Page 111 of The Wolf King

His usual scent of dark forests is mixed with a faint aroma of alcohol. There’s another scent in the air too—herbal and familiar. It puts me on edge.

“Are you drunk?” I ask.

“No.” He starts to close the door. “Now’s not a good time.”

Thunder rumbles down the corridor, and Blake flinches.

I put my hand on the door, keeping it open, as a flash of lightning reveals the handwritten label on one of the jars.

“Is that wolfsbane?” I push past him into the room.

He sighs, then closes the door.

I pick up the jar. The lid is off, and it’s releasing the dangerous scent I recognized. I turn to him. “What is this? Are you trying to poison yourself?”

“Course not.” He slumps onto the end of his four-poster bed, and threads his fingers through his dark hair. “Go away.”

As well as wolfsbane, I note lavender, dried chamomile, and some valerian root on his desk. I pick up a pot readingmilk of the poppy.There’s a decanter full of clear liquid beside them, and when I sniff it, I wince at the pungent alcoholic odor.

Thunder rattles the jars, and Blake’s knuckles whiten as he grips his hair.

“Are you trying to make a sleep aid?” I ask. “Why the wolfsbane? Unless...”

Callum told me they didn’t have painkillers up here because the wolf inside them would fight it off.

“You’re using wolfsbane to weaken the wolf and give the other ingredients time to work, aren’t you? Why do you need a sleep aid?”

The room lights up, and the force of the thunder makes the mountains tremble. Blake’s whole body hardens and a rough sound scrapes the back of his throat. “Fuck’s sake.”

“Goddess! You’re afraid of the storm!”

He removes his hands from his hair, and slowly looks up at me. “If you tell anyone, I will kill you.”

I know the dark image he cultivates is important to him. I believe he will do what it takes to prevent that from being shattered.

“I know,” I say.

When the thunder sounds again, he shuts his eyes, his chest inflating as he takes a deep breath. He groans and lies back on the bed, his feet planted on the floorboards.

“It’s only a storm,” I say, placing my hands on my hips.

“Thanks for that. Very helpful.”

“Why are you afraid?”

“None of your business.”

I hover by his desk, unsure of what to do.

As I’m debating, he half crawls up the bed and slumps on his pillows, groaning again. I sigh. Tentatively, I approach.

“I think you’ve taken too much,” I say.

“Oh, do you? Well, thank goodness that Callum’s little pet, who only learned of wolfsbane a couple of weeks ago, is here to offer me her sage advice.” He turns away from me. “Go away.”

He smells of sweat and soap and the forest. His shirt clings to his muscular back.

“Seriously, Blake, you don’t look good.”

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