Page 55 of The Wolf

She rubbed her temples and winced. While she was able to heal her hidden wounds, Arwen had expressly forbidden her from healing the ones on her cheeks. Her face looked like an overripe fruit.

“Are you ready to go again?” Mourne asked as he picked up two wooden practice swords.

She nodded and took the sword from the wolf.

They got in position.

“En garde!” Mourne shouted.

Mourne and Scarlet twirled and danced around each other, neither one of them letting up an inch. Mourne was only three inches taller than Scarlet, and lean rather than broad, so they were well-matched in the fight. Scarlet was faster than him, but Mourne was a killer with a sword. All Scarlet needed was an entrance through which she could dart out with her dagger to beat him, but it was tough going when she hadn’t sparred since before her ill-fated trip to Merjeri.

But then, when she was wiping sweat from her brow to stop it from stinging her eyes, she noticed that Mourne seemed to lean ever so slightly on his left heel whenever he was about to make a full strike on his right. Testing this knowledge, Scarlet went through the motions of believing the parry to be real, even though this meant Mourne got in a hit on her left shoulder that sent her teeth chattering.

Two minutes later, Scarlet saw him lean on his heel again, so she let him strike—this time on her waist—just to confirm her suspicions. Satisfied that she’d learned one of Mourne’s tells, she let out a shuddering breath in surrender, and clutched at her winded chest.

“You win. Until next time?”

Mourne grinned, flashing long fangs in victory, completely oblivious to the fact that Scarlet had now worked out how to best him in the future.

Next time, my friend.

She wondered how long it would take him to work out she’d figured out his tell.

Just then, as if Scarlet were attuned to his movements, she saw Brine approaching.

Run.

He had not yet noticed her, so she chucked the wooden sword at Mourne, ducked under the fence, tossed her red cloak over her shoulders and scurried away, not even saying goodbye to Mourne when he bit out a noise of confusion.

If she held out for a little while longer, the trial would happen tonight and either Brine would end up dead or he’d be the heir to Arwen’s enterprise. He’d forget all about her.

Hopefully.

Is that really what you want?

She squashed the thought immediately. They had nothing in common.

And make no mistake, Brine is the enemy.

Her stomach knotted as she entered the manor. She was terrified, there was no point in denying it. He held dangerous information about her. And the trials were always bloody affairs, but set up this way…

She didn’t want to imagine it.

Scarlet stopped by her room to wash and clean up, then dutifully headed to her workroom to experiment with a couple of concoctions she’d been trying to perfect over the last few months. One of them was a poison that made its victim blissfully numb and immobile and sent them into a deep sleep. The other one was a potion made to bring them back out of this state. She had mastered the first, but not the second, and was intent on completing the project tonight.

She opened the door and halted.

A dark-haired, handsome, achingly familiar wolf stood in front of her worktable, waiting for her.

The big, bad wolf has come for me.

Brine must have seen her at the sparring ring and had used the misdirect in order to capture her alone here. She glanced over her shoulder and back to Brine.

“You wouldn’t make it far,” he remarked softly.

And there it was. The first threat.

She instinctively knew there was no point in trying to leave. He was stronger and faster than her—she had learned that over their last encounters. Normally, she’d avoid being in a closed space with any of the pack, but she couldn’t risk anyone hearing anything Brine might say. Scarlet closed the door behind her, and leaned against the heavy wood.

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