Chapter 6 · A Noose at the Door

His grip on my wrists didn't loosen. It got worse.

"You spill my cup, rogue," Vane said again, low, right against my ear. "You pay in blood."

I could feel every inch of him. The heat rolled off his chest like the fireplace was inside his ribs. Sweat soaked through his shirt and into mine. His pulse hammered against my forearm, way too fast.

"Look at the floor," I said.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Look at the damn floor, Vane."

His head turned a fraction. The spilled wine had run across the black stone and pooled by the hearth. Where the firelight caught it, something glittered. Fine and gray, like frost, but the room was far too hot for frost.

Silver dust. Ground so fine it vanished in the wine, and anyone who didn't grow up with herb lore would've missed it. I smelled it the second the servant set the cup down. Sweet clove on top, then that sharp metal sting underneath.

He went still.

Not the good kind of still. The kind a wolf goes right before it decides who to bite.

"Who brought it?" His voice scraped.

"Some kid in a gray tunic. Garrick's colors."

"Careful."

"I'm not accusing anybody. I'm telling you what I smelled." My wrists were going numb above my head. "You wanted me here because my scent keeps you sane, right? Then maybe don't let me watch you drink your own funeral."

His fingers flexed. The tips of his claws pricked the skin over my pulse, not deep, just enough to remind me they were there.

His eyes had gone amber at the edges. The pupils were blown wide. Two years ago he stood on the Severed Ridge and cut me loose in front of the whole pack without blinking. Now he was shaking. A tremor ran through his jaw, like he was holding something back with his teeth.

"You smell like snow," he said, and it sounded like an accusation. "Like pine sap and blood and snow. It's driving me insane."

"That's not my fault."

"Everything about you is your fault."

That one landed. I'd carried those words for two years, and hearing him say them out loud, with his mouth that close to my skin, made my stomach turn over.

"Then let me go."

"No."

"You said I pay in blood. So take it and be done."

He huffed a laugh with no humor in it. His forehead dropped against my temple, heavy and burning. My whole body knew that weight. It remembered it better than my head did, and I hated that.

Then somebody knocked.

Three slow raps on the iron door. The blizzard was screaming against the walls, but I heard each one clear as a bell.

Vane's head snapped up.

"My lord." Garrick's voice came through the door, smooth as oil. "Forgive the hour. The elders have sent word."

Vane didn't move. His hands stayed locked around my wrists, and his chest pressed hard against mine. I could feel the growl building in him before I heard it.

"Not now."

"It can't wait. The storm's trapped them in the Pack Hall, and they're demanding blood for the border breach." A pause. The pause was the worst part. "They've asked for the rogue. At dawn."

My mouth went dry.

Something slid under the door. A thin coil of rope, tarred and stiff, with the loop already tied.

A noose.

It lay on the stone about two feet from my boots, still wet from the snow.

"The elders thought you'd want it as a courtesy," Garrick said. "So there's no confusion about the sentence."

I stared at it. My heart was going so hard it hurt. I tried to pull my wrists free and Vane just tightened his grip.

"Don't," he breathed against my hair. "Don't make a sound."

"He's about to hang me."

"I said don't."

"Vane..."

His claws sank in. Not enough to break skin, just enough to make me shut up.

"Garrick." His voice came out flat and cold, the Alpha voice, the one that made grown wolves drop their eyes. "She's mine until the storm breaks. Tell the elders I'll deliver her to the hall myself."

"Your fever..."

"My fever is my business."

Silence on the other side. I pictured him standing there, hand on the doorframe, smiling that careful little smile he wore at the border when he thought nobody was looking.

"As you say, my lord." Then, softer, almost kind: "The wine, I trust, was to your liking?"

Vane's whole body locked up.

I stopped breathing. If he answered wrong, if he showed even a flicker, Garrick would know we'd found it. And a man who'd poison his Alpha's cup would not stop at a cup.

"Strong," Vane said. "Send another at midnight."

I nearly choked.

"Of course."

Boots scraped on the stone. They moved off down the hall, slow and unhurried, fading into the roar of the wind until I couldn't tell them from the storm.

Vane let go of one wrist.

Before I could take a full breath, his hand clamped the back of my neck. His claws bit into the skin there, just under my hairline, right over the place where his mark used to be. The old scar burned like it had been waiting two years for him to touch it.

"Vane..."

He walked me backward. I fought him, but he was too strong and too hot and too far gone to notice. The heavy furs on the bed brushed the backs of my knees.

He bent until his mouth was an inch from my ear. His voice was rough, ruined, and nothing like the man from the ridge.

"He wants you dead," he said. "Give me one reason to keep you breathing."