Page 20 of Soulgazer

Are they the ones who made the bets?

The Wolf leans forward, and sunlight glares off the beaten-silver pendant hanging from his neck: three wolves chasing one another in a tight circle across its surface, clasping one another by the tail. “Darlin’, it’s sweet of you to find me, but you’ll want to get back to your betrothed now. In my experience, they don’t take kindly to women who run with the wolves.”

“That’s not—” I try, but the others cut in, most of them hidden by the stupid veil.

“It’s bad luck to send a bride off without a kiss!”

“Aye, Captain, can you imagine the stories she’d spread if you cursed the poor soul?”

I flinch, and the Wolf cocks his head. Steps toward me as I scramble back. “Is that what you’re after, love?”

“No! I…” Sweat coats my palms, and I glance at the others—then once more at the Wolf. He wears a shirt of finely woven linen with stars embroidered along the collar, and a coat dyed such a deep green it would take weeks of foraging to get the color just right. A leather glove wraps over his left hand, tied at the wrist. He smiles beneath my inspection, but it holds the promise of a bite.

I swallow. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

The Wolf stands close now. Too close.

“Is that so?”

I startle when he slides a finger between the betrothal torc and my bare neck. A ripple of laughter runs through his friends, and my stomach draws tight, anticipating the curse’s response to his touch.

But no magic flares between us.

I tilt my head until I can meet his eyes again—a deep, decadent blue that reminds me of the ancient crypt beneath my home, veined with sapphire and vibrating with spirit song.

They narrow with recognition. My throat closes in.

“Aye, well…far be it from me to deny a bride’s final request. Nessa?” The Wolf slips a hand into his pocket and tosses a silver coin in the air. “Take the crew for another round of drinks.”

The redhead—Nessa—catches it with an easy grin and nudges the deep-voiced man beside her. “Right. We’ll just find you round the Maypole later, shall we, Captain?” She tosses me a wink, then slips off into the trees, the others trailing behind her.

“You’re wearing the Stone King’s collar.”

I pull back from the Wolf so sharply, the torc strikes the line of my bone. “I-it’s not.” I frown and touch the cold, sharp stones set in iron, then the sensitive skin beneath. “It’s a mark of betrothal.”

“All it lacks is a chain.”

The words don’t startle me half as much as the sincerity in his tone, the distaste in his expression. It causes the torc to weigh thrice as heavy, cold metal curves digging in. “Rí Maccus meant it as an honor.”

“Really?” The Wolf snorts. “I wonder how much honor he’d show if he knew you kissed me last night.”

I glance around us to see if anyone has overheard, but there’sno one. The vendor has walled us off with his line of cloaks, and some part of me wonders if the Wolf’s crew isn’t responsible for that. “That wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—it won’t happen again.”

“A damned shame, that.”

“What?”

He drapes himself against the tree like it’s a throne, a slight smirk banishing the dark from his eyes. “It wasn’t terrible. Clearly you’re new to it, but with a bit of practice…”

“It won’t happen again, Wolf.”

His mouth snaps shut, the rest of his expression masked by lace, and I can’t stand it any longer. I lift the veil back and find him smiling—smirking really, as though he’s barely managed to contain a laugh.

“Wolf?”

My face burns. “What else would I call you?”

He searches my eyes like he could drink them up, until his mirth eases into something softer. Curious, but wary. “Faolan.”