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“I need to be honest with you,” Cyrus said at the same time.

Silence crashed down on them as their gazes locked.

Suddenly, the static in the room wasn’t just nerves. It was something else entirely. The beat of the unknown. Whatever lay between them dangled in the air, hanging over their heads. The seconds ticked by as the fire crackled behind them, each waiting for the other to go first.

Evelyn set her fork and knife down, the metal on the wooden table booming in the silent apartment. She tried to smile, but Cyrus wouldn’t look her in the eye. Her empty glass called to her, and she managed to say, “Wine?”

Relief flashed over Cyrus’s face. “That’s a fine idea.”

They both scrambled, reaching for the bottle at the same time. Their hands collided, innocently, awkwardly. Cyrus’s fingers brushed over Evelyn’s wrist, barely a touch, barely anything at all, and yet—

Cyrus exploded.

He grunted—no, growled—as he erupted out of his seat. His chair fell back, clattering to the floor. As he clutched his wrist to his chest, smoke drifted up and through his clenched fingers. The unmistakable smell of his burning flesh had Evelyn’s stomach roiling.

She glanced at her wrist, at the leather-cord bracelet sizzling from Cyrus’s skin.

Then her mind reeled.

Her bracelet had wolfsbane, the only element there capable of harming another.

“You’re a werewolf,” Evelyn whispered, the words bitter and laden on her tongue.

“Evelyn, I can explain,” Cyrus said.

Time stopped. Silence rang. Wretched, dreadful cold drenched her like an ice bucket being dumped over the fire in her veins.

Her name. He’d said her name.

“What . . .” Evelyn couldn’t speak. “How do you . . .?”

Cyrus blinked. Then his eyes went wide as if he realized his mistake, as if he’d been close to slipping up before, revealing whatever he’d been hiding, revealing that he knew who Evelyn was.

He had to be from the Drengr pack sent by her coven. Goddess, did her coven know she was here? Did her betrothed know?

The floodgates of worry, doubt, and questions opened in her mind. For so long, she’d evaded everyone. Months. Years. She’d run with her secrets, and the threat of them coming to light was too great. Fear ran through Evelyn’s blood, icy hot. She rose from her seat and used her magic to flip the table over and put space between her and whoever this werewolf was.

Their dinner, plates, and glasses crashed and shattered. In the corner of the apartment, the fire roared to maximum capacity, surging with the flame in Evelyn’s veins.

“Who are you? How do you know who I am?” she demanded. She didn’t recognize her own voice, icy and soulless.

“Please,” he said, taking a step closer to the table.

Evelyn ignited her fingertips with flame, ready to attack, ready to defend if she needed. Maxie meowed underneath the bed, hunkered down, and watched them both with wide yellow eyes. Evelyn frowned at her familiar. Who was this werewolf who had pretended to be a huntsman and entered their lives?

“Who are you?” she said again.

Cyrus sighed and swallowed, looking her dead in the eye. “Kade Drengr, third-born son and Son of the God.”

Chapter Forty

Evelyn

The world tilted. Evelyn’s magic, just as stunned as she was, retreated inward. The fireplace both whooshed out, and a new cold settled in her apartment.

Evelyn rocked back a step, her mouth going dry. “You’re lying.”

The words came out like a wish. Please. She wanted it to not be true.