Page 165 of The Wolf Prince

He tugs gently on my hand.

“Keep walking.”

“Where are we?”

“You'll see.”

I narrow my eyes beneath the silk covering them. Not that he can see me do it.

Probably.

Honestly, with Grimm, who knows?

The man spent Goddess only knows how long cursed as a giant Wolf, has enough magic to unlock doors without touching them, is an actual prince, and owns a crown he still refuses to let me wear.

I wouldn't put X-ray vision past him.

“You're being mysterious again,” I inform him.

“I thought you liked mysterious.”

“I did. Before mysterious turned out to mean cursed Wolf prince with centuries of emotional baggage.”

His chuckle wraps around me.

I love that sound.

Three months ago, Grimm laughing was rare enough that I'd stop whatever I was doing just to listen.

Now? I hear it every day.

Mostly because apparently I amuse him.

Sometimes intentionally. Sometimes not.

Whatever. I'll take it.

“Almost there,” he says.

The ground beneath my boots changes from grass to stone.

I hear voices. Lots of voices. My steps slow.

“Grimm.”

“I have you.”

And that's the thing. He does.

He always does.

So I keep walking.

“Stop.”

I do. His body moves behind mine.

Warm.