Page 8 of A Wolf's Bargain

The murmurs turned to chuckles.

Cillian Fane’s wintry smile turned sharp and mocking. “Is that right? By whose authority do you bring this offer, Lady? Surely not your father. Unless Fergus has taken to inviting women to sit on his war councils?”

Cora clenched her fists, forcing her anger aside. He expected an over-emotional female. If there was any hope of gaining his compliance—and his respect—she’d have to remain calm.

“By my own authority. I offer an alliance through marriage.”

There was a moment of tense silence before all hell broke loose within the tent. The room exploded into a cacophony of overlapping voices. One voice rose above them all.

“ENOUGH! Out! The lot of you!”

The men obeyed, their murmurs following them out the door. One man, a giant with long, golden hair, stayed behind long enough to whisper something in Fane’s ear. He nodded, and the man left without another word.

Then they were alone, the silence almost deafening without all the noise. What had seemed such a small, crowded space suddenly felt as enormous as her father’s great hall. Fane stood behind the large map table, and the separation felt significant somehow.

Cora shifted uncomfortably but remained silent. She’d made her offer. To say more before he responded would only weaken her position.

Finally, he spoke. “I asked you before, Lass, and I’m not yet convinced of the answer. Do you know where you are? Do you know who it is you’ve offered yourself up to, like the saintly lamb you are?”

Cora scoffed. “I am no lamb, Master Fane. I’m a grown woman and well aware of your reputation. But the fact remains that—”

“And what reputation is that?” he asked. “Tell me, Lady Kilkenny, what have you heard?”

Fane rounded the table, slowly stalking toward her. Cora’s words caught in her throat as he approached, crowding her space. In the low light, he seemed inhuman. The wolf's pelt around his shoulders made him seem larger and wilder than he was, and the way he surrounded her left her feeling like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Still, she refused to take a step back.

“Some say you and your men were blessed—or cursed—by the old gods. That none can best you in battle. That you fight like—” she paused, remembering Bran’s stories.

Fane leaned in, so close now that his breath warmed her cheek.

“Like what, Lass? What do they say?”

Every second in Fane’s presence left her more ill at ease. Cora didn’t understand why he insisted on this line of questioning, but it made her uncomfortable.

She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat and said, “Like a pack of wild wolves. They say that you become beasts on the battlefield—as wild and fierce as the wolves themselves.”

Fane’s lips tilted into a mysterious smile. “And what do you think of that, knowing you’ve offered yourself to the King of the Wolves?”

Cora leaned closer, but only a little. They were already indecently close.

“Ithink,” she hissed, “that you need this alliance, Master Fane. You may be fierce, but without the support of the surrounding kingdoms, you and your wildlings will be treated as nothing but nomadic mercenaries at best. Criminals and brigands at worst. When they don’t need you, they’ll hunt you, Wolf King, and hang your pelt with all of their other trophies.”

Fane said nothing, but this close, Cora could see the way the muscles in his jaw ticked. The low creak just below her vision was undoubtedly him clenching his fists in his thick leather gloves. Still, she pressed on.

“With me at your side, with my father’s name behind you, you gain legitimacy. Honor. You want payment for your services? Men—kings—will offer you your weight in gold if they feel they can trust your name. As for me, well...”

She dared to lean forward a hairsbreadth more—so close that she could feel his breath on her face. “I told you I’m not a lamb, and I’m hardly afraid of wolf stories.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Neither spoke, and he remained so close that Cora entertained the wild idea that he might kiss her. It was a dangerous thought, but she couldn’t help but wonder what his beard would feel like against her cheek.

Cora stepped back. Though her heart beat like a drum behind her ribs and her cheeks warmed at her thoughts about the man before her, she couldn’t afford to show any weakness. When warmth spread unexpectedly below her belly, she had the sneaking suspicion that he could make her very weak indeed.

A mysterious smile spread across Fane’s face until his teeth showed. If they seemed sharper than they ought to be, she blamed it on the low light.

“The thing about stories, Cora Kilkenny, is that sometimes they turn out to be true.”

Before she could ask what he meant, Fane unclasped the pin securing the wolf skin around his shoulders. She watched, awestruck, as he set the pelt aside on the table and boldly pulled his shirt over his head. Then, despite her indignant screech, he reached down and tugged his boots off his feet!

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