Page 110 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

Understanding softens the hard lines around his eyes, and Wolf yanks his jacket off. He bundles it up and hands it to me. “Bite down on this.”

That absolutely shouldnotbe as hot as it is, especially given what he’s about to do to me. The worn leather sinks beneath myteeth but doesn’t break. Smoke and sage and leather fill my lungs, and fear grips my throat. He has me completely vulnerable in this position—and I let him.

“Ready?” His lips tighten, but he waits for me.

I can’t speak past the gag of the leather. All I can do is nod, and Wolf tips the flask over.

Fire.

The alcohol scorches the length of the slash, burrowing deep into my flesh. A scream fights to escape me, but I bite down so hard I swear my teeth will leave marks forever in his jacket. My back arches, my body fighting to flee the pain.

I don’t let it. I slam my fists back on the table so hard that the wood groans, and endure.

Wolf splashes the alcohol over the length of the wound a second time, his eyes strangely pained, like I’m the one hurting him.

“Done,” he says firmly a second later, and offers out the flask again. There’s still a swish of fiery spirit in the bottom, and his mouth quirks. “Saved you some.”

The racing in my chest eases in time with the burn in my side.

“Fuck,” I curse, pressing both bandaged hands to my eyes until I see stars. The nerve pain is a dull thrum, easy to ignore. But it’s still there. My hands shake as I take the flask from him. “I should probably say thank you, but I don’t really feel like it after that.”

The answering rumble in Wolf’s chest is almost a chuckle—low, but easy, and completely unlike any sound I’ve heard from him before. “You can thank me later.”

I swallow down the remaining liquor and ease myself up so I’m sitting facing him again, legs hanging over the edge of the table.Blood from the assassins sticks under my nails, and my head spins faintly. Not from the sight of it—blood doesn’t bother me anymore. But from the thought of how close I came to not being here.

To beingdead.

“Do you think the assassins were hers?” I ask softly. “The High Queen’s.”

Wolf keeps his eyes low, not meeting mine, and nudges the arm on my injured side onto his shoulder while he begins binding the remaining bandages around my ribs.

“What makes you think that?”

The light-headedness and alcohol loosen my tongue.

“Because I know there’s still magic left in the Wells.”

My words are barely more than a whisper. As if just saying them, even with no one else around to hear, is too dangerous to bear. The weight of them forces me right up to that precipice between us.

Wolf’s hands freeze.

A tremor of heat flares where his skin meets mine. He pulls that wary mask over his expression. “And how wouldyouknow that?”

His tone roughens, but I’m not afraid of him. I lift my chin and stare right back at him, even as my pulse thunders in my ears.

“The High Queen sent all the gardai and servants away for the Test of Wisdom, then made quite the speech.” My throat tightens at the memory. “All about how important it is for them to keep working to drain the Wells. To keep the Martyr and the mages from ever coming back, or any power making its way to the people. None of the nobles were the slightest bit surprised.”I fight to keep my tone light—careful. Like skating around the edge of thin ice. “What I can’t figure out is how thefuckyou’ve all kept this a secret.”

So much for light and careful.

He says nothing.

“That’s what you were hinting at in the temple, wasn’t it?” Hurt follows close behind the quick flare of anger in me. “You were trying to gauge how I’d react if I ever learned the truth.”

Would you fight,he had asked me,if there was even a drop of magic left?

“Yes.” Wolf grinds the word out.

“Who else?” There’s no point in yelling. “Talon? Everyone working with you?”