Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,52
barely decided what to make of her.
Thank the lands that soon enough she won’t be our problem anymore.
“We can keep this first transgression between ourselves,” I say, forming as firm an expression as I could manage. I’m not so practiced at that—usually I leave the authoritarian posturing to our lord. “But only this once. If you want to know something, you ask, and if we don’t deign to answer, you weren’t meant to know it. If I catch you spying again, I can’t give it a pass as a mistake. Clear?”
She nods again, more vigorously this time, her stance slumping with relief. “Completely clear.” Then she pauses. “Can I ask—who were you talking to?”
I almost guffaw at the balls on this smidge of a girl. I definitely will need to keep a closer eye on her while she’s in our midst. “I can tell you that it was an expected visitor—by Sylas as well as myself—and while he’d mean you no harm anyway, I’m ensuring he never encounters you. That’s all you’re going to get. Now come along. You’ve got most of the keep to scamper around in still—you don’t need the use of my rooms on top of that.”
As I direct her to the door, her gaze darts around the bedroom, really taking it in for the first time. She’s wise enough not to remark on the overall state of disarray. Good girl.
She scurries dutifully off toward the stairs. I pull my gaze away before I’m inclined to admire the slim curves that her body is shaping into or the deftness with which she’s adapted to that brace on her foot. No doubt she’s off to canoodle some more with August in the kitchen. There are several words I could say about his decisions in that regard, but it’s not my place when it hasn’t caused any real trouble yet, so I can manage to keep them to myself for now.
The encounter has left an uncomfortable edginess in my nerves, though. I’m in no mood to saunter downstairs and make small-talk around the table, which is all we can make with our “guest” looking on. I hadn’t really wanted to be up this early to begin with, but duty called, and now I’m too awake for the bed to have any appeal.
Instead, I prowl back into my study, push aside the sliding bookcase, and speak the word to open the hatch only Sylas and I can access. I step into the narrow chamber on the other side, secure the shelves and hatch in place, and head down the tight spiral of steps.
At the base, another word magically unseals the door. I duck out, stretch my lips, and let my wolf spring forth.
The joy of how naturally my beast emerges from my skin at times like this only makes the memories of the wrenching transitions under the full moon more horrible in contrast. I set off at a trot, soaking in the warm breeze tickling through my fur and the banquet of scents my wolfish nose picks up even more easily than when I’m a man. I make a full circuit of our territory every day. It can’t hurt to take it in earlier than usual this once.
A few of the faded pack members are already up and about. As I travel past their cluster of houses, they tip their heads respectfully to me. I eye the buildings, going over my mental tally of who remains and who I’ve sent to join the arch-lords’ border patrols. Can we spare anyone else?
We need to keep some good fighters among us, of course. A pack that becomes too weak begins to look like prey to those with a hunger for conquest, and I happen to know through my contacts that there are at least a couple of lords who’ve eyed our domain. Not because they want this fringe-land, but because Sylas has a reputation for being a powerful leader if no longer the official prestige, and it’d elevate anyone’s status to say they cowed him.
The fact is, we can’t send a large enough force to the arch-lords for them to be all that impressed anyway. They’re as likely to see our meager contribution as a sign of how far we’ve fallen rather than how dedicated we are to their cause. No, our best bet will be if Ralyn or one of the others abroad susses out a strategy none of the others have picked up on. Wits can win the day as