Jackal nods once just to prove that he’s heard his leader’s commands, backing out of the room just to keep out of trouble. Wolf twitches by the window, his claws biting into the frame, permanently marring the whitewashed wood.
“Wren! Get in here!” Wolf demands, shouting to be heard over the child’s wails. He cuts his eyes over to the baby’s wide-eyed, open mouthed grimace. So tiny and innocent, Wolf realizes, leaning over to pat the child’s head softly. So easily hurt. “I’ll take care of you, little one, even when all the rest turn their backs on you.” Just do not leave me, Wolf amends in his mind, stroking the soft, auburn curls that already dust the child’s scalp.
“You wanted me?” Wren exclaims, examining Wolf’s bright eyes with a gnawing sense of worry in his stomach. “Something wrong with the boy?” Eyeing the sniffling child, Wren quickly assesses him for any bloody or open wounds. Seeing none, Wren hides his sigh of relief and asks, “What can I do for you, Wolf?”
“I want you to help me create a plan to catch the traitor and her Ddraigs,” Wolf declares, turning to face the purported master of disguises of the House of Vultures. “She told me how you tricked her when she was trying to help the child from Déchets. You were able to get past her defenses in ways I cannot. You know her better than anyone else, I suspect. So how can I trick her into coming back to me?” Wolf stresses the vehemence of his conviction by pounding his fist on the desk. “What is her greatest weakness? How can I exploit it? And most importantly, how can I make it seem like the choice to return to me is her own, not some forced reaction to stave off an attack from me?”
“I will consider it and get back to you,” Wren defers diplomatically, carefully putting his hand on Wolf’s shoulder. “Right now, let me help you upstairs. You look exhausted, and I think it would be in your best interest to rest. Jackal and I will keep things running smoothly until you wake.”
“Fine, fine,” Wolf mutters as he follows Wren’s wishes. He stumbles up the staircase to the room he’s claimed as his bedchamber. Wren watches him slump down onto the bed, not even bothering to remove his dirty boots. “What’s wrong with me?” Wolf mumbles, yanking the covers off the empty side of the bed, cocooning himself into the soft linen until only his mask can be seen.
“Well, I think part of it has to do with Lynx’s child. He’s kept you awake for the last few nights,” Wren explains with a sigh as he carefully uncovers Wolf’s boots and unties the laces.
“Then kill it, Wren,” Wolf demands, his speech slurring as a wave of nausea overpowers his stomach.
“I’ll…take care of it,” Wren assures without giving away any sign of disgust. Yet the very thought of killing a child brings bile up into his throat. After dropping Wolf’s boots beside a dresser, he adds, “I think the other part has to do with Iri—”
“Don’t say her name!” Wolf howls, covering his ears with his clawed fingers. He digs into his skin until tiny scratches appear on his scalp and cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Wolf,” Wren murmurs, genuine pity flooding his heart as he watches Wolf suffer. “The mental connection you share with her through the naming bond is—”
“Going to tear me apart from the inside out,” Wolf interjects as another bone-jarring pain rattles his skull. “It was getting bad before she came into camp and proved herself to be a whore by betraying me. But seeing her stilled the ache. Now our new separation has caused it to begin anew.”
“Why doesn’t she seem fazed by it?” Wren wonders as he watches Wolf’s quaking fingers wipe across his mouth. “Iris spoke and acted so lucidly when she was here.”
“It must be her wretched Ddraig,” Wolf growls, his claw-tipped fingers biting into the silky sheets. “I bet her precious beast has a means of blocking the naming connection, shielding her from any of the unpleasant side effects.” Wolf sighs, sinking lower into the bed.
“Okay, so how do we help you?” Wren questions as he paces around the bed, but Wolf has already slipped into a fitful sleep. Wordlessly Wren stalks out of the room, gliding down the stairs without making them creak even once. He slips into the kitchens, intent on finding Lynx.
“Something I can do for you?” Lynx snaps from her seat at the table, and Wren feels his face flush as he notices her nursing her child.
“Wolf’s going crazy, and he’s told me to kill your son. Says he’s making too much noise at night,” Wren explains, deciding that the best means of getting any cooperation out of this irritable young mother is to simply be direct.
“I didn’t want this child,” Lynx declares, a haunted, half-crazed gleam brightening her eyes as she stares at her son’s little hands. “He was not…made by my choice. And I thought when he was born, I would want to kill him myself. I fully expected to hand him to a nursemaid and demand she find him a new mother. But I was wrong. Instead, when I heard him cry out after that horrible labor I endured, all I wanted was to protect him. Love snuck up on me; somehow, it found a way to grow and overpower
