noncommittal shrug. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Look, just tell me what it is you want to hear because I truly don’t know.”
He pauses, and for a moment, I think he might believe thesincerity of my words. But instead, he shoves the knife all the way through my leg to the hilt.
I wail before my body goes into shock. Blood splatters his dark leathers as he wrenches the knife free and stands, wiping the blade on his pant leg. He stares down at me with icy indifference, ignoring the pool of blood gathering at my feet.
He must have hit a major artery because I’m getting dizzy fast.
“I’m going to bleed out if you don’t help me,” I breathe, my head lolling back as I struggle to remain awake. His image starts to blur beyond my blinking eyes. The last thing I see before they close is his knife slicing through the leather restraints before bending to scoop me up in his arms.
6
Iwake on a cot in the same cell, a thin blanket draped over me. Heart racing, I rip it back to examine my leg.
It is healed completely.
It’s impossible. I shake my head, dumbfounded. The massive burgundy stain on my jeans is proof enough that I didn’t imagine it. But there is no deep gash, no scratch.
Nothing.
I scramble to the iron bars, pulling and pounding my fists against them until the heels are bruised and bloody. I shout until my voice is hoarse from crying out for my father like a child waking fresh out of a nightmare. Exhausted and heartbroken, I sink to my knees.
I don’t make it back to the cot.
I curl up in the fetal position, shivering on the cold, hard floor as the tears stream silently down my face. A dull ache forms in my chest as I replay the earlier interaction between me and my dead father. The overwhelming shock of seeing him alive and healthy catches up to me in a raging flood of emotion. The sobs shake me relentlessly as I flip back and forth betweenterror, confusion, and strange joy. Because I thought I had said goodbye to my dad forever.
That is the only silver lining to this sordid mess. Seeing his face again.
Even if he doesn’t recognize me. Even if I die in this cell waiting for him to come.
A small white dot darts into my vision, slipping beneath the barred door of my cell. A flash of light erupts, sending me sprawling back toward the stone wall. The tiny white mouse is replaced by a male form. I find myself staring into the warm brown eyes of a young Mr. Tatler.
And his totally naked body.
I open my mouth to scream, but he rushes forward, clamping a hand over it and crouching in front of me.
“The guards will hear. If they find out I can shift in here, they will have me removed. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says in hushed tones. He slowly eases his hand from my lips, watching me warily.
“Where are your clothes?” I hiss. I don’t intend for that to be the first question out of my mouth, but the amount of skin he’s showing makes it kind of difficult to form a coherent thought.
“You humans with your shame.” He shakes his head and does a quick sweep of the room, snatching the thin wool blanket off the cot and draping it around his waist. With his lean, muscled chest and arms still bare, it isn’t much of an improvement to my poor concentration. His eyes catch on my bloodied pants and widen in horror.
“What happened?” he demands, dropping down to brace my thigh in his hands.
“I was strapped to a chair, tortured, and accused of being a witch.” I shove his hands away.
"They tortured you?” The color leeches from his face before something like rage takes over.
“Yeah, and I’m guessing it had something to do with your little stunt with the book,” I growl. “How did you just do that? You were amouse.”
My head swims as I search for answers in those eyes, those familiar brown eyes.
I gasp.
“In the forest, thatfox-wolfthing that tried to save me, that was you?”
He presses his lips together—his answering silence confirmation enough. My gaze shoots to his chest, where the arrow pierced him. I reach forward instinctively to check for the damage. He gently encloses my hands in his before I can touch him.
