Page 103 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

Wolf unfastens the worn leather across his chest with knuckles covered in scrapes and bruises and rummages in a pocket against his chest. Small, sure movements—as if he cares whether one jostle might hurt me.

Dangerous,a voice inside me whispers.

Heis dangerous.

The two small glass vials he pulls from inside the jacket look tiny in his large hands. Each is the size of my little finger. One with a brilliant blue powder, while the other…

Old Ones, that shimmering black liquid ismagic.

I traded my life for that magic for Finn—I’d recognize it anywhere now.

Wolf tracks my stare and flinches, deftly dropping the vial with the viscous black liquid back into his palm so only the one with the brilliant blue powder is visible. “You told Talon what the poison was.” An unreadable shadow passes over his guarded gaze. “Leave it to you to need the rarest antidote around. Luckily, I know someone.”

Keeva?

It has to be—Keeva can find anything. But I’m not about to risk saying her name out loud, not when we aren’t alone.

My eyes flash to Saraid. What is he thinking, talking about any of this in front of her? Those catlike eyes are shrewd. She’ll turn us both in the second we get back to the castle.

Wolf’s green eyes flicker to her, then back to me. The jagged edges of him seem to soften as he weighs the grit of my jaw and there’s a skitter of…intriguein the look he gives me.

It vanishes in a breath.

“Don’t worry about Saraid.” The hand holding the vial of blue powder flicks, and the tiny lid clicks open. “She won’t say anything, and nerve damage from creatlach doesn’t just go away on its own. Take a pinch and put it under your tongue.”

I still don’t want to trust him fully, knowing what he and the Whisperers have kept from us. But… after what I know now, maybe I’m starting to understand his secrecy.

And he did just save my life. Talon never could’ve gotten to me in time. Those assassins must’ve been watching me since the moment I got to the festival and waited until I stepped away to track me down.

Apprehension eases its iron grip around my chest. An ember of something strange and new and unnervingly warm flickers in its place. I dip two fingers into the narrow mouth of the vial and pinch out a small amount of the blue powder.

I raise them, as if in mocking cheers, then place the powder under my tongue. “Happy birthday to me.”

Surprise furrows his brow, a rare flash of emotion. “It’s your birthday?”

The powder under my tongue dissolves slowly—and it tastesfoul, acrid and bitter, sticking to my tongue and my throat as I swallow it down. My stomach turns, but I fight it. I need this antidote.

“Almost,” I grit out past the vile taste. “Soon.”

“When?” Wolf asks, almost softly.

I don’t answer—because immediately, the pain lancing through my hands… softens. Relief slips from my lips in a small whimper, and even as the powder begins to dull the worst of the agony, I almost wish it weren’t working. At least, not quite so fast.

Wolf’s mouth is curving into a satisfied smirk, and I can already tell—he’s exactly the type to be insufferable about knowing just what I needed.

The carriage rolls beneath us, and the ringing echo of pain in my ears eases enough to hear the crack and crunch of gravel under the wheels. The bumps don’t send jolts of agony shooting through me. Pins and needles tingle in my hands and arms, but the feeling is fading enough for me to gingerly test out a bend of my tender wrists. They hurt, but the sharpness of the nerve pain is fading. It feels more like a week-old sprain than a fresh break. It’s tolerable—if I had to, I think I could hold a blade and use it.

“Better?”

“Yes,” I say, rubbing at my face. The blurring edges of the pain ease the way a tide pulls back from the shore. Each throb is a little shorter than the last, putting a little more distance between me and the wave. “Talon’s going to be ripping their hair out worrying.”

“I’ll deal with them later.” Wolf scowls.

Saraid snorts.

Athim.

“What?” He glowers at her, and she rolls her eyes. That familiarity between them, the way she leans back against the cushions of the carriage, reclining like he’s the least dangerous person here… it’s if she knows him well enough to call his bluff.