Page 12 of Scarlett's Wicked Wolf
Her mouth flattens. Her throat works. Anger is there, but it’s tempered.
“Okay,” she says finally. “Then two things can be true: you saved my life, and I didn’t get a say in how. I’m not going to pretend I’m fine with the second part, but I’m not running home so my grandmother has to watch me burn. I won’t do that to her.”
Something inside me unclenches. “We’ll tell her when it’s safe,” I say. “Together, if you want.”
A quick nod. “After the fever breaks.” Her gaze flicks to the door, then back.
The bond loosens fractionally, like a muscle that’s been clamped too long. “All right.”
“Ground rules,” she continues, as if organizing a crisis calms her. “One: you don’t touch me unless I ask. Two: you tell me everything you know and everything youdon’tknow about this bond and the shift. No protective omissions. Three: if that gray wolf is hunting me, we protect this cabin now. Wards, salt, traps—whatever you’ve got. I have magic; I can help.”
“Done,” I say, and mean it. “There’s iron shot and a warding lattice in the trunk. I’ll defer to your sight.”
Scarlett’s eyebrows lift as if she’s surprised I didn’t argue. She exhales, and some of the tension in her shoulders melts. “Good. Because I’m hot and dizzy and every nerve feels like a sparkler. I apologize in advance if I say something I don’t mean. It’s the fever talking, not me.”
“I’ll know which words belong to the fever and which belong to you.”
Her chin lifts. “We should wardnow.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and grimaces, but stays sitting, calculating. “You place what needs strength, I’ll set sigils where the wood’s most willing. We thread protection through the seams.”
“You shouldn’t be on your feet.”
“You can carry the heavy things,” she says dryly. “I can still draw.”
I almost smile. Almost. “Deal.”
She presses her palm to her sternum. “One more thing.”
I wait.
“I’m angry,” she says plainly, “but not at you. At the circumstances.” Her emerald eyes lift to mine, revealing the fear and vulnerability beneath her practical facade. “Still, you saved my life. Thank you.”
My chest throbs with a foreign emotion. “You’re welcome,” I say gruffly.
“If I decide I want…” She swallows, color high in her cheeks. “If I want more, it will be my decision. Not the bond’s.”
My nod is like a vow. “Yours.”
Her shoulders loosen another fraction. “Okay. Tell me what you know about the first shift.”
I pull up a chair. “Fever spikes, then breaks. Bones ache like the worst flu you’ve ever had, multiplied by ten. Your sense of smell will surge; the world will go loud and bright. You’ll feel pulled toward the forest. When the change occurs, I’ll guide you through breathing and bracing techniques. If you want me out of the room, I'll go. If you want me there, I’m there.”
She listens like a student memorizing every word. “How long?”
“For me, it hit before dawn and burned out after sunrise. Your timing might be different. We’ll take it minute by minute.”
“Fine.” She licks her lips. “We should still warn Grandma. Not in person. A message.”
“I can send one,” I offer. “There’s a crow that roosts at the east ridge. He owes me a favor.”
Her mouth tips, almost a smile despite everything. “Of course, you have a crow on retainer.”
“He’s compensated in walnuts.”
She smiles. “Pay him double.”
Chapter 5
Reid
