Chapter 7 · The Execution Lie

"Take your hand off my throat, Rafe."

His fingers tightened against the back of Vera's neck.

The commander was half-sprawled against her, black veins crawling beneath his skin. His fangs were gone, but his eyes still burned with wolf-light. Blood soaked through the cloth she had pressed to his side.

"Answer me," he rasped. "Who taught you to pull silver?"

"Nobody. I guessed."

"You knew where to cut."

"And you knew exactly where to put your hand when you wanted to threaten a woman." She shoved against his chest. "We both have talents."

His thumb dragged over the pulse beneath her jaw. His skin burned against hers. The blood bond tightened, hot and sharp, like it enjoyed watching him hold her.

Vera hated that her body noticed.

"Move," she snapped. "The soldiers are still outside."

Rafe caught her wrist before she could pull away. The effort nearly dropped him back to the floor, but he forced himself upright and braced one hand against the iron door.

"They want you alive long enough to question you," he said. "After that, they'll hang you from my gate."

"You sound worried."

"I'm deciding whether your death would be useful."

"Liar.