Page 43 of The Enemy to the Living
“You are no longer to fraternise with any member of the Hunt.”
“I can’t avoid them,” I say. “He—They’ll be more suspicious if I stop talking to them entirely.”
Another look. I get the feeling they can speak to each other without using words, and I don’t like that at all.
“Very well,” Celyn says. “You do not mention us. You do not mention what you do here. Everything you experience, feel, think from the moment you step onto this street to the moment you leave is to be kept to yourself.”
“And any messages we send you,” Sorrel adds. “You are not to show them to another. You are to delete them once you have read them.” He holds out his hand. “If you break any of these rules, Quinn, we will know it. And your wolf will be forfeited. Just like Bryn’s.”
I swallow hard and force my feet to move, crossing the room to take his hand. He shakes it once, and then Celyn holds out his own. I shake that, too. He presses something into my palm, and I open my fingers to see a pale stone resting against my skin.
“Keep that with you. We would not like you to lead any unwanted elements to our entertainment.”
I stare at Celyn for a beat too long, then slip the stone into my pocket.
“Run along now, little wolf,” Sorrel says. “We still have fights tonight.”
I nod and head for the door. I pause with my hand on the handle and don’t look back when I ask, “What was… What was Bryn’s deal?”
“He wanted a challenge,” one of them says. I don’t look back to see which. “He was supposed to win all his fights.”
“Last night? He won.”
“No, he lost. He beat you, and then I beat him.”
I look back. Sorrel’s looking at me, and he reminds me of a snake, of something lurking in the grass, waiting to strike.
“You did?”
“I did,” he confirms with a smile. “Clever of you to go for a different deal, little wolf. Allyouhave to do is show up.”
Chapter Fifteen
Asher
Thepackhouseisin chaos when we arrive, and the wolves do not look pleased to see us. Makes sense—there’s danger, so they’re closing ranks. Noah recognises me at least, at the door, and Vlad draws Grant closer. He might not want Grant around a bunch of grieving wolves, but he doesn’t like the idea of leaving him alone when there are high fae running around, either.
I hear Maurice’s voice as we stride down the corridor towards Deacon’s office. Wherever this injured wolf is, he isn’t here. Njáll rests back against one of the walls, watching Maurice, who is standing toe-to-toe with Deacon. Vasile, the vampires’ former crai and Deacon’s mate, watches too, his mouth set in a sad line.
“Fuck, thank fuck you’re here,” Maurice says, spinning to face us. “This is a shitshow.”
“Maurice,” Njáll says lowly, but Maurice doesn’t even look at him.
“What do you know?” Vlad asks.
Deacon sighs, leaning back against his desk. Vasile walks over to join him, their hips pressing together. “Noah found him about half an hour ago. His name’s Bryn. He’s one of the lone wolves who lives in London. We’re not exactly sure when he was tossed outside the building, but he can only have been there a few minutes, so we’ve got someone working on CCTV.”
Maurice grumbles under his breath. Yeah, that might not work. Fae can be hard to catch on recordings, even digital ones, though at least we know kind of what we’re looking for.
“This is definitely under our purview?” Vlad asks Maurice, who nods.
“There’s not a human mage alive who could do this,” he says, absolute certainty in his voice. “Besides, I checked when I got here. He’s covered in fae magic.”
“And he’s alive?” I ask, surprised at how rough my voice sounds.
Deacon seems to be surprised, too. What can he scent on me? I’m fairly sure he has the measure of me, even though the time I spent as his bodyguard was short. He’s a powerful wolf. Clever.
Maurice nods. “For now. I’m not sure…” His voice falters, fingers twitching by his sides. “If we can’t get his wolf back soon, that’s it. I’m sorry.”
