Page 109 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

“You couldn’t have used that vial of magic in your jacket to kill all those assassins? Or kill the king from a safe distance?” The latter question has been clawing at me for weeks.

Wolf pours water from a heavy silver jug already on the table into a shallow bowl and dabs a piece of bandage into it. He reaches for my side and pauses.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and brace myself.

His touch is impossibly gentle, working not on the wound but around it, dabbing at the smears and trickles of blood. The cool linen of the bandage raises goose bumps along my ribs, racing down my stomach at the closeness of him and the way his lips purse as he focuses.

“There’s a couple different answers to that question,” he muses. “I didn’tneedmagic to kill those assassins. So, safer to keep it for the rare instance my blades or my fists can’t take care of the danger.”

“You’re cocky.” I wince and look away from him. “Good to know.”

Wolf’s hand holding the bandage stills on my skin. A slow smile curves the edges of his lips, the bottom a little fuller than the top. “Is it cocky if it’s the truth?”

Shit.That damn smile. I force myself to look away before my cheeks can heat.

“And as for the king,” he continues, frowning slightly, “it doesn’t work like that. Magic is… volatile. Especially with a balance as fragile as life and death. That’s why the Martyr, shecouldn’t save the High King’s first queen when she was being poisoned, but the vial I gave you worked for Finn. Healer mages spend years training to gain some semblance of control over the elements in us: the blood in our veins, the air in our lungs. They train just as hard as battle mages do, but becoming a mage…” Wolf’s eyes darken. “That training demands everything in you. It’s why only the most powerful mages could ever work with caoranachs—they’re pure magic. Their very existence is bound to there being magic left in the earth.” His focus darts to my wound, and his forehead furrows as if he’s weighing a heavy decision. He says softly, “And there aren’t many of them left now.”

I blink.

No, I misheard him. There aren’tanyof them left now.

Wolf’s eyes hold mine for a moment. “If we want to make sure someone is dead, we have to do it ourselves.”

Pain lances in my side, hot and fresh. “Fuck!”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, then brings the bandage back to the same spot, just a couple inches below the bottom edge of the slash, hovering right above the curve of my hip. “That hurts too?”

I seestars. Slam my fists on the table, stifle a groan. “Does this look like it feels good?”

“I was afraid of that.” Wolf doesn’t mince words. “The slash itself is long, but shallow. It’ll heal without stitches, but the edges of the wound are a lot more inflamed than I’d hoped. We need to sanitize it.”

“Sounds downright delightful.” I grimace.

Wolf reaches into his leather jacket, rummages, and pulls out a small metal flask. The cork pops off easily, and the sharp bite of uisce beatha makes my nose sting.

He offers it to me, jaw set. “Drink. It won’t block the pain, but it’ll help.”

I take it gratefully and swig the flask back.

Fire fills my mouth, a medicinal taste burning down my throat and reminding me of malted barley, of grains left out too long in the rain.

A cough breaks from me, and I press my wrist to my mouth, wincing.

Wolf takes the flask back, and his eyes skim over me. “It might be easier if you…” He gestures at the long table. “Lie down.”

This is not going to be fun, but there’s no other option. I hate it that he’s right—if the wound gets infected, I highly doubt the High Queen is going to make a healer available.

I need to be able to defend myself—to survive whatever is coming next.

I inch back, lifting my knees up so my boots rest on the edge of the table and anchor me as I lie down. Fear races through me—not of him but of the coming pain.

Of screaming—of the gardai hearing us and findinghim.

All the bandages he brought over are covered in my blood, except for one length I know he’ll use to bind the wound around my ribs. My tunic is a filthy mess on the floor.

I find his eyes, unsure how to ask for what I need.