Page 66 of What a Wolf Demands

“Funny, that’s exactly what your maman told me last night.”

Lily ignored the banter. It wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was the comforting press of the gun against her spine.

Even the odds.

Still moving, she reached behind her and pulled it from her waistband. Without looking down, she flicked off the safety and curled her fingertip around the trigger.

The men’s voices grew clearer as if her brain had turned up the volume as a favor. She rounded the edge of the wall and stepped into the middle of the basement.

The cell door was open, giving her an unimpeded view of Bart inside. Guyon and Bruno stood behind him on either side, their hands on his shoulders pressing him upright. Luc was off to the side.

And there was a wicked-looking knife in his hand. As he spoke, he shifted it slightly, making the blade catch the light.

“You tell us where she is,” he said, “or I’m going to make your guts match your face.”

She lifted the gun and raised her voice. “I’m right here.”

Luc whirled. Under other circumstances, the dumbstruck look on his face might have made her laugh. Then the expression cleared, replaced with malice so intense she almost took a step back.

Almost.

“Hello there, Latent Lily,” he said. “Come to join your friend?”

She kept the gun’s sights trained on a spot in the middle of his forehead. “Thanks for the invitation, Luc, but I find your hospitality somewhat lacking.”

He frowned, his features more confused than angry. “Is that some kind of a joke?”

Behind Bart, Guyon shifted.

She spoke without taking her eyes off Luc. “Anyone moves, I shoot. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bruno said quickly.

Luc shot him a glare. “Keep quiet.” He faced her. “Only a coward uses a gun.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

He smirked. “Your gun ain’t gonna help you against three wolves, Latent Lily.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Guyon spoke. “There are three of us down here, but dozens more wolves upstairs. You fire, you’re a dead woman.”

Her heart skipped a beat. In her anger, she hadn’t thought about her other pack members—or how noisy it would be to fire a gun in the basement. If she missed Luc, the bullet could strike the stone wall behind him. It might even ricochet and hit Bart.

Or her.

Sweat trickled down her back. The muscles in her arms ached from holding the gun parallel to the floor. She fought to keep her voice steady, her gaze locked with Luc’s. “Maybe. But you can be damn sure I’ll kill Thibeaux first.”

He snapped his teeth—a quick, wolflike gesture. “You don’t have the guts, you feral bitch.”

“Really? You seem to think I killed Charlie. Why wouldn’t I kill you, too?”

More confusion rippled across his features.

Guyon spoke again. “Lily.”

She kept her gaze on Luc. He was so very dumb—and that made him more dangerous.

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