His terrible acting should have given it away at once, but I’d written it off as simply strange fae behavior.
“Don’t just stand there,” he says, then twists his muzzle into the semblance of a grimace. “My leg. Oh, my poor leg.”
“Your leg appears fine,” I say through my teeth, keeping as much calm as I can muster. Even though I now know I’m being tricked, my fear hasn’t lessened in the slightest. However, annoyance and fury are now mingling with it, giving me strength not to crumble.
“Fine?” he echoes, irritation seeping into his tone. “My leg is clearly missing. How can that be fine?”
“I agree it is missing, but there’s no evidence that it’s from a recent wound.”
He lifts his head, eying me with that ruby gaze. “What about the red stuff?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you think I don’t know tomato sauce when I smell it?”
With a huff, he rises to all three legs. That explains why I’d initially thought his movements held less grace than the other wolves. “So,” he says, “you don’t care to sacrifice your greatest treasure as a demonstration of your deep respect and admiration for me? Of your own free will and volition, that is.” Like before, the last part is said like an afterthought.
My mouth falls open as I shoot him a sardonic look. “No.”
“Very well.” With a shudder, the wolf disappears into a blur of white, only to leave a man in its place. A towering bear of a man with broad shoulders, a wild mane of long, dark, golden-brown hair, and a grizzly beard. The ruby color of his eyes is more subdued, seeming more like a shade of garnet, like the deepest, darkest wines. He hops on his left foot; the right limb ends at the knee and is hidden beneath the pinned-up leg of his brown trousers. Then, keeping his eyes fixed on me, he lets out a low whistle.
At that, several humanlike figures, just as grizzled as the fae man, emerge from each side of the path. Something tells me these were the other wolves I encountered, just in new bodies. The realization is of no comfort. “What’s going on?” I ask, hating the quaver in my voice.
No one answers me. A female with a weathered face and frizzy gray hair tosses the leader a long, gnarled staff that he catches midair. The top of the staff ends in a Y shape, which he props beneath his left arm. “On to phase two then,” he calls out.
The others nod, then turn to face me. I don’t have to look behind me to know I’m surrounded. I can feel it in my bones. Chest heaving, I dare to ask, “What’s phase two?”
A corner of the fae man’s mouth quirks beneath his bushy beard. “Take her.”
7
Ican’t see a thing, but whispers fall upon my awareness. I stop struggling against the tight bonds that tie my wrists behind my back and secure my ankles to the legs of the chair beneath me. That’s all I know for sure—that I’m tied to a chair. I strain myself to lean forward, turning my head to the side as I try and make out the words the voices are saying, muffled as if coming from behind a door.
That’s another thing I’m fairly certain of—I’m indoors. Blindfolded, bound, and gagged soon after I was surrounded by the wolf-people, I hadn’t seen where I was taken, but it didn’t take long to get me to where I am now. Despite my panicked screams stifled by the cloth covering my mouth as I was physically hauled over what felt like a shoulder, I recall the moment when the cool wind ceased stinging my face and the footsteps surrounding me no longer crunched like boots on snow but pounded against solid floor, echoing against walls.
None of that intel helps me now, for I can’t make out a single word that’s being said. What could they be discussing? How best to tear me limb from limb? My mind drums up vicious images, ones where the fae creatures shift back into wolves and devour my body while I scream at the top of my lungs. Or they curse me to dance until my toes bleed, just like the terrifying legends I’d so stupidly written off as fiction. It’s safe to say I was wrong about all prior assumptions about the fae.
Why did I have to come here? Why? All these weeks spent fearing the townspeople, their gossip, their lies, and the true monsters were the ones I should have expected—the ones every other sensible human being expects. The fae, the wolves, and the woods.
A sound, like the creaking of a door, falls upon my ears, followed by footsteps drawing near. Through my blindfold, my vision brightens somewhat, as if a light has been turned on in whatever room I’m being held in. Rough hands come to the back of my head, and I feel the blindfold begin to loosen. My heart leaps into my throat, terror surging through every inch of me. I don’t know what I’ll find once the blindfold comes off. I could be in a dungeon, a torture chamber, a—
I blink into the light, its glow the same soft quality as the indoor lighting of our townhouse, and find myself in a…bedroom. A simple, modestly furnished bedroom. It looks as if it hasn’t been occupied in half a century, but that’s its only horror. Well, that and the three figures standing before me.
Still in the form of humanlike beings, the leader—the one who had been that insufferable white wolf and is clearly this pack’s alpha—stands front and center, his staff propped under his arm, golden-brown hair in disarray around his shoulders. Slowly, I crane my neck to meet his eyes, surprised to find he appears far younger than I’d originally assumed. Despite his unkempt appearance, his stained linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his hideously wild hair and beard, his face is unweathered, devoid of the creases I imagined from afar. He can’t be older than twenty-five.
He’s fae, I remind myself. Fae don’t age the way humans do. For all I know he’s ancient. And even if he isn’t, his age has no bearing on my circumstance.
I burn the alpha wolf with a scowl, but I’m sure the effect is lessened by how violently I tremble. One of the two fae—a male with black hair and a dark bushy beard—behind him snickers, then moves to the other side of the room where he sits at a dusty bureau. He wipes his hand across the surface before retrieving a few sheets of paper and a fountain pen from one of the drawers. The other fae, the elderly, gray-haired female I saw before, crosses her arms over her chest, shooting daggers with her gaze. Just like the fae Imogen and I glimpsed outside the Verity Hotel, the only thing that gives these creatures away as being anything but human is their pointed ears.
The alpha leans forward, and I flinch back, but he only reaches for my cloth gag. With a grimace, he tugs it down, then takes a hasty step back, wiping the hand that touched my gag on his shirt.
“What do you want with me?” I aim for toughness, but my voice comes out weak and hoarse.
The alpha’s eyes flick from me to the wolf-man at the bureau. The latter, pen and paper in hand, nods. Returning his gaze to me, the alpha asks, “Are you married?”
The blood leaves my face. What kind of question is that? Oh, for the love of the saints, what have I gotten myself into?
The fae lets out an irritated grumble, his tone taking on a sharper quality. “Answer the question, human.”
I swallow hard. As much as I want to resist my captors, I imagine my best bet is to cooperate. For now. “No,” I finally say, “I’m not married.”
