Page 151 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

I choose this fight.

I chooseus.

My lips part under his, urging him to take the kiss deeper, to keep us in this moment where nothing else matters for just a little while longer. And for a second, I think I have him—his mouth draws back toward mine, those green eyes ravenous.

“Long enough that if we don’t stop right”—Wolf groans as my hand strokes down between us—“now, then you’re not getting back out of this bed.” His green eyes are flames on me. “And just in case all of this”—Old Ones, that smirk—“made you forget, we have a battle to win.”

“Cocky.”

His lips brush my cheek. “You can be the judge of that.”

There’s absolutely nothing I can say that won’t inflate his ego. Instead, I roll my eyes just as thunder cracks in the dawn spilling through the haze outside the window. My skin prickles, a tendril of fear curling up my back.

Wolf pulls me in tighter to his side. My fingers trail over the sharp angles of his body, all hard muscle and warm skin and so many scars.

Rain lashes down against the window, breaking the quiet.

“You survived,” he whispers. And I almost can’t tell whether he says the words for him or for me. “You made it.”

“Again,” I tease, brushing my lips over the sharp edge of his jaw. “Your surprise isn’t much of a compliment.” Shaking my head brings my nose brushing against the stubble of his neck, and I press a soft kiss there, thinking. “Honestly, I’m surprisednone of you tried to kill me, just to tie up loose ends.”

Wolf’s hand tenses at the curve of my waist. The breath he draws in is tight but steady, and his eyes flicker from me to the narrow window. “There’s been enough blood spilled.”

His words dredge up the reek of copper and iron. The way the rope burned through into my palms, and how Oona’s skin gave way beneath my blade.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to push the memories away.

“Maeve?” Wolf’s voice is soft.

“How do I make it stop?” My words are barely whispers.

His thumb slows its lazy path along my cheek. “What do you mean?”

Old Ones, I can smell the blood. Puddles of it, pooling in the rain. Sticking to my hands, hardening under my nails even where I’ve scrubbed it off. I stillfeelit.

I think I’ll smell it even in my dreams.

“What do you think it costs?” My voice sounds higher in my ears—forced. Wolf’s brow furrows, and I try desperately to force steel into my words. To hide the parts of me he can’t possibly understand, the parts that are still soft enough to bleed. “Surviving, I mean.”

“It costs everything.” He doesn’t hesitate. His eyes are unflinching, searching mine. “Everything we have. Everything we are.”

“Is it worth it?” My voice cracks. There’s no hiding myself anymore.

Wolf traces soft circles along my hip. “I asked myself that too, once,” he admits, eyes shadowing. He brings his hand up to brush beneath my chin. “Look at me, Maeve. Please.”

That last word breaks me, and I will my gaze back to his. He’sso close, and the heat of his hard chest envelopes me. “What was your answer?” I ask softly.

Pain flares in his green eyes. So fast I almost miss it as his gaze flashes down to my lips, then finds my eyes again. “Any price is worth it if it means they haven’t beaten me. If it means we live to fight another day. For me, that’s enough. That’severything.” His rough voice is gravel. “You’re the only one who can say if it’s enough for you. But I can’t walk away from this, Maeve. That option doesn’t exist for me.”

Confusion lasts a single heartbeat before I understand. Wolf’s family is dead.

Of course he won’t ever let himself walk away.

And Cash was the one who turned them in. Who betrayed him, and who I’ve just made sure can take his father’s throne so that we have a chance at saving what’s left of Eireann’s magic.

He must hold the throne by now, right?

I can’t imagine why else the Whisperers would have risked exposure with this attack except to help him become king, a new bride at his side.