Page 129 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

It’s why I’m still willing to fight too.

Intrigue flashes in the dark sapphire of Cash’s gaze, sweeping over my face, my gown.

But there’s no sign of recognition as his attention returns to the crowd of young courtiers on the dance floor. Oona lingers near the edge of the group, her sapphire skirt cut shorter in the front than the back to reveal cream trousers, as if she’s expecting to have to fight one of us right here. Her mask is barely there, thin and silver and making no attempt to hide her identity.

Aisling’s build gives her away behind a thicker, carved bronze mask—I recognize the muscular set of her shoulders where she stands in the glow of one of the bonfires. And Saraid… herbrown silk gown is stitched with gold. Her mask isn’t a mask at all but what looks like flecks of gold leaf laid out around her cheekbones and eyes.

Cash’s eyes don’t return to me, and I realize… he doesn’t recognize me in the mask.

A shiver climbs up my spine—just as a hand finds the small of my back, and a figure all in black sweeps into the edge of my vision.

Smoke and the familiar scent of leather surround me.

“May I?” a rough voice whispers in my ear, and the eyes that burn beneath a mask of pure black velvet are a smoldering, heart-stopping green.

Wolf.

Old Ones, the feel of his hand at my waist steals the breath left in my lungs. His fingers tighten along the curve there as I bring one hand to his waiting one in answer, and my other finds the broad, hard muscles where his shoulder meets the back of his neck.

You’re out of your mind,I should tell him.

You’re putting yourself in danger.

None of that is what comes out.

“You’re here.”

I breathe the words as Wolf pulls me in so our chests are almost flush, the heat of him rising through the black velvet of his tunic—worn and creased around the edges like it’s been dug out of the back of a closet just for this night. I can see the rough stubble along his jaw beneath the cutout markings of the velvet mask, but whoever made it shaped the curves and swirls so the branching scar that lies beneath can’t be seen.

A crooked smile lifts the corner of his lips, and my blood heats remembering what they felt like on mine. The loneliness gnawing in my chest eases as his hand grips tighter on mine, the calluses from his weapons rough against my fingertips. “Don’t tell me you missed me, Maeve.”

Old Ones, the way he says my name… it never sounds like that from anyone else.

I’m not sure I want it to.

His feet find the steady beat of the slow, dark melody rising from the piano, so different from the pipe at the First Look that felt like… fuck, it felt like what I imagine the very heart of this isle to sound like. Wolf’s hand tightens at my waist beneath the colors of the Seven Families hanging from the rafters.

“Maybe.”

He shakes his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Better than before.”

Not even a little.

That’s what I said to him once.

Wolf leads us through the steps with a steady certainty. The music carries a dangerous build, drawing me that single inch closer to him, and his grip flexes at my hip.

The movement is fleeting, but the flicker of longing that skitters behind his mask feels like a flame trailing tantalizingly close to my skin.

“My colors suit you,” Wolf offers, his eyes like embers.

He’s not wrong—these are his colors, the same green as his eyes and a black almost dark enough to rival his hair.

The errant locks are tousled in the ribbons tying his mask in place. With every distinguishing mark and feature concealed, noone looking for him just from a sketch should be able to recognize him, right?

I glance up to the rafters and the noble banners that ripple in the heating air above the bonfires. A soft ache gathers in my chest. “Were yours ever there?”

Wolf wrestles with a darkness behind his eyes.