Chapter 25 · Warm Wax

Valerius didn't lift his nose off my throat.

"Answer me." Raw, scraped. His breath moved the hair at my ear and it wasn't steady.

"It's soap." Cracked coming out. I cleared my throat, tried flatter. "Kitchen's been boiling fat for candles all week. Gets into everything."

"Don't." He pulled back six inches. No more. The muscle under his right eye jumped twice. "I've known that scent since before I could talk. That's not a candle."

He was right, and I hated him for it. Nine days I'd been rubbing tallow into my wrists and the hollow of my throat, and for nine days it had worked.

My wolf stayed down. She'd been down since the tribunal, curled at the base of my skull with her nose under her tail. Before, she'd have clawed to get at him. Now she hid.

So I gave him bored. Bored was the last armor I had.

"Maybe you're losing it. Vane sits in your chair every time you turn your back—"

His hand caught my jaw. Not hard. That's the nightmare of it: he knew exactly how much pressure held a person still without bruising.