Page 29 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

The man moves fast as lightning. Quicker than Finn, quicker than Keeva.

I shift a split second before he reaches for me, the tensing muscles in his neck and shoulders betraying him. I twist away—but I’m not fast enough to sidestep him altogether, and I stumble as he snakes a boot behind mine.

My weight shifts, sending me tripping right into his waiting free arm. He brings his forearm up against my collarbone, holding me prisoner with my back pressed tight against the hard plane of his chest. The hilts of his sheathed daggers dig into the backs of my ribs.

Furious heat rushes into my cheeks in a crushing wave. “Let mego.”

I kick back, trying to remember all the tips Finn ever gaveme to break someone’s hold. But this Whisperer’s grip is iron, and everything she ever tried to teach me flees my mind. Fury twists inside me when his chest rumbles with an easy laugh.

His mouth draws close enough for me to feel his breath on the shell of my ear. “How do I know you aren’t going to try to killme?”

Fuck. Him.

All it takes is an inch to close the distance between us—and I shove every ounce of my strength into the blow. I ram my skull backward, using his iron grip on me as leverage, and slam the back of my head into his jaw—right where I know that branching scar marks his skin. In the same instant, my hand skims the edge of his right thigh and snatches the closest blade from its sheath, palming its easy weight.

“You don’t,” I snarl.

His hiss of pain makes my blood sing.

One hand lets go of me, and the other isn’t nearly as tight.

I slither free from him, drawing the stolen knife up in front of me as his green eyes blacken on mine.

A low growl catches at the back of his throat.

I smile sweetly, lifting my brows in a clear taunt.

If he thinks I’m going to be easy to manipulate, I’ll show him.

“You want to call in the deal we made? Fine,” I snap. “Tell me what I need to do so I never have to see you again.”

Pride simmers in me at the barely contained wince as his jaw clenches.

“Stop toying with her,” the mage in the navy cloak orders him. “While this is highly entertaining, you’re wasting our time. We have things to do.”

The man glares at her, and for a second I think he’ll refuse.

The mage’s eyes narrow, and her hand curls into a fist. A tendril of shimmering darkness slithers between her fingers just as the man grimaces, his mouth twisting an instant later into a smirk as his spine stiffens and his cheeks pale beneath his stubble.

Her fist releases, and the tension warring behind the man’s eyes does too.

He turns to me then, nodding begrudgingly at the blade in my grip. One hand goes to the thin scab along his temple where I threw the blade at him days ago.

“You’re quick,” he admits. “And clearly, not bad with a blade.”

A tiny glimmer of pride lights in my chest. “I don’t need you to tell me what I already know.”

“But you need to learn to hide what you’re thinking.” He gestures to my face. “You should’ve known how to break my grip the second I grabbed you. And you need at least a basic grasp of hand-to-hand combat to keep up. We’ll do what we can to help—that guard of yours is particularly skilled, so do what they tell you. These noble daughters spend their whole lives training for the Assay, and they’re not fucking around.” He shakes his head. “Neither are we. Frankly, I don’t give a shit whether you walk out of all this alive at the end. What Idocare about is that you survive long enough to do what we brought you here to do.”

Asshole. “And what is that, exactly?”

His green eyes spark as he moves closer—close enough for the blade in my hand to meet the place where his pulse flickers beneath his sharp jaw.

The Whisperer leans into the knife’s edge, as if he’s testing me—and I don’t pull back. The blade presses delicately into theshort stubble there. His eyes search mine, like he sees something in the gray, and determination settles behind that mask of his. “You’re going to kill the High King for us,” he says. “And we need you to do it before the end of the Assay.”

My blood races. “You brought me here to be your assassin.”

The idea is ludicrous—and beyond dangerous. How am I supposed to get close enough to kill a king? Even more important, how am I supposed to kill a king and live to escape after I do it?