the fire and the rustle of his hand over the beginnings of a beard.
Ren began to shake. Her hands were tied and she didn’t even have her claws. She had never felt so defenseless. So naked. Fear burned on every inch of her skin. She was certain he could smell it on her.
Ren hated being afraid.
“What have you done to me?” she whispered. It came out as a hollow, rasping sound.
The Wolf-Lord dropped his hand from his chin. Of all things, he grinned. It was a surprisingly nice grin. Ren didn’t like that.
“Hit you with a shovel,” he said. “Sorry.”
“No,” Ren growled. She shook her head furiously, hair whipping across her eyes. “This—my change—”
“Bylica,” he said. “It’s an herb that breaks enchantments.”
Ren’s heart sank. “Untie me,” she commanded in her coldest voice.
He pushed his hair out of his face, but a few strands slowly unbent and fell back into his eyes. She decided the smile was less of a smile than it was the sly upcurve of a dog. Maybe that was why she’d thought she liked it.
“You promise not to attack?” he asked.
“No.”
He laughed. It occurred to her that his voice had the same musical corners as Czarn’s. She shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, he was a Wolf-Lord.
“I need your help,” he said.
Ren did not answer. Fear was hardening, shifting. He’d called her a monster and soaked the ropes, and Ren was, for the first time in her short and very powerful life, completely helpless.
Fury roiled.
When the soft crackle of the flames was too much, he spoke again.
“I’ve lost my brother,” he continued. His voice was soft and even, as if he was using every ounce of his strength to control it. “He came here to hunt the Golden Dragon, two months ago. Have you seen him?”
They—Mama, Ry?, and the others—were always telling Ren that her heart was too soft for her own good. That she cared too much for the animals. She took too many under her wing. She’d brought home too many baby birds fallen from nests. Too many foxes, paws injured in snares. Too many otters, too many deer, too many squirrels . . .
And maybe, maybe, once upon a time, for the briefest flicker, she could have felt the same way for humans. At the very least, she’d been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. But that was yesterday. Today, she wanted nothing from these cowards.
“I have seen no Wolf-Lords but you,” she said.
One of his eyebrows shot up.
“How do you know I’m a Wolf-Lord?” he asked.
“I would not be much of a queen if I did not know.”
Ren licked her teeth. Smooth, blunt. Human teeth. She could barely contain her anger. She had saved him. She had saved him, and he—he—
“You hurt me,” she said levelly. “And I am the queen. The fury of the forest will rain down on you.”
She would have said more, but her voice was shaking too much to continue.
The Wolf-Lord did not seem particularly concerned. One side of his mouth curved up a little higher than the other.
“Right,” he said at last. “I’ll watch my back.”
Ren snarled. But before she could lash out, a blade pressed against her skin and the ropes fell away. The Wolf-Lord stepped back, faster than an animal. For a moment, Ren was too shocked to react.
She rubbed her wrists.
“Does that help?” he asked.
Even slower, she got to her feet. Her cloak fell off her shoulders.
“No,” she replied.
The Wolf-Lord very deliberately put his hands back in his pockets. It looked as if he was shaking slightly.
“My name’s Lukasz.”
He extended a hand.
Ren looked at it, suddenly remembering the burned flesh of his other hand, now hidden within a glove. She blinked, long and slow. Then she moved her gaze from his hand to his face.
“I do not care,” she said.
He withdrew his hand. He stared at her with a horrible soul-stripping gaze, making her skin crawl and stomach curl. He pushed back his cap again, readjusted it on his hair.
“There’s a stream down there.” He tapped his temple. “You can wash up.”
Ren reached up, mirroring him, and encountered matted hair and sticky skin.
“You—”
She tried to lunge, but he stepped out of the way, and she just caught his shoulder. All the same, he stiffened at her touch. Maybe he was afraid she might hurt him. She should change. She should run. Disappear into the darkness, back home, tell everyone the truth about these selfish, violent creatures—