“Lose something?” she asks sweetly as I pass.

I spin around. All the rage that has been building in my chest longs for release.

“Where is it?” I snarl.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice is falsely sweet, and she smirks to indicate that she knows exactly what I’m talking about. She smells like rose perfume, the scent that lingered in my chambers this morning. The three girls standing around her snicker.

“Do you think he will want you if you steal from him?” I ask.

She swishes her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder and steps closer to me.

“Do you really think he wants a Southern, human whore?” She makes each word sound more poisonous than the last. “Once he’s tired of you, he’ll find a wolf. He’ll find his mate. And when he’s ready—”

Her gaze snaps to Blake’s collar. Her eyes widen in surprise, before a look of wariness crosses her face.

Then she releases a harsh laugh.

“You’ve moved on fast, haven’t you?” She steps back into her group of friends. “Come on, let’s go to breakfast. I’m starving, and this Southern slut is ruining my appetite.”

They walk away, whispering and giggling.

“Don’t steal from me again,” I say.

Isla doesn’t respond, but her shoulders stiffen.

***

There is a storm coming.

I feel it as nightfall approaches.

The air is static and close and the Wolves seem more excitable than usual. I can hear them outside, shouting and laughing and brawling within the castle grounds. I wonder if that’s a wolf thing. Perhaps they can sense the storm and it agitates them in some way.

It makes me glad I have protection while Callum is away, even if it is Blake I must turn to.

I sit cross-legged on my bed and examine the collar he put around my neck.

It is black and featherlight, with a faint pattern on it made up of crisscrossing blacks and greys and other shades of night. It’s made of silk, and I run it through my fingers. At its center, there’s a black obsidian stone that absorbs the light from my candle.

I cannot decide whether to go to Blake’s chambers or not.

There are many reasons not to. For one thing, it would be completely inappropriate for me to visit a man’s bedchambers. Especially alone, after dark.

For another, Callum told me Blake was the most dangerous wolf in this entire kingdom.

And yet, the story Blake told me about his mother haunts me. A moment of understanding passed between us in that corridor. I wonder if we both have broken souls.

Maybe he’s not as bad as Callum thinks.

Curiosity flares within me, too. If his mother was human, does that make him a half-wolf? Why are the Wolves here so afraid of him? And why did he protect me?

As the candle burns low, flicking shadows over the shelves that creak beneath Blake’s books, my intrigue finally outweighs my trepidation.

I want to know why he has invited me to his chambers, and I’m certain he won’t harm me. Whatever his game is, I think he needs me in one piece in order to win.

Thunder rumbles through the castle walls as I slide off my bed, signaling the arrival of the storm.

I pull on my boots, and creep down the spiral staircase.

The torches in the corridors flicker violently, as if the flames are as excited by the storm as the Wolves that shout and roar in the Great Hall. I stick to the shadows, flattening myself against the wall as a couple of drunken Wolves pass by on their way to the festivities.

When I reach Blake’s door, I take a deep breath.

The last time I was here, he shifted and chased me through the forest. I’m not sure what I’ll be faced with this time.

I gather my nerves, and I knock.

I wait a few seconds. The rain hammers against the castle, and there’s a flash of light through the narrow window at the end of the corridor as lightning strikes.

There’s a thud within Blake’s chambers, followed by the sound of someone stumbling.

The door opens a crack.

Blake’s dark hair is messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it, and his skin is clammy. The top few buttons of his white shirt are undone and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal corded forearms.

His eyes are bloodshot.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Behind him, his room is a mess. The black sheets of his four-poster bed are crumpled, there are books all over the floor, and his desk is littered with small glass jars.

My brow furrows. “You told me to come at nightfall. . .”

“Oh. Right.” His words are a little slurred. He tilts his head to the side. “Why would a rabbit seek out a wolf?”

His usual scent of dark forests is mixed with a faint aroma of alcohol. There’s another scent in the air too—herbal and familiar. It puts me on edge.

“Are you drunk?” I ask.

“No.” He starts to close the door. “Now’s not a good time.”

Thunder rumbles down the corridor, and Blake flinches.

I put my hand on the door, keeping it open, as a flash of lightning reveals the handwritten label on one of the jars.

“Is that wolfsbane?” I push past him into the room.

He sighs, then closes the door.

I pick up the jar. The lid is off, and it’s releasing the dangerous scent I recognized. I turn to him. “What is this? Are you trying to poison yourself?”

“Course not.” He slumps onto the end of his four-poster bed, and threads his fingers through his dark hair. “Go away.”

As well as wolfsbane, I note lavender, dried chamomile, and some valerian root on his desk. I pick up a pot reading milk of the poppy. There’s a decanter full of clear liquid beside them, and when I sniff it, I wince at the pungent alcoholic odor.

Thunder rattles the jars, and Blake’s knuckles whiten as he grips his hair.

“Are you trying to make a sleep aid?” I ask. “Why the wolfsbane? Unless. . .”

Callum told me they didn’t have painkillers up here because the wolf inside them would fight it off.

“You’re using wolfsbane to weaken the wolf and give the other ingredients time to work, aren’t you? Why do you need a sleep aid?”

The room lights up, and the force of the thunder makes the mountains tremble. Blake’s whole body hardens and a rough sound scrapes the back of his throat. “Fuck’s sake.”

“Goddess! You’re afraid of the storm!”

He removes his hands from his hair, and slowly looks up at me. “If you tell anyone, I will kill you.”

I know the dark image he cultivates is important to him. I believe he will do what it takes to prevent that from being shattered.

“I know,” I say.

When the thunder sounds again, he shuts his eyes, his chest inflating as he takes a deep breath. He groans and lies back on the bed, his feet planted on the floorboards.

“It’s only a storm,” I say, placing my hands on my hips.

“Thanks for that. Very helpful.”

“Why are you afraid?”

“None of your business.”

I hover by his desk, unsure of what to do.

As I’m debating, he half crawls up the bed and slumps on his pillows, groaning again. I sigh. Tentatively, I approach.

“I think you’ve taken too much,” I say.

“Oh, do you? Well, thank goodness that Callum’s little pet, who only learned of wolfsbane a couple of weeks ago, is here to offer me her sage advice.” He turns away from me. “Go away.”

He smells of sweat and soap and the forest. His shirt clings to his muscular back.

“Seriously, Blake, you don’t look good.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re irritating me.”

“Or maybe it’s because you’ve just taken poison, you fool. Where’s the antidote?”

“I’m the healer. Not you.”

“You’re a mess. And your potion hasn’t worked. You’re not asleep, are you?”

Lightning floods the room and he curls in on himself as he braces for the thunder that cracks through the sky moments later.

I sigh, and perch on the edge of the bed.

“You know, I used to be afraid of storms. When I was a child.”