Quentin jostled her with a shoulder, trying to shake her out of whatever this was. “Please, little wolf,” he whispered again, fighting the panic clawing up his throat. “Please?—”
The wolf stepped forward.
“I said stayback,” Quentin snarled, swinging back to the beast. But it still paid him no heed, yellow eyes locked on Delaynie.
They were trapped like that, in a bizarre standoff between man, beast, and girl. Quentin didn’t dare move; what would he do, exactly, if the wolf attacked? It would barrel into him and likely take out Delaynie in the process. He needed to get it away from her, or get her into the wagon?—
When he looked again at her glowing blue eyes, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Something deeper was happening, something he didn’t understand. Something maybe she didn’t understand, either.
Was she awake? Was she aware?
He was about to grab her again, to shake her until she looked at him, until she spoke to him, did fuckingsomething?—
The wolf leaned back on its haunches, tipping its nose up to the moons and stars hiding behind the thick canopy.
Its howl tore through the night, bringing the jungle back to life.
Birds took flight. Tree-dwelling animals leaped from branch to branch. Insects and burrowers scuttled into their homes.
Delayniegasped. A shudder ripped through her and she doubled over. Quentin just barely flipped his knife out of the way to catch her around the middle.
“Delaynie,” Quentin said, urgency crawling and dancing up his throat. “Little wolf, what’s wrong?—”
The howl ended abruptly, wrenching his attention up. Delaynie clung to him, still shaking, her body too hot, so hot, all but burning up?—
The wolf gave her one long, final look. It turned, leaping over the fallen tree, and vanished into the night as silently as it had emerged.
Quentin’s heartbeat thundered in his chest. He gripped Delaynie, still holding tight to his knives, not willing to sheath them. Not willing to comprehend whatever thefuckhad just happened.
“Quentin?” Delaynie’s weak voice almost pushed him to his knees with relief. He loosened his hold on her, pulling her up to glimpse her face. He held both daggers in one hand, using the free one to cup her cheek. She was still flushed and too warm. Her eyes no longer glowed, but something bright and feverish lurked in them.
“I’m here, little wolf,” he murmured, scanning her. “What was that? What happened to you?”
She met his gaze, pupils wide, chest still heaving. “I—” She swallowed, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you get back in the damn wagon?” He didn’t mean to growl the words. Didn’t mean for them to come out so harsh. His fear still coiled around his heart, and growls rumbled amongst the murmurings of the jungle.
Maybe he was imagining them. That didn’t make the terror he felt less real.
Delaynie glanced around. She blinked, like she was trying to clear a fog from her vision. “I don’t know,” she repeated. The warmth was fading from her skin, the flush dying, her breaths returning to normal.
Her muscles still trembled, and she still clung to him, like if she let go, she’d fall to pieces.
Quentin swallowed. He tried to push down his anger—push down every protective instinct that was rising around him like a wild wave. He slipped his knives back into his baldric then pulled her into a guiding embrace. He cast a final, searching glance around their small clearing, trying to pierce the veil of thick darkness that consumed the jungle.
Nothing. As still and silent as it had been before, no traces of watchful, seething yellow eyes.
“Let’s go back to bed,” he murmured. She didn’t react, didn’t respond to him. It was like as she steadied, she also was retreating, sinking into herself as reality settled over her.
She let him pull her toward the wagon without fight or protest. Let him lead her beneath the canvas cover, where a makeshift pallet of blankets and furs was nestled amongst their food and supplies. She said nothing, utterly empty, when he guided her down and pulled her close against him.
This was another bad idea, especially given their conversation the night before. After what had just happened, though, there was no fucking way he was letting her out of his arms tonight. Damn the consequences or what she would say when his fiery little wolf came back to herself.
As they lay there, nestled in the darkness, Quentin’s mind fed him vicious images. Of all the ways that encounter could have gone horribly, dangerously wrong.
Sharp fangs sinking into soft, pale flesh. A gray muzzle streaked with ruby blood. A nightmare painted into the silent night, the memorial of a failed Armature who’d never deserved his station in life.
It was what could have happened. Whatshouldhave happened. He’d fallen asleep, let the fire go out, and all but invited the beast into their refuge.
