Page 115 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

His gaze turns hard, assessing.

Gone is the man whose hunger chased my own higher and higher just moments ago—in his place is the ruthless rebel I first met in that safe house. Because even if Wolf and Talon both say he isn’t the leader, I’m only getting more and more sure—he’s important to the Whisperers in a way I don’t understand yet. He’s more than just what he called himself—their knife in the dark.

How else would he know so much about their plans?

Why else would he actually get to carry around magic?

“Go on,” Wolf urges me. There’s a testing weight in his stare, in the tilt of his head as he watches me think the plan through. As if he wants to see how my mind works, to trace the path of my thinking. “Who would you pick?”

Fire runs along the insides of my veins.

Life and death. That’s what I’m holding in my hands right now.

And I don’t hesitate.

“Oona.”

Cunning simmers in his eyes. They don’t leave mine for even a heartbeat. “Why?”

The way he watches me… my heart thrums. Finding the right words to explain what’s in my head is hard, but I try to lay out my thinking as clearly as I can.

“We aren’t a traditional army. We can’t match the nobles or the Crown in open conflict—not yet, at least, since you haven’t told the people the truth about magic. So, we have to pick targets that will have the biggest impact on the Crown and the nobles we’re trying to tear apart. Specific, targeted violence with no innocent victims if we can help it.”

Slowly, Wolf reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He draws out the vial of shimmering black magic, only a few viscous drops—but it’s enough.

It has to be enough.

“When?” A flicker of dark tension carves the space between his brows.

Exhilaration heats my blood. “Tomorrow night.” The High Queen’s birthday feast. “The whole court will be there. Can you plant a tip with the Lady of Shadows?”

Wolf’s hand finds the curve of my jaw, the other cupping around the back of my neck as he leans in. There’s a protective weight to his touch, and I can’t deny the ache it stirs inside me. “I think we know someone who can manage that.”

Wolf’s mouth finds mine again, even as he pulls himself away. “I need to tell the others. Just promise me…” His voice roughens. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you won’t let your guard down for even a second. Not with him.”

I squeeze his hand in mine, undeniable hurt racing through me at the memory of Cashel admitting what he did to Wolf and his family. How easily he said it, like he still has no regrets.

If we’re right, this could changeeverythingfor us.

If we’re wrong, we could all die tomorrow.

TWENTY-EIGHT

I meet him in the garden, under the same sliver of moonlight as the first night we met.

This time, the moon is waxing, not waning, andeverythingis different.

The scrap of paper was easy enough to hide in Cashel’s room while he was at a dinner reception I missed by pleading sickness. I used the same secret passage Wolf led me through. Because here’s the thing about tunnels: There were no other footprints to obscure the path he and I had left behind.

Two candles and my own stubbornness got me there and back.

Now I watch the way the mist twines over our boots, stalking along the torn roots where the rosebushes used to be. Cashel eyes me with cool, cautious curiosity. He keeps his distance, but that broad-sword could cross the feet between us with one lunge forward.

“You wanted to talk?” His sapphire eyes follow me, both arms crossing over his chest.

The jewels on his fingers glitter in the moonlight.

I swallow, and shove away the tendrils of fear threatening to latch around me. “Before I tell you, I need to know.” Our gazes meet, and his is a hook. “You said in your room that your father went too far, even before… what he is now.”