Page 102 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
Not him. Can’t possibly be him.
But who else could it be?
Old Ones, the pain iseverywhere.
“Fight, Maeve.”
His rough voice rumbles through me. The grip pulling me flush against the warmth of his side tightens. Another arm curls around my shoulders, and my feet leave the ground. Blue sky flashes up above. Keeping my eyes open is a battle—and I’m losing.
Nerve pain ricochets through my body, clenching my muscles tight, locking them in spasms that feel like lances piercing deep between my flesh and my bones.
At least I didn’t make it easy for the assassins. I’m stillhere, even if it’s just barely. Still clinging to the fight that’s left in me.
I hope my mother would be proud, if she could see me now.
The leather against my cheek rumbles again—I feel a soft, low tone rising in his chest and Wolf’s arms tightening around me. A faint, haunting hum vibrates through him, words I can’t understand slipping whisper-soft from lips so close to my cheek that I can feel the warmth of his breath. The melody pierces through the dark fog weighing over me, through the blinding nerve pain igniting every inch of my flesh.
“Fight,”he murmurs again, this time so close I swear his lips ghost against my hair.
Defiance stirs in my blood, coaxing the stubborn spirit left in me back up to the surface.
I hear muffled, soft voices, and a face peers over mine—eyes like topaz, and hair the color of spun gold, blurring with an amber carriage at her back.
“Get her in here,” a sharp voice urges Wolf. “Hurry!”
TWENTY-FIVE
The golden braid piled high around the woman’s head could be a crown.
Her cat eyes remind me of chips of topaz, the same color as the gems sparkling at her ears, and she has the full, rosy cheeks of someone who’s never known real hunger.
Recognition races through me—confusion, too.
This is the noble daughter who threw the coins out to the crowds on the King’s Road, the one who wasn’t training with the rest.
Saraid.
And Wolf has his hand on her arm like he knows her.
Like any noble daughter wouldn’t turn us over to the gardai in a heartbeat. I try to warn him—this isnotsafe. But the nerve pain bears down on me as Wolf piles me inside, and the carriage rocks, then rolls forward.
My splitting head rests against Wolf’s shoulder as he settles next to me, the leather an aching comfort in a way that makes no sense.
Still, no position helps the pain, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
I knew the nerve damage from the High Queen’s creatlach would linger. It would be months, Cashel warned me, before it would fade.Probablyfade. That’s what he said.
There’s no point lying to myself.
But the way the pain burns as fresh as that first day just from defending myself, and the way holding my knives brought pain beyond words—
I don’t want to feel like this. I want to feel strong again.
My mind whirls from the pain, making every thought splinter.
I feel Wolf shift next to me, the way he gently leans me up against the cushioned side of the carriage as he reaches for the buckles of his jacket.
My throat tightens, and all I can do is try to keep my breathing steady. Still, I crack my eyes, just a sliver, and steal a single, reckless glance.
