Page 43 of The Fox Heir

Fury wipes the smile from my face. “I don’t rely on other people to protect me.”

“No?”

“No.” I step back, swallowing a wave of defensiveness.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Then what were all those King’s Guards doing lingering in your shadows at Caerwen?”

“It’s not like I had a choice,” I bite back. “I didn’t want them to follow me.”

“Are you sure about that?” He raises an eyebrow. “It seemed like you quite enjoyed it. Dancing with your handsome groom, dressed in fine silks, always surrounded by adoring knights in copper armor.”

I grit my teeth. “It wasn’t like that!”

The Wolf uncrosses his arms and takes a step toward me. “Then what was it like?”

I hold my ground and lift my chin, so I can meet his eyes. “It was a prison.”

He scoffs lightly. “No, I think you’re misremembering, Red. I was the one in a prison, remember?”

“Not all prisons are in a dungeon.” I clench my fist around the hilt of my sword.

Tristan merely smirks. “I’ve seen my fair share of prison cells, but I’ve never seen one covered in crimson silk.”

I drop my practice sword to the ground and shove him in the chest, throwing my entire weight into it.

He barely shifts, only sighs and slides his silver Wolf blade back into its scabbard. The swirling shadows extinguish like a candleflame in the wind. His refusal to meet my anger only infuriates me further. Heat floods my face as I clench my fist and draw back, aiming for his perfect, smug mouth.

But before I can strike, the Wolf moves.

His hand shoots out, catching my fist mid-swing. In one fluid motion, he twists my arm behind my back. In the span of a breath, his other arm snakes around my chest, dragging me flush against him.

I thrash against his hold, but his muscles are iron. He doesn’t even strain. He simply waits, immovable, until my struggles break into panting curses. His breath warms the shell of my ear, and an involuntary shiver slips down my spine. I gasp, hating myself for it.

I refuse to turn my head, refuse to meet his eyes. I can’t decide if it’s because I’m angry, or if I’m afraid he’ll see what’s really pulsing through my veins. Because the fire that’s heating my body now isn’t just anger anymore. It’s an entirely different kind of passion. One that I refuse to admit.

He leans his head down to whisper in my ear. “What do you want, Fox?”

The question takes me off guard. No one ever asks what I want. Hell, I barely know what I want.

“I want my power back.” I say, my pulse fluttering at the sensation of his breath on the skin of my neck. “And I want to use it to kill the Fox King.”

I want you, I don’t say. But something molten heats between my legs, anyway.

He nods, as if I said the right thing. Finally, he releases me. I whirl around to face him, my feet automatically planting a fighting stance, as if on instinct.

A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. It could be satisfaction, or perhaps hunger. His voice drops an octave. “And what do you fear?”

I stare at him, unblinking. He stares right back, his gray eyes drinking me in. His gaze drops slowly down to the thin scar along my neck—to the spot where my father held a knife to my throat and promised to kill me. My skin grows warm beneath his gaze, and my pulse quickens. Something dark and dangerous burns low in my belly.

I swallow. “I fear failure.”

His eyes flicker back up to mine, and he tilts his head ever so slightly. “That you will fail the queen? Your people?”

“No.” I shake my head, irritated that he doesn’t know me better than that. “I fear that I will fail myself.”

He nods slowly. I’m distinctly aware of his body so close to mine. How easy it would be to close that gap again. My heart thumps erratically in my chest. There’s something deep inside of me that feels like I’m coming alive, bit by bit, in the face of this Wolf.

Suddenly, darkness surges forward. A twisting mass of ink and shadow curls around my ankles, then rises to swallow all sunlight. Walls of darkness shift, pressing in. I try to draw my power, but only a flicker burns in my core. I fight back a wave of hopelessness. I am not weak. Even without my power, I’m something to be feared.