The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(76)

Blake tucks in the end of the gauze. “Wolves guard things that are high value to them.”

“You think she was trying to protect me?”

“Perhaps.”

I pull my wrist back, and study my bandaged palm. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s all in the past. I’m tired, I think. I’m not sure why I said all that.” I force a smile. “Ignore me.”

“No.”

Amid the darkness, a spark flickers. “What do you mean?”

“I cannot ignore you. Those that taught you to act small were fools. You don’t need to do that with me.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “We are not friends, Blake. You made sure of that when you linked our lives and decided you would plot to kill Callum.”

“No. We’re enemies, aren’t we?” His gold-flecked eyes glint in the firelight. “And one day, we will face one another as such. When the time comes, I want all of you. I want you to throw everything you have at me. I want a glorious defeat.”

“A glorious defeat.” I shake my head, because I know he’s mocking me. “You’re one to speak, Blake.”

“What do you mean?”

“You say I act small, but what of you? You told me once that you were always pretending. You’re hiding something.”

“When the time comes, little rabbit, I will give you everything I have. I promise.” He stands, and puts his things on the table. “Your wound should be healed by tomorrow morning. Come back to me if it isn’t.”

“What are you going to do about Ian?”

“If I find him, he will die. He didn’t come back to Lowfell after you were kidnapped. I’m guessing he ran away. If he’s smart, he will not cross my path again.”

“Thank you.”

I get up and cross the room. I pick the book up from the end of his bed, and my fingers brush over his silky sheets. I expect him to stop me from taking it, but he rights his armchair by the window and drops into it.

I reach the door, then face him. “Are we going to talk about what happened last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“You. . .” You kissed me. Took a bullet for me. Callum is acting strangely because of it. “You know what I mean.”

He leans forward and clasps his hands between his thighs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I. . .” Do I?

Blake is a snake. A pest. A monster. He plots against Callum, and uses me to do so. He has hurt people, killed people, tortured people. He talks of consent and coercion, yet he linked our lives together against my will. He is a liar. A manipulator. A cheat. Yet it occurs to me that he can be all of these things and still hold a shred of compassion toward me. He can be all of these things and. . . want me.

James certainly seemed to think so. Why else would he have put us through all of that? Why would Callum have been bothered by it?

I exhale. “Perhaps not.”

Firelight and shadow flicker across his solemn expression. “Let me know when you do,” he says.





Chapter Thirty-Eight





I sit cross-legged on the small bed with Blake’s book on the white quilt in front of me. I’m in my old room, in the castle tower.

It looks the same way it did the last time I was here. It’s simply furnished. Books cover almost every surface—the shelves, the writing desk by the small window, the bedside table. A candle burns low on the bedside table. Rain hammers against the window, and the sky is grey outside—a reflection of my mood.

Testing the Lore of Wolves is written in gold lettering across the front of the book. Golden stars dust the spine. The book is familiar to me, and it comes to me quickly. Blake slid this book from one of the shelves in this room, in front of me. He was secretive about it, and took it the morning when Callum rode out to help James.

As James said, it’s one of Blake’s books of experiments. The handwriting is neater than the scrawled notebooks I’ve read, and when I stumble on some experiments I’ve read before—the melting of an eyeball to see if it grows back, the testing of different metals on a wolf’s skin, and the order in which bones break on the night of a full moon—I realize it’s a write-up of the most interesting experiments. This book, I think, was meant for wider distribution.

I flick through, and hope that something will jump out at me. I’m alert for the word connection or life force or bond among the dusty pages. I’m tired, though, and the ink starts to blur.

When I jolt awake, the sky outside the window is dark. My dreams were restless. I found myself in dark corridors, passing barred cells, and being pursued by someone whistling in the shadows.

I’m dreaming of Night’s prison, and I try to tell myself it’s because of my encounter with Alexander, and the chapel in which I tended to Blake’s shoulder, and all the talk of the dark god, of late. Yet my mother’s stories have taken root in my mind and started to spread their vines. She told me Night would tempt desperate mortals, and offer them what they wanted the most in exchange for their souls.

I’m the daughter of one king, and the consort of another. Does Night covet my soul?

Someone taps on my door. I slide the book under my pillow, then pad across the room. I open it, and peer through the gap. Some of my tension dissipates.