Page 18 of Their Cursed Wolves

What else is there to do here? It’s pretty damn obvious.

“You were wearing his shirt,” Prince Drogo accuses, angrily.

Alright… “So?” I say.

Something eases in Prince Rinan’s eyes and he takes a step closer to me. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?” I ask, frustrated.

Whoever taught these boys how to have a conversation should be slapped.

His expression gentles. “Wearing another man’s shirt. Having his scent on you. That’s not something… most shifters would tolerate. Rivet likely forgot himself due to,” he points at me, then gestures down my body, “but he knows better. If we were different men, Rivet would have trouble walking for a while after letting you use his shirt.”

What? Is this for real? And what does he mean due to…?

I snort, shaking my head. “Shifters are strange.”

Prince Rinan moves closer until he’s suddenly pulling me into his arms. I don’t even have a chance to think before he wraps his arms around me, his body pressing against mine.

My heartbeat sounds loud in my ears. “What are you doing?”

“Covering you with my scent,” he whispers into my hair, and I swear, he’s smiling.

“Okay,” I tell him, “I’ll help.”

I rub against him, and he takes a sharp intake of air. His arms pull me even closer, and then he’s sighing into my hair. Content. And it’s nice. Being held by Prince Rinan, that is.

“Enough,” Prince Drogo says.

“She’s not done,” Prince Rinan responds, a little smugly, his arms squeezing me a bit tighter.

I’m not. I could do this all day. Prince Rinan’s body is just the right mix of hard and soft. It feels good against mine.

Prince Arlys clears his throat. “We have important things to discuss.”

“Ah,” Prince Rinan says, but he continues to hold me for a long minute before muttering, “Fine,” and releasing me.

Prince Rinan steps back into line with the others, running a hand through his blond hair, looking troubled for reasons I don’t understand. My gaze slides over them. I swear I already know where this is going before it starts, and I’m frustrated. This forge was my safe place. My escape. Do they really have to ruin it?

“Do you have any thoughts on the illness?” Prince Arlys asks quietly, but firmly. He seems to be aware that we’re in public, but it doesn’t bother him enough not to ask.

I want to scream. Do they really think I’ve had enough time already? It’s only been a handful of days since I’ve been here and already I’m trying to figure this out. I just need more time.

But they won’t like that answer.

I start preparing to make a dagger instead of responding, to keep my hands busy while I think out loud. “I’m going to ask you guys some questions first to try to help me work this out. Can I do that?”

Prince Arlys nods. “If it’ll help.”

I put the smaller piece of metal carefully in the fire, watching as it slowly heats up. “I think it might.” Then I decide to be honest. “I clearly haven’t figured it out yet, but I feel like I’m close. Like this might help.”

Not a complete lie. I’m eliminating things at least. I just need to be sure that eliminating them is the answer.

“Do you remember how we spoke about different ways magic illnesses can work? Let’s narrow some things down.” I release a slow breath. “Could the illness be spreading by touch? Person to person, starting with a cursed individual?”

I use my magic to heat the metal faster and watch as it turns orange. It’s ready. I’m about to put on the gloves when I have an idea. How well does my magic work here? Closing my eyes, heart racing, I whisper, “Lift.”

Using my magic, I lift it from the fire, glad when it doesn’t go shooting across the room. It did that once with Baldemar. Shaping the metal to form the dagger, I wait for their answer, hoping that I’m making the right choice by pulling them into this mystery.

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