Something about the set of his jaw and the cold glint of his eyes makes me believe him immediately. A cold lump sinks from my throat into my chest and finally into my stomach as chills of fear prickle at my skin.
He’s a maniac. A total lunatic, and I’m trapped.
“Owen—”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t hear another word from you. You’re going to save my people—and me. I have to do something now, right now.”
What the fuck?
“Owen, listen—”
“No, you listen!” he yells. “I don’t understand this, either—and I’m not exactly happy about it—but this is how it has to be.”
He reaches into his pants pocket, and for a moment, I’m afraid he’s going for a knife, but all he pulls out are two loops of string. He binds one around my wrist and the other around his.
Oookaay…
“But the sacred weave of the Dead Silk, let us be bound, mind and body as one, alpha and mate. The strength of our union enriches every wolf in the pack and protects us from all curses. So shall it be.”
He looks around, as if he’s expecting some great fanfare or word from the gods, and frowns when the night stays completely peaceful and quiet.
What just happened?
He lets go of me, and I wrestle with the string, getting frustrated when it won’t come off.
“What is this stuff?” I ask, still tugging on the string.
“It’s Dead Silk,” he says. “It will bind any magical creature.”
“I’m not a magical creature.”
“It holds humans just as effectively.”
He continues to look around, but nothing changes, and he finally gets up, offering his hand to me to help me up.
“I thought something would happen,” he says, disappointed. “I wanted some acknowledgement that it worked.”
“That what worked?”
“The marriage ritual.”
“Excuse me?”
Owen shrugs. “It’s from one of our old books. I didn’t want to wait around for the council to approve—we’ve wasted enough time already.”
The council?
“Owen,” I say, trying to sound reasonable. “I can see that you’ve got something going on with you—you’re distressed. Why don’t we go back to my place and talk?”
And call the cops and a bunch of guys in white suits holding butterfly nets and straitjackets.
“You don’t understand,” he says. “My pack is in danger. I really thought this would work.”
“Your pack?” I ask. “As in, wolf pack?”
“Yes. Didn’t I mention that?”
“Owen!” I snap. “Listen to yourself—you’re talking crazy! Please, just calm down, and we can—”
