My pen scratched the same notation I’d already recorded.
I frowned, erased the duplicate with a spell, and tried again.
“The magical signature displays characteristics of wolf pack magic, but the pattern is incomplete. Possibly fragmented or?—”
The heat of him. The way my body had fit against his like it belonged there.
The pen wrote the same line again.
I set down my tools and pressed my palms against the worktable, closing my eyes. This was ridiculous. I was a researcher. I’d spent years training my mind to focus on complex problems without distraction. One wolf king with an insufferable smirk and warm hands should not be disrupting my concentration.
The witch who catalogs and measures all,Acorn said from his perch near the window,finds that hearts don’t heed the call.
“I’m analyzing the samples, not worrying about hearts.”
She writes the same words thrice, her mind elsewhere takes flight.
“I’m working.”
The wolf has caught her thinking brain, and tangled it up like vines in rain.
I glared at him. He sat in a patch of sunlight, grooming his face with both paws, the picture of innocence.
“You’re not helping.”
He chittered something I chose not to reply to.
I forced myself back to the samples, running three more tests before I finally found something useful. The water sample contained traces of the same compound I’d found in the soil, but in even smaller concentrations. Whatever had been introduced at that site, it had been there long enough to leach into the water table.
That suggested a timeline. Months, possibly years.
I was making notes on the implications when I became aware ofhimstanding in the open doorway.
I didn’t look up. I’d started recognizing the particular quality of silence that meant Feral was watching me work. It happened most days now, usually before lunch. A habit I told myself I only noticed because I was observant. Not because I’d started anticipating it.
“Find something?” he asked.
“Possibly.” I capped the vial I’d been testing. “The compound in the soil appears in the water sample as well, which suggests long-term presence at the site.”
He strode into the room, stopping beside my worktable, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him and smell his piney scent.
I kept my eyes on my notes.
“How long?” he asked.
“Without more detailed analysis, I can’t be certain. Months at minimum. Possibly longer.”
He made a noise I’d learned to interpret as him processing what I’d said. I looked up at him.
His exhaustion hit me immediately. Dark circles under his eyes. Tension in his jaw. He held himself like every muscle ached.
“When did you last sleep?” I asked.
“I sleep.”
“For how many hours?”
His mouth twitched. “Enough.”
