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Ademar’s glare froze her where she stood. “I didn’t ask you to coddle me.”

Digging his staff into the soft earth, he heaved himself upright again, stumbling to regain his balance despite his bad leg. Lila flinched but couldn’t tell whether it was from her brother’s words or the growl ripping from Rafe’s chest. She held up her hands, palms out, as Ademar pointed his staff at the wolf.

“Stop it,” she commanded. “Both of you stop.”

She didn’t raise her voice, but she did push a thread of compulsion into her words. Instantly, the clearing fell silent, even the wind holding its breath. Rafe’s growl faded, and Ademar grudgingly lowered his weapon. Lila held her position, the sun hot on her back as her attention shifted from one male to the other.

Rafe’s anger was like a physical weight over the scene, ready to crush them given the chance, but he remained silent and still. Ademar was another matter.

“You have no right to show that beast mercy,” her brother said into the silence. “Not after what he did to me.”

Guilt twisted inside her. “Go back to the house. Go back to bed. We can talk this out when I’m done.”

Ademar’s look hit her like ice water. “Yes, we’ll speak later. As a family.”

Which meant Galeeta would be involved. She watched with foreboding as Ademar retreated the way he’d come, using his glittering staff to support his weight. As the branches waved and bowed with his passage, gooseflesh crept down her arms.

“Will that be a problem?” Rafe asked.

“Nothing I’m not used to,” Lila said easily, but didn’t believe it.

CHAPTER 13

Once Lila’s brother left, the circle of mounded earth fell silent but for the bees in the wildflowers. The spirit of the pack surrounded Rafe, elusive and yet as tangible as the sun on his skin. The lost wolves were there, but not there; connected, but the threads that bound them ended in the realm of the dead. Ewan. Connor. His uncle. Many others, youngsters and seasoned hunters both. Rafe could not follow them any more than he could reel them back from the grave.

He let fury burn through his grief, cauterizing the raw wound in his soul. Like them, he’d come to this cursed valley to find the Magician. Prisoner or not, he’d finish the job and leave a bloody trail of vengeance. It would just take longer than he’d thought.

Assuming he lived. Fresh graves had a way of sowing doubt, even for a survivor like him.

His gaze slid from the circle of the dead to Lila, who stood lean and graceful beside him. Her head was bowed as if in prayer. He didn’t doubt her dismay over the slain wolves was real, but he reminded himself that meant next to nothing. Her loyalties lay with her own kin.

She looked up as if hearing his thoughts. “I’ve kept my promise to show you this place. Now it’s time to return to the house.”

Reluctant to leave, Rafe was slow to pick up the basket of greenery and fall into step behind her. As he hesitated, his limbs grew clumsy, alien. Even the sensation of the wicker basket in his hands seemed to belong to someone else. Suffocating panic rose, swamping him before he pushed it down and hastened to obey Lila’s command. The strange sensation faded the instant he did what he was told. As long as he wore the bracelets, there was no breaking a promise to one of her kind.

The trees closed around them, blocking out the sun and cooling the air. Lila walked ahead, her pale hair loose around her shoulders like a cape. Every step she took was in rhythm with the swaying branches, as if she were dancing with the wind in the trees.

Her unexpected kiss still burned deep inside him, branding him with her taste. He didn’t want the lingering memory. The bracelets tugged at him like a tether, but so did desire. It was hard to know where magic ended and unwanted longing began.

His sole spark of hope came from the precious few hours each day that Lila required his help and he got out of his cell. Somehow—between fetching, carrying, and outwitting the bracelets—he’d find the Magician and avenge the murdered wolves. Maybe even escape.

Lila knew he would try. She had to, and yet she let him walk behind her, certain he wouldn’t overcome the magic of his bonds and attack. She was a madwoman, or a terminal optimist who thought taking a werewolf for daily walkies was a bright idea. He’d never understand the fae mind.

Or maybe he underestimated the warrior she was. That idea intrigued him the most.

Before long, the white walls of the way station rose from the landscape. Lila rounded the corner, choosing a modest door at the back of the house. When he followed her through, the gloom inside made him blink. They’d entered a storage room lined with shelves. Half were empty, but the rest were stacked with enough glassware and expensive-looking dishes for an epic banquet.

Lila led the way past the shelves and into another room. This space was huge, almost too large given the dimensions of the house. Maybe magic made it possible to cheat the laws of square footage, because the glossy wooden pillars of the ballroom seemed to march to a vanishing horizon like the trees in an orchard. Lila stopped at the head of the room, dwarfed by the vaulted ceiling supported by ribs of polished oak. Rafe stopped beside her and set the basket of vines and branches at their feet.

“You said you were going to decorate for a reception,” he ventured. “You’re going to need more than what we gathered.”

Her mouth quirked. “You don’t know much about fae.”

“As little as possible. Even less about party planning.”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “Your invite got lost in the mail?”

“I’m a bratwurst and beer kinda guy.”

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