Lukasz let out a bark of laughter, and Król started.
“She won’t help us.”
Koszmar took the pipe from his lips, and smoke poured out of his nostrils.
“She might,” he said. “With some persuading.”
“We’re not hurting her,” said Lukasz, more sharply than he’d intended.
“My word,” breathed Koszmar. “I’m not a monster, Lukasz. I wasn’t talking about hurting her. We just need to find out what she wants, and we tell her we can help her get it. A good old-fashioned deal, Lukasz. It’s how our world works.”
Lukasz ignored the fact that “our world” seemed to pointedly exclude the Wolf-Lords.
Lukasz took off his cap and smoothed his hair back, thinking. He shifted off his bad leg, looked up at the empty houses, put his hands in his pockets. She’d dragged him out of the water. Risked her life for him.
Or had she . . . ?
“Koszmar,” he said at last, but he didn’t sound very convinced. Not even to himself. “You attacked her.”
“She attacked you first.”
Lukasz hesitated, put his cap back on. There was some truth to what Koszmar said. Besides, who was to say that this girl wasn’t the monster who’d dragged him under the water? Maybe she was just as malevolent as the rest of the creatures out there, and maybe he should just toughen up and do what needed to be done.
Koszmar puffed his pipe, looking smug. Once more smoke rings drifted upward, and once more his embroidered uniform glittered. The girl—the queen—the monster—whatever she was, she dangled limply from his arm. Koszmar took the pipe out of his mouth.
And then he uttered the magic words.
“Come, Lukasz. Do you want to find your brother or not?”
11
REN WOKE TO PAIN AND the realization that her hands were bound. Fear sparked in her waking mind. Somewhere nearby, a fire crackled. The air was fresh and cool, with a hint of a breeze. Her hair, wet with sweat, stuck to her neck. Her mouth was dry.
“Hallelujah,” said a voice overhead. “Sleeping Beauty awakes.”
She blinked and opened her eyes.
It was still night, and except for the crackling fire, the forest was still dark.
Two men stood in front of her, one with his arms crossed and the other with his hands in his pockets. Their similar black uniforms only heightened the differences in their looks. On the left stood the Wolf-Lord: even taller up close, the cap pushed back on his head. Dark stubble now covered the lower half of his face.
She didn’t know the other man. He had golden hair and eyes that seemed too pale for his face. He watched her with his head tipped slightly to the side.
“She’s pretty,” he said, over the quiet crackle of the flames. His voice was muted, caressing, and horrible. He added: “Prettier than I expected, at least.”
Ren shivered, still vaguely adrift. The Wolf-Lord did not answer.
Then, all at once, it came back: the village, the rocks, the—
Ren sprang to life. Power thrilled down her spine like a wildfire, and her jaws seized up, gathered bone-crushing strength.
The blond one took a step back.
Ren snapped lengthening but still human jaws. White fangs pushed straight out of her gums and shone from her human mouth. Nothing else changed. Something was wrong.
Panic welled up in her throat.
She hissed. Tried to lunge again. Her bare feet scored the earth. Rope cut into her wrists. But the strength was already ebbing away from her mouth, trickling back down her throat. And a half second later, she was human. Fully, stably human.
“Oh, thank God,” said the blond man, uttering the words in a chilling kind of mumble. His lips barely moved when he spoke. “Oh, thank God, I really thought that might not work.”
Ren smelled it. There was a strange scent to the ropes.
“Go away,” said the Wolf-Lord, speaking for the first time. Then he added: “I want to speak to her.”
Ren’s heart hammered. She fought the urge to cower back into the tree.
Even though the blond man hesitated, he did not argue. He retreated to the campfire and tethered horses. Ren and the Wolf-Lord both watched him move away.
Then the Wolf-Lord looked back at her. He crouched down on one knee, just out of reach of her now-useless claws. He ran his own hand over his chin, a hungry cast to his eyes, to the curve of his half-open mouth. For a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of