Page 3 of Wolf's Gambit

As I said, he was an ass.

“Did you hold the spear the way I taught you?” he asked me over his shoulder.

“No, I held it with my feet while I stood on my head.”

“Quite the feat to stand on your head while holding a spear.”

I stopped walking, my mouth falling open. “Feat? Was that a pun? Did you try to make a joke?”

Kris snorted as he turned to look at me. “I don’t care if you’re almost eighteen. You’re not too old to be sent to bed without supper, especially a supper you didn’t catch.”

He would do it too. Asshole.

“I held the spear as you taught me. I moved through the water as you taught me. I threw the spear as you taught me. I missed the fish?—”

“Because no one can teach you,” the shaman said as he emerged from his home. He was blind in one eye and had reduced vision in the other. Even so, his smile was wide as he looked straight at me. “Kezia, my child, you’ve been hunting?”

“Yes.”

“No,” my brother answered at the same time. Turning, he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “To hunt means to kill. I see nothing you’ve killed from today.”

With a tight smile, I looked him over swiftly. “The day’s not over yet.”

Kris merely ignored my implied threat, but the shaman’s chuckle brought my attention back to him. “Come, pup, let’s finish this inside. Kris, she knows the way home.”

The shaman was the only person other than Bale who could easily dismiss my brother. It gave me perverse satisfaction watching my tall, broad-shouldered brother being dismissed by a small, thin, wiry old shifter.

Kris, of course, had nothing but respect for the shaman, and as his head dipped in acknowledgment, I didn’t miss the quick flick of his eyes to me with the unspoken order to behave.

“Come on, you,” the shaman said as he turned to enter the house. “The afternoon is waning, and I heard trout is on the menu tonight.”

“You hate fish,” I reminded him inside as I sat on his couch, leaning back with my legs kicked out in front of me. A pose so casual that my brother would die of shame if he saw me like this in the shaman’s house.

“I do, which is why you and I are having burgers.”

Sitting up straight, I looked at him in excitement. “Tell me you’re not joking.”

“About food? Never.”

“You are the best,” I told him as I leaned forward and picked up the small knife and wooden bowl. “Left or right?”

“Hmm, oh, the right one, if you must. You know I don’t need to taste your blood anymore to know you didn’t shift.”

“I know,” I answered softly. The shaman, unlike my brother, took me at my word. “But he may come and ask, and I don’t want to put you in that position.”

As I made the small cut across my wrist, I let the drops fall into the bowl. When there was a small amount, I selected the herbs that were on the table, and with a pestle, I mixed my blood with them. Holding out the bowl to the shaman, he took it, then with a deep sniff, his tongue darted out, and he licked up the contents.

“Hmm,” he murmured as he placed the bowl down. “Interesting. Your first heat is coming.”

“Is that why I’m so snarky?” I asked him, even as my cheeks flared with embarrassment. There were things a female didn’t need to hear from an ancient man, even if he was a shaman.

“No. You’re snarky because you’re an eighteen-year-old shifter with a bad attitude.”

“Wow, I must be feisty today,” I muttered as I watched him take a long drink of water to wash any remaining influence of me from his mouth.

“The flavor of your blood is strong,” he told me easily, smiling when I said nothing. The shaman knew that the act of tasting blood made me queasy. “It packs quite the punch,” he added. Sitting back, he considered me. “Your heat is a problem.”

“I’ll be eighteen soon.”

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