Page 25

My fingers graze his once, and I pretend it’s an accident, but my heart skips as if I touched fire. He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t press closer, either. Just lets the space between us thrum.

I clear my throat. “Back in the woods, the witch said something weird to you.”

He tenses slightly. “A prophecy. She’s fond of them.”

“But you don’t know what she meant?”

“No,” he says, jaw tight. “She likes talking in riddles. But prophecies are unique to her bloodline, and none of them have ever been good.”

I believe him. Nothing about the way she looked at Griffin felt like a blessing. It felt like a warning wrapped in teeth.

“You really don’t remember anything else?” I ask softly. “From before? When you were taken?”

“I remember some of it but not all. I’m”—he hesitates—“I’m doubting some of my own memories. I do know I was betrayed.”

In the cell, he called Quentin a traitor. “Was it by that shifter you killed, the one who tried to attack me?”

I don’t say his name, but Griffin nods. “Quentin was my right-hand man. We grew up together, fought together. He was also my guard. I don’t know where I was when he injected me with something. But I know it was him.”

“And now he’s dead,” I murmur. “Good riddance. A little dramatic, though, crushing his heart and all, but very satisfying. Props for presentation.”

His lips tug at the corner as he glances at me. “You talk a lot.”

I shrug. “Somebody has to. You don’t talk at all.”

“I speak when necessary.”

I pretend to yawn, and he chuckles. “The sound of your voice was comforting in the cell. I don’t think I will ever tire of hearing you speak.”

His words make me blush. “Well, you would be the first man to say that to me. Normally, they can’t wait for me to shut up.”

“Then you have been around the wrong men,” he says simply.

“It didn’t help that I was so accomplished in my field. Most of the guys I dated liked me well enough, but they found me intimidating.”

“You will learn that wolf shifters prefer strong mates.”

I blink. “Yes, well, I’m not dating your kind, am I?”

He gives me a long look, and my body tightens at the glittering heat in his eyes. Am I imagining things, or does he look like he wants to eat me up—and not in the grisly and morbid sense?

A gust of wind cuts through the trees, and I hug my arms tighter around myself. My thin shoes slip slightly on the damp soil. Griffin notices.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m fine.”

He stops walking. “Maya,” he says, turning to face me. “You’re shivering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But I don’t stop him when he steps closer. I tilt my head back to look up at him, my heart hammering. He’s so close I can smell the earth and smoke on his skin, feel the heat radiating off him like a shield.

“I can carry you,” he says. His eyes search mine, not asking for permission but waiting for refusal.

“Carry me?” I scoff. “My legs work perfectly well.”

He shakes his head slightly. “It’ll get us to our destination faster.”