Page 129 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

Three times, she called his name.

“Aidan.”

The wolf shivered, shifting into Aidan, naked and tattooed. He rose to his feet and caught the glass egg she tossed at him. His eyes burned gold as he examined it, tracking the threads. He shot her a slow smile and then crushed the egg in his hand.

The glass shards cracked, spitting darts of magic.

The wolves paused, frozen for a brief instant. Then an ear twitch, a shake of the head. The frantic gleam faded from silver eyes, gold eyes, blue eyes. The last of the spectators tripped over each other to flee.

“No!” Amelia gasped.

She had an armed guard, but Sorcha had wolves.

Aidan’s Alpha growl cut through the spell, severing the remaining threads.

The crowd of spectators, so eager to see the fight play out, suddenly wanted to be anywhere else.

But it wasn’t quite enough. Aidan’s gaze sharpened, still tracking the spell. He stared at the top of the tower, roofless, stairless. It would take too long to scale, if it were even possible.

Sorcha followed his gaze. She whistled once, twice. A crow called back.

There, on a cracked parapet stone: another glass egg sitting in a circle of dried roses.

Sorcha promised blackberry scones, loaves of bread, sunflower seeds. An entire cake.

The crow obliged, but mostly because the glass egg was so shiny. He plucked it up in his beak and flew down, dropping it in Sorcha’s waiting palm.

It never landed.

One of Amelia’s guards caught it in the air.

But he held it for only the briefest moment. Furious at the guard’s proximity to his future wife, Aidan strode calmly forward, gripped his ankle, and yanked. The man fell hard. The glass egg soared. Amelia shrieked.

Aidan caught it and crushed it, just like the first.

The severing of the last threads of magic shook the ground. The stones rattled, mortar raining down. There was a blinding flash of light and the tower began to crumble. Someone screamed.

Amelia took it as an opportunity to shove a blinking, disoriented Sorcha off the edge of the platform.

Sorcha could not catch herself in time. She lost her footing and fell.

Aidan caught her in his arms.

She blinked at him, stomach topsy-turvy. “I knew you’d find me.”

“You’re hard to miss, Lady Sorcha.”

“Why, thank you, Lord Coventry.”

The ring of green fire dwindled to nothing. A large chunk of stone hit the ground and shattered, pelting them. The crumbling walls swayed dangerously. The sound was like grinding teeth, cracking ice.

Aidan ducked another stone and ran, hunched over Sorcha to protect her. Wolves tore for the doorway. The few remaining spectators climbed through the windows. Sorcha could not see Amelia anywhere. There was only falling stone, cracked ground, clouds of dust.

And the courtyard, scattered with rose petals and salt.

Aidan did not stop running until he had Sorcha well clear.

The tower swayed once more and collapsed.

Aidan’s arms were tight around Sorcha, his heart thundering in her ear. “You need to eat more,” he muttered. “You barely weigh anything at all.” That was demonstrably untrue, but she kissed his cheek anyway. “Maybe we’ll avoid rosewater desserts for a while. I’ve lost the taste for them.”

“Good idea.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “That was a hell of a risk, songbird.”

She pressed back. “It was worth it.”

Most of the spectators had fled except for a few who remained, shame-faced. They helped pull chains from the captured wolves, only gasping a little as they transformed into naked men and women with curses on their tongues.

It was Orla who stepped out of the dust and shadows, eyes haunted but clear. Her hair was a mess of knots and burrs. She gripped a limp Amelia by the back of the neck.

“My memory is fuzzy, so I can’t remember exactly why, but I have the very real urge to break several of her bones.”