Page 108 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

A rumpled cot lies just under the window, and there are two narrow doors on either side of the cupboard. Storage rooms, maybe, or a washing chamber.

I risk a small smile. “How out of character for you.”

The tight slant of his lips cracks, a curve teasing at the edges.

A portrait leaning, unhung, against the workbench next to the cot draws me in. The frame is blackened with something thick and stuck into the ridges of its carved gilt, but the varnish on the painting itself is fully intact, as if someone’s taken the time to wipe any spatters clean from its surface. Each brushstroke is still clear—expensive, I bet—coaxing out the expressions of a dark-haired man with eyes like coals and a grizzled beard. A woman stands at his side, radiant with features that remind me of a hawk, strong and cunning and wise. Her hands dig tightly into the shoulders of a young boy, no older than his early teens, and a small girl beside him, maybe… seven or eight? I’ve always been a terrible judge of age.

My breath catches—the boy’s eyes areexactlythe same green as Wolf’s.

“Who are they?” I ask softly, hovering one finger over the outline of them.

I don’t know if I’m really ready to hear the answer. To see their faces here, like this, knowing what happened to them. This must be his family.

Wolf draws in a deep breath. It only partly releases in a pained exhale, and a flash of something wounded and hollow tears across his features. “So many questions.”

My fingers move to trace the edges of the frame. “It’s not like you ever give me any answers.”

“Are you sure you really want them?”

His words are ragged and hard, and I can’t help but think he expects me to walk away. To turn my back from him and flee.

I lift my eyes to find his. “I know you think I’m a coward.” The word stings. “But like it or not, I’m still here. I haven’t run yet.”

Long, callused fingers trail the edge of the worktable. “I don’t think you’re a coward.” Wolf’s voice lowers. “You’re the very opposite of a coward, Maeve. Youburn. Every time I let myself look at you, you’re burning.” Yearning sears in his fiery green eyes. “And it’s getting harder and harder to make myself look away.”

His words leave me grasping for understanding.

We would never work. Wecouldnever work, Wolf and me.

Even so, the words are a flame in the darkness, and I can’t resist the lure—the reckless hope in the shadows.

The moment feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, and one step will either pull us back or push us over—together.

After a long moment, Wolf’s eyes drift down my body to where my hand presses at the wound in my side. “Go ahead. Ask what you want.”

“Seriously?” Surprise instantly turns to suspicion. “Why?”

“Because I have one condition, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to hurt like shit.” Wolf nods to the heap of bandages and stitchesand supplies on the worktable, and my stomach twists. “You let me take a look at that wound so I can make sure it won’t get infected.”

I hesitate, but the memory of the creatlach and the nerve damage and the gut-wrenching, awful feeling of being too weak to help myself means it’s not a serious debate.

This place is too dangerous for me to be down for long.

The space between us is only a few feet, but his eyes fix on mine and time seems to slow as I step toward him. I’m entirely too aware of the way he watches me. Hunger and something dangerously close to longing turn his gaze molten, but he doesn’t reach a finger for me.

He makes me go to him.

And for some reason, I do.

The worktable comes up to my waist. I have to shimmy myself up to sit on it, wincing where the movement tugs at my side, and sympathy furrows his brow.

Wolf doesn’t say a word. He just lets me settle back so my knees and feet hang over the edge, almost brushing the tops of his thighs where he stands, facing me.

“Okay. First question.” I draw in a breath as my fingers work at the collar of my bloodstained cloak and the shirt underneath. I let them both fall to the table and meet his eyes in challenge.

Cool air hits my exposed skin, bare except for the breast band wrapped around my chest, and sends a shiver down my spine. It takes everything in me to fight to ignore the fact I’m half-naked just inches away from him.

The way his eyes flash as they trace down my body to theangry slash from my ribs to my hip almost tricks me into believing he’s just as hyperaware as I am.