Curse of the Wolf King - Tessonja Odette Page 0,17
like you’ve done a great kindness, sir…wolf.”
“Yes, such a great kindness. I wonder…does it make you want to repay me for my kindness? Of your own free will and volition, of course.” He says the last part in a rush.
I frown, taking a step away. “I must be going. I have an appointment at thirty-three Whitespruce Lane. I imagine it is just at the end of this path.” I point behind me, taking another step. Another.
The wolf lets out a grumbling sigh. “What a shame you must be going, for I would like to speak with you more.” His voice has raised far louder than necessary, tone dry, each word enunciated.
Before I can reply, the shaggy brown wolf from before leaps out of nowhere, charging straight for me. With a shout, I run, but again I’m saved by the white wolf. Rolling in a blur of snarls and teeth, they lock into battle, tumbling off the path and into the underbrush. I find myself alone on the trail; my moment for escape is now or never. But do I run toward thirty-three Whitespruce Lane, where—hopefully—shelter awaits? Or do I run to the main road and try to flee back to town before the wolves catch up with me? Both options pose risks I don’t have time to consider.
Everything in me shouts to go home, screw the interview and screw whatever maniac invited me here instead of holding the meeting in a safe place. I take off back the way I came, skidding through snow trampled by wolves, and veer onto the main path. I’m half running, half sliding, as I race down the incline. I must be halfway back to the main fork when an enormous white shape comes into view.
I pull to a halt, nearly losing my legs beneath me.
The white wolf limps across the road, head lowered, his tongue lolling from his mouth. His back end is covered in bright red blood. He moans, an agonized sound, as he takes three more steps and collapses on the ground. “Oh!” he cries. “Oh, the pain. The agony. Please, help me.”
Trembling head to toe, I approach the wolf. Part of me wants to skirt around him and claim my freedom, but when I see how much blood coats his back end, my heart softens. Besides, this isn’t just any wolf, this is a fae wolf. And there could be consequences for leaving a fae to die. With bated breath, I kneel at his side. I extend my hands toward him, but I don’t know what to do. I’ve hardly tended more than a scraped knee. What am I supposed to do with a wound this bad? And—oh, for the love of the saints—is his rear leg missing?
“Oh, the pain,” the wolf says. “You must be thinking how brave I am yet again. How I have saved your life twice now.”
It’s a strange thing to focus on when he’s clearly bleeding out, but I say, “Yes, again, I’m so grateful.”
“Seeing me in such a state…I’m sure your heart is…warm, yes? You must be feeling very much in debt to me now. Your gratitude swells so overwhelmingly large that you want to…sacrifice something? Your greatest treasure, perhaps?”
I ignore him and instead remove my coat, ready to try and staunch the bleeding from his back leg. But suspicion has me freezing in place. As I try to sort out where exactly to place my coat, I find no source of injury, no mangled flesh, no fresh oozing blood. I lean closer, and a familiar aroma tickles my senses. Is…is that…tomato sauce? I lean back and slowly rise to my feet.
“What are you doing? Can’t you see the condition I’m in?”
His terrible acting should have given it away at once, but I’d written it off as simply strange fae behavior.
“Don’t just stand there,” he says, then twists his muzzle into the semblance of a grimace. “My leg. Oh, my poor leg.”
“Your leg appears fine,” I say through my teeth, keeping as much calm as I can muster. Even though I now know I’m being tricked, my fear hasn’t lessened in the slightest. However, annoyance and fury are now mingling with it, giving me strength not to crumble.
“Fine?” he echoes, irritation seeping into his tone. “My leg is clearly missing. How can that be fine?”
“I agree it is missing, but there’s no evidence that it’s from a recent wound.”
He lifts his head, eying me with that ruby gaze. “What about the red stuff?”