5. Henry #3
I trail her around a corner into a wild-looking section of the garden. “ Poisonous plants ,” a sign at the entrance warns.
“Your favorite spot?”
I want her to say more. To explain how her magic works. To offer me any information at all—but she just stares at me.
“Many poisonous plants are medicinal,” she says matter-of-factly.
“So you just use magic to hurt people.”
She scoffs. “If magic was all that hurt people in this city, we wouldn’t need a city watch.”
I’ve hit on something. “Is that why you do it? The casual kissing murders? To stop violence?”
She looks away.
So that’s it. She does have a soft spot under all those thorns.
“You can tell me, Harlow. I won’t tell anyone.”
When she finally looks back, her eyes are glassy. She hesitates, then leans in close, her breath ghosting over the shell of my ear.
“I would rather marry another old pervert than pour my heart out to some feral forest wolf.”
I stumble away. “You think I want this?”
She crosses her arms and looks completely bored by my outrage. “Do you want to hear all about my secret pain, Henry? Want to be my white knight stealing me away to your creepy forest fort?” She huffs a cruel laugh. “You’re not a hero. You’re just another asshole impersonating a good guy.”
She storms by me, bumping my shoulder as she passes.
Anger twists in my chest as I stalk after her, but she’s too wound up for me to get a word in.
“I’m not your friend,” she says. “I’m not your family. I’m just a person who knows how it feels to be currency. Just like you.”
“Harlow, I?—”
“You and I are nothing but necessary to each other,” she says as she turns and shoves me back against the marble statue. “Do not be an obstacle.” Her voice is laced with menace .
I hate to prove her right, but maybe growing up in the fort has made me a little feral, because her viciousness turns me on.
“Or?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Or I’ll be forced to remove you from the board in this little chess game our parents are playing.”
I hook an arm around the slim curve of her waist and twist us so that she’s pinned to the statue. I bracket her body with my arms and slip a knee between her thighs. She looks up at me with murder in her eyes, and I’m reminded of how good she feels pressed against me.
“Is that what it is? A chess game?”
I lift my knee so it’s flush between her legs. She tries to shift away. My jacket slips down her shoulders, revealing the pale swell of her breast straining against the dark silk dress. I let my gaze linger.
“Are you foolish and feral enough to believe you’re more than a pawn?” she taunts. “If so, I suppose I won’t have to worry about it being difficult to eliminate you if I wish to.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“One option down, plenty more ideas to go,” she says.
I slide my hand to her hip, but she doesn’t even flinch.
I wonder if she’s thinking about last night.
This close, it’s hard to think of anything else.
But that’s the kind of blinding sense-memory that will be my demise.
I brush my fingers down the silk on her hip to her thigh. My knuckles graze something hard.
She freezes as I slide my hand inside the slit and palm a sheath on her thigh. She has a fucking dagger.
My mind flashes back to the ceremonial blade she gripped when she thought I was going to sell her out. Did she just want me to know she had a weapon in hand?
“Planning to use that?” I ask.
“Planning to give me reason to?” she counters.
She’s so sure of herself that I can’t help but be curious. I act on instinct alone and bring my hand to her throat, not to actually hurt her so much as to see what she’ll do. I know better than to poke a bear, yet I can’t seem to help myself.
My fingers have barely brushed her neck before she swats my arm aside, grips my wrist, and twists it around until I’m forced to drop to my knees .
“What in the Divine-damned Drained Wood do you think you’re doing?” she snaps. “I’m not some meek toy for you to break. Next time you lay a hand on me, I’ll shatter it.”
“Next time?” I ask. “You think I’ll try again?”
She shoves me forward so hard I barely have a chance to catch myself before I hit the gravel.
That was unexpected. I jump to my feet and turn to assess her.
She’s fuming, her pale face flushed gray with anger.
“This was illuminating, but I have to go get ready for dinner,” she says through gritted teeth.
She turns to leave. I’m losing her, and I need to know more.
“Who is Rochelli?” The question comes out before I can stop it.
It has the desired effect.
She spins on me. “What did you say?”
The rebellion has them rattled enough that a Carrenwell has stopped to see what I’ll say about him. Clearly, I’m going to need to find this man and maybe even help him.
“I heard a few men talking about him at the bar last night before we met,” I say.
“What did they say?”
I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out how much to share. I have her hooked, but I don’t want to surrender all my leverage. “I assumed at first that it was just drunken ramblings. Those without magic love the idea of someone evening the score for them.” I wait.
She sighs impatiently. “But?”
“But then they said he was gaining ground in the city—becoming more popular with the common people than your family. They’re tired of the blood tax and they say he’s going to get you to abolish it.”
She crosses her arms. “Of course they would say that. The common folk love a fairy tale. It makes them believe they could be more than ordinary.”
I can’t tell if she actually believes that or if she’s been conditioned to respond that way.
She blinks and winces. She opens her eyes wide and then narrows them on me.
“Are you well?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” she says, but her eyes remain squinted and she rubs her temple lightly. A smirk splits her face as she glances around us. “Well, I’ve enjoyed our little chat, but I must be getting back. This is the center of the maze. Hope you can find your way out.”
I turn, and, sure enough, we’ve reached a circular alcove with six paths leading in different directions.
She tosses my jacket at me and gives a mischievous glance at the trail to her left. She’s going to run from me.
“Harlow, don’t.” My heart kicks up, blood pounding in my ears.
Her eyes light with mischief. “Why not?”
I grab her arm. “Don’t ever run from me.”
For a moment, she’s frozen there, her eyes far away and then focused, and she looks murderous as she yanks her arm away. “Why?”
“Because I’ll chase you.”
She arches a brow. “Wow, you wild forest huntsmen really commit to the feral thing, huh? Do you still do all those fancy blood rituals and wild forest orgies to Kennymyra?”
“I’m serious.”
She takes a step away, her gaze darting down the path. A cold wind blows her hair forward, but I can still see the mischievous smile on her lips through the dark, shining strands. “What happens when you catch me?”
I grind my teeth, trying to keep control of my temper. Why can’t she just listen? “If you trust me on nothing else, please trust me on this—you do not want to know.”
She frowns and still looks poised to run.
“So, will we be venturing out again this evening? More victims on your list?” I ask, knowing this is my absolute last chance to change the direction of this interaction.
She crosses her arms. “That’s none of your business, and you need not worry about my nighttime antics until you’ve said your vows. You cannot speak of it to anyone.”
I close the space between us, and her hand skims the place where her blade rests on her thigh.
“Is that a command, lovely?”
“It’s a threat that if you don’t keep quiet, I’ll find a more permanent way to silence you. ”
I click my tongue. “I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve threatened my life.”
“I’d say this arrangement is off to an above-average start,” she says, a half-smile creeping over her lips. “No matter how I act in public, let there be no question in private that all I feel for you is loathing.”
I lean closer so she can see the seriousness in my eyes. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”
She steps away and turns toward the opposite pathway. “Good luck finding your way out, my feral forest wolf,” she calls over her shoulder. “I look forward to our formal introduction feast tomorrow evening.”
By the mercy of the Divine, she doesn’t run. She just strolls away casually. I’m too proud to follow her, but she effectively led me to the center of the maze without my noticing all the twists and turns we took to get here.
I shouldn’t be surprised that she walked away. It’s what Carrenwells do.
Ten years ago, her family led the Drained to our gates and left us alone to die.