The Thing About Weres

he really is.”

“No,” said Trowbridge, speaking very, very slowly. “She doesn’t know what her brother is. The Black Mage’s shadow. A traitor to his kind.”

“I am not ‘your’ kind,” said Lexi, through his teeth.

“You are an animal under your skin, just as I am.” Trowbridge stepped between me and my brother. “Though maybe not a wolf. You’re more like something that feeds on another’s kill…” Trowbridge’s eyes glittered. “A hyena—”

My brother sprang. Trowbridge swung out with his elbow in a blow that caught Lexi under the chin with enough force to snap his head back and send his body flying into the corner of the living room.

Before I could dart for my twin, Cordelia snatched me back, and folded her arms around me in a tight embrace.

“I can stop them!” I squirmed to free myself. “Let me go!”

She hissed as my foot caught her kneecap, then wrapped her fingers over mine, forcing them into impotent fists from which no magic could spring. “No. The Alpha must deal with this.”

The Alpha did.

Lexi surged upward from the floor, hands clawed for battle.

Trowbridge transferred his weight to one foot, spread his arms high and wide, and met my brother’s charge with a savage kick. His foot caught my brother mid-chest, and then my brother was falling again, his arms flailing in the air.

Thud. Lexi hit the oak flooring and slid across the living room, overturning a side table and its lamp, before his skid stopped. Eyes flashing, he grabbed something off the ground, flicked his wrist, and something—a box? a book?—hit Trowbridge on the cheek.

The projectile bounced off and broke open on the floor, the box’s contents of silver chains spilling onto the floor. A gasp from the spectators crowding the hall that went unheeded between the two combatants.

“Don’t,” I wailed.

But he did. Lexi made a fist. A quarter second later—as my brother’s punch continued its harmless arc through the air where my mate had stood a second before—Trowbridge delivered a left-handed, lights-out blow straight to Lexi’s jaw.

Chapter Sixteen

My twin’s heels dug into the ground as he clawed at Trowbridge’s foot. An understandable reaction, considering the foot was pinned across his neck, slowly choking him.

“Let him go,” I sobbed, tearing at Cordelia’s grip.

“Steady,” she cautioned in my ear. “Have a bit of sense.”

If I had a shred of that, I’d never have fallen in love with a Were in the first place.

My True Love stared down at my writhing brother, his expression merciless and savage as he observed my twin’s color mottle into an ugly puce. “How does it feel to wear a collar?”

“You’re suffocating him!” I cried. “He can’t breathe!”

“He stinks of sun potion. Do you know why he swallows that shit? It’s to keep his wolf from coming out. He likes to keep that hidden under his hat. Don’t you, you bastard?” Trowbridge let Lexi writhe for another four seconds before he eased off. “Just like you enjoy hunting your own kind.”

“No.” My nails cut into Cordelia’s wrist. “I know my brother. He wouldn’t—”

“You know him, do you? Do you know anything about his life in Merenwyn? Or mine?” Hot rage blistered his tone. “Do you know that the Weres of that realm hold the Pool of Life as sacred as the Fae? Do you know your brother gets his hunters to set wolf traps around the pool and every spring that empties into it?”

No. That I didn’t know.

Trowbridge’s eyes examined me—for what? An answer? An apology? How could I frame an adequate response for either? “Go to the Pool of Life,” that’s what I’d told his wolf. And now my mate waited, head tilted, for an explanation. They trap Weres in Merewnyn. Mute with horror, I covered my mouth with my hands and something died in his eyes.

“Jesus,” Biggs muttered.

Trowbridge nodded, perhaps to himself, and then spat—whether or not he missed Lexi on purpose was debatable—before lifting his foot from my brother’s neck.

My twin rolled to his knees, coughing.

Cordelia sighed, gave me a squeeze meant to comfort, and let me go. I wish she hadn’t. My legs felt weak. I walked as steadily as I could to the wingback chair, and leaned on it.

Trowbridge said, “The Raha’ells are driven by instinct to drink from the Pool of Life. Come moontime, some of the younger wolves aren’t strong enough to resist their need for the water. It takes the Fae three days to check the trap lines they’ve set up. If the wolf can’t free himself before they find him, they shoot him for his pelt.” He bit the inside of his cheek then said in a dead voice, “The real hunt begins when the Shadow finds a sprung trap and a blood trail. Your brother’s got the tracking skills of a wolf and he likes to hunt. He chased me for four days.”

Breathe …

My brother gazed at me for a moment, then planted a hand on one knee and heaved himself upward. There was no obvious mutiny in the way he stood there, weaving slightly. But Lexi was fighting for stillness—always a bad sign. It meant he was thinking—which was a worse omen, because you don’t need to think to tell the truth.

“You’ll lead me to the Safe Passage portal,” Trowbridge told him. “Then you’ll open it, and hold it open while I lead my people through.”

My twin massaged his throat for a moment, considering his reply. When he lifted his gaze, there was no worry crease between his brows, and his eyes were steady and calm. “It’s too late for that.”

“Bullshit,” said Trowbridge. “They won’t expect us until nightfall.”

Lexi’s smile was exquisitely bitter. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you? It’s been seven hours here, but it’s been days, if not weeks, in Merenwyn.” He gestured to me. “We were born within ten minutes of each other, but she’ll have to live into her nineties to be as old as me.”

As long as that? I thought numbly.

Trowbridge swung to me. “How long have I been gone?”

“One hundred ninety-six days,” I whispered. My restless hand found the piping on the seat cushion and my nail ran up and down its seam, over and over again, as I watched the slow crawl of disbelief cross my mate’s face. “Trowbridge, I…”

“What?” Two red flags flamed on his cheeks.

My mouth worked, but nothing came out.

A tendon in his cheek flexed once, and then again, before he said quietly, “I’ve seen nine winters in the Fae realm.”

Biggs gasped. “No wonder he looks so old!”

I heard Cordelia hiss, “Biggs, I swear to God, I’ll rip your tongue out of your mouth myself if you don’t shut it!”

“Shhh, don’t fight,” that’s what I should have said, but words and pleas—and all the sorrys in my breaking heart—were trapped at the base of my throat.

“Get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.” Cordelia told Biggs.

“Should I leave the ferret here?” he asked her. When no one answered, he asked again. “Well, should I?” My gaze drifted slowly over to where Biggs stood, a question mark on his face, holding the Black Mage’s bag from its strap. Its leather flexed. It’s the animal, I thought. Trying to fight for its balance. “Jesus, it’s not my fault,” muttered Biggs. He stalked to the old coatrack and hung the satchel from a hook. Then he shut the door behind him, very quietly, as if it were a house of mourning.

“Time passes differently in Merenwyn,” I heard Lexi goad. “Your Raha’ells died waiting for the Son of