Page 66 of The Enemy to the Living
“High fae. Most of the patrons have left, but I guess the night will be over once he’s gone too.” I indicate the troll, still standing sentinel at the end of the alley, with a jerk of my chin. “One’s got green hair, one red.”
“I’ll know them when I see them?”
“I should fucking hope so.”
Paxton snorts a laugh, wriggling a little like he’s trying to get comfortable. “Vlad said to send you straight back.”
“You want me to stay?”
“For this? No. Jeremiah’s going to bother you, though, you know that.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
Paxton’s eyes slide to me. “The wolf?”
“Bryn?”
“No. You forget how long we were there.”
Quinn. Of course Paxton knows Quinn—or at least has seen a lot of him. From a distance, but still. I ignore the way my face gets hot. “Is there a question hiding in there somewhere?”
“Is he your mate?”
“I—You—What do you mean?”
“You were a wolf before the Huntsman gave you his blessing, right? That’s what he was getting to last night.”
“I don’t think he was getting to it.”
“Made it obvious, anyway. To me.” Paxton’s eyes narrow, and he purses his lips. “Maybe to Grant, too.”
I struggle to breathe. “And Jeremiah?”
“Eh, he’ll get there when he gets there.”
“It’s not… I don’t talk about it.”
“Yeah, got that. Have you told him?”
“Who?”
“Quinn.” Paxton sounds exasperated. “And are you mates or not?”
“He knows,” I admit. “We can’t be mates.”
“Why not?”
“I lost my wolf. Or did you miss that part of the conversation?” My tone is too sharp, dripping with self-loathing.
Paxton ignores it. No wonder he and Jeremiah are together; he can steamroll when he needs to, and I imagine it’s a skill that comes in handy. “He’s got one,” he replies simply, and I try not to think about the fact that Quinn’s so out of touch with his wolf he can’t shift. “And we know plenty of people who don’t have wolves but have mates, don’t we?”
“The pack?”
“I meant Maurice and Njáll, but whatever works.”
“That’s a fae bond.”
“Same difference.”
