Page 17 of The Enemy to the Living (The Wild Hunt #2)

Quinn

W hen I get to Mischief there’s no sweat or pent-up aggression or blood.

When I walk back out into the main bar, one of the twins’ bodyguards is waiting for me. One of the two trolls, and I don’t know either of their names.

He looks me up and down and clearly isn’t impressed by what he sees. My stomach churns. What’s going on?

“C’mon,” he says gruffly. “Bosses want to see you in the office.”

No point in running. Running means sacrificing my wolf.

And I’m not about to break the deal I made with them just because this is all…

weird. So I follow him without complaint, eyes widening at the hidden door he pushes open and then the narrow corridor we walk down. His shoulders brush either side of it.

There’s another door at the end, and the troll opens it without hesitation. Faint music drifts out first, and when I breathe in, I pick up the scents of Celyn and Sorrel and…

Bryn?

The troll walks inside—he has to, no way I can squeeze past—and I stumble, tripping over my own feet at the sight before me.

Some office. It’s all dark wood panelling and green velvet, and a fire flickers away merrily just behind where Sorrel is sitting. Celyn stands next to the other armchair, and Bryn kneels between them, shirtless, arms bound behind his back.

I inhale the sharp, coppery scent of his blood.

“Glad you could join us so punctually,” Celyn says. “This meeting has proven to be quite urgent.”

Bryn cranes his neck to look at me. His expression crumbles and he shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs. “No, no…”

“I don’t understand,” I say, but my blood feels like ice in my veins. Obviously, something is horribly wrong, and I don’t know how to fix it.

“Seems you didn’t heed our warning, little wolf,” Sorrel says. He’s holding a glass of something—smells like brandy—and when he leans forward in his seat, his dark eyes glitter. “You’ve been dealing with the Hunt.”

“I haven’t—I haven’t told them—”

“About us?” Sorrel knocks back the rest of his drink. Celyn scoffs at the display and reaches over, lifting the needle from the record next to his seat. “No, perhaps we were not clear. Hmm?”

He looks at Celyn, who shrugs and twirls a lock of red hair around his finger. “Perhaps not.”

“I didn’t break any part of the deal,” I protest. “I didn’t tell them anything about you or what happens here.”

“You should not be fraternising with the Hunt at all,” Sorrel hisses. He’s before me in an instant, sharp teeth bared on a hiss, and I swallow down the whimper that threatens to rise in my throat. “We do not think we made it clear, the bargain you made.”

“Y-you did. Please…”

“Celyn,” Sorrel says. “Show him.”

Celyn pushes away from the armchair and approaches Bryn with slow, lingering steps. Bryn shrinks back, but Celyn reaches and grabs hold of his chin, forcing his face up so their eyes meet.

“This is not all about you, Quinn,” Celyn says. His fingers are tight on Bryn’s face. “This wolf also failed to fulfil his part of our bargain. You should see what awaits you should you fail us again.”

I try to take a step forward, but the troll’s hands land heavily on my shoulders, holding me in place. If I had my wolf—

I could what? Kill them? I remember that vampire on the ground suddenly, the scent of his blood visceral, but Bryn cries out and I come back to myself before I can fall apart.

Celyn is still holding him in place. Magic flows from him, visible even to me, and wraps around Bryn’s entire body before it sinks under his skin. He goes unnaturally still, the entire room silent except for the crackle and pop of logs in the grate, and then—

And then he screams .

It’s a scream that rends me open, that has me pulling at the troll’s hold, and I’m almost free, but then Sorrel grabs me and holds me in place with no trouble at all.

I see the magic twist and turn inside Bryn—I don’t know how, but I do —and then watch it pull back, dragging something bright and silver with it.

It’s so bright it hurts my eyes to look at, but I can’t bring myself to look away, either. Celyn’s magic—blood red, like his hair—has it firmly trapped in place, but still it twists and lashes out, reaching for Bryn, who sags sideways once it’s free.

Dawning horror reaches me, and the cry I let out sounds a thousand miles away.

That’s his wolf.

That’s his wolf .

Celyn pulls a small jar from the mantelpiece and his magic forces the still-snapping wolf magic inside. It rattles when he sets the lid on it, but once it’s shut, the entire room is still, silent.

The fire goes out. My heart pounds in my ears. Slowly, Sorrel lets go.

He reaches over and flicks on a light. I can hear Bryn’s breathing, but he’s out cold, and I don’t like how shallow it is. That hurt, didn’t it? They’re going to make it hurt.

“I hope things just became a lot clearer,” Sorrel says venomously.

“They did.” My voice comes out as a croak.

The troll lets go, too, and Celyn lowers himself into one of the armchairs. Sweat beads his brow.

“Take him to the pack house,” Sorrel says, now eyeing Bryn speculatively. “Let the wolves know what they are dealing with.”

The troll nods. He moves around me, picks Bryn up as though he weighs nothing at all, and leaves the room. Sorrel strides away and takes the other armchair.

They both eye me, then exchange a look. Celyn tips his head back against the chair, but Sorrel looks at me again.

“The terms of your deal have changed,” Sorrel says.

“You—”

“Nine fights,” he says, and I snap my mouth shut. “This will count for one, as I imagine you will be no good in the cage after seeing that.”

“We want to be entertained,” Celyn says with a nod.

“You are no longer to fraternise with any member of the Hunt.”

“I can’t avoid them,” I say. “He—They’ll be more suspicious if I stop talking to them entirely.”

Another look. I get the feeling they can speak to each other without using words, and I don’t like that at all.

“Very well,” Celyn says. “You do not mention us. You do not mention what you do here. Everything you experience, feel, think from the moment you step onto this street to the moment you leave is to be kept to yourself.”

“And any messages we send you,” Sorrel adds. “You are not to show them to another. You are to delete them once you have read them.” He holds out his hand. “If you break any of these rules, Quinn, we will know it. And your wolf will be forfeited. Just like Bryn’s.”

I swallow hard and force my feet to move, crossing the room to take his hand. He shakes it once, and then Celyn holds out his own. I shake that, too. He presses something into my palm, and I open my fingers to see a pale stone resting against my skin.

“Keep that with you. We would not like you to lead any unwanted elements to our entertainment.”

I stare at Celyn for a beat too long, then slip the stone into my pocket.

“Run along now, little wolf,” Sorrel says. “We still have fights tonight.”

I nod and head for the door. I pause with my hand on the handle and don’t look back when I ask, “What was… What was Bryn’s deal?”

“He wanted a challenge,” one of them says. I don’t look back to see which. “He was supposed to win all his fights.”

“Last night? He won.”

“No, he lost. He beat you, and then I beat him.”

I look back. Sorrel’s looking at me, and he reminds me of a snake, of something lurking in the grass, waiting to strike.

“You did?”

“I did,” he confirms with a smile. “Clever of you to go for a different deal, little wolf. All you have to do is show up.”