Quentin couldn’t appreciate such things at the moment. Not when wild, desperate fear pierced him, washing away any cool anticipation of a fight he might’ve felt.
“Delaynie,” he hissed, still scanning the brush. “Get back inside the wagonnow?—”
A heavythingcrashed through the forest. A dark, massive shape leaped over the vines, landing with a heavy thud on the fallen tree trunk Delaynie had used as a bench no more than a few hours earlier. Yellow eyes narrowed on them, snapping teeth glinted behind a snarling maw, brownish-gray fur bristled in the dying embers of their fire.
A wolf. A huge one; far larger than anything Quentin had ever seen in his life.
He lunged forward, throwing himself between Delaynie and the beast. Its glowing eyes locked on him, another snarl ripping through the night.
Quentin flipped his dagger, balancing its familiar weight as he drew a second one from its sheath. He angled his feet, settling into a stance he’d spent his whole life honing. “Get lost, fucker.”
The wolf growled again.
They stayed like that, caught in a tense stalemate. Sweat beaded across Quentin’s brow, dampening his hair, dripping into his eyes.
Slowly, the wolf started to move.
It circled the tent, yellow eyes on them, lip still lifted in a snarl. Its giant paws were silent on the mossy floor, gray fur melting in and out of the surrounding darkness.
But there were always those eyes. Quentin never lost sight of those.
The wolf stopped, its yellow gaze sliding off Quentin, landing on something beside him.
Not something.
Someone.
Delaynie hadn’t listened to him. She hadn’t even bothered staying behind him, but had instead moved to his side, her shoulder inches from brushing his.
Fuck. What was she thinking?
He couldn’t ask her or yell at her or do much of anything.
The wolf lunged.
Its jaws snapped, snarl again ripping through the still night air. And yet it didn’t attack; only took a single step forward, ears pressing back to its skull as it fixed its gaze on Quentin. He was frozen in place, chest heaving, arms trembling from how tightly he gripped his daggers.
“Delaynie,” he whispered, not bothering to hide the desperation bleeding into his words. “Please, get in the wagon, now?—”
He swung his gaze to her, his words dying in his throat.
She wasn’t looking at him. Her expression was wide, open, and curious. Not a trace of fear lurked in the planes of her high cheekbones or in the proud set of her brow.
Her icy-blue eyes were pinned on the wolf, holding its stare.
And they wereglowing.
It wasn’t a glow like Mariah’s magic. It was like…
Quentin swallowed.
It was a glow just like the one in the beast’s eyes.
The wolf’s yellow eyes met Delaynie’s blues, and the jungle held its breath. The wolf’s snarl slowly faded, its lips dropping to cover its wicked teeth. The raised hackles along its shoulders lowered, its stance relaxing. It cocked its head, ears pricked, ignoring Quentin even as he readjusted his grip on his knives.
Delaynie stood stiff and still. Unblinking and unmoving, a statue but for the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she heaved her breaths.
What the fuck was going on?
