Page 54 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

Dante

She’s here. She’s here. And as far as I can tell, Oisin hasn’t done anything to harm her, at least physically.

I lead Ophelia over to the sofa so we can sit. I want to take her back to Lark’s rooms or, better yet, straight back home, but we probably need to find out exactly what’s happened before that. Lark needs all the information he can get before we leave him here alone.

That thought tempers my feelings of relief. We’re going to leave him here. I’m going to leave him here.

Ophelia isn’t crying, not quite, but it still takes her a few seconds to let go of me. She sniffs, blinks suspiciously wet eyes, and then looks from Lark to Grant and Oisin.

“Oh, you… He didn’t hurt me. I mean it.”

Grant doesn’t let go. The push of Oisin’s magic feels more like a curiosity than anything else.

“He still took you,” Grant bites out.

I’ve never seen him this angry. Not that I know him well, and yeah, he’s a vampire and I know he drained a high fae once, but still… I kind of didn’t expect it of him.

“Grant, please,” Lark says. “We should listen to what he has to say before you kill him.”

Oisin pales and Ophelia stiffens next to me. She’s not wearing the dress she went out in. Looks like Oisin found her something to wear—the blue dress is loose and looks comfortable.

After a second, Grant sighs. He lets go of Oisin and takes a step back. From one moment to the next, he transforms back into the friendly, affable guy he’s always been around me.

“Fine,” he says to Lark. “But if he tries anything…”

“I will not,” Oisin says. “You are not a selkie.”

“What’s your magic telling you?”

“That you are.”

Grant huffs a little laugh and flounces away to take the seat next to Ophelia on the sofa. She keeps one hand on my arm as she leans over into him for a second. I know she’s spent more time with him than I have, though I don’t think she was expecting him to be here with us.

Oisin pushes off from the wall but doesn’t come much closer. There are two armchairs in here as well as this ridiculously uncomfortable sofa, and Lark takes one, crossing one leg over the other. He fixes Oisin with a flat stare.

“Explain.”

“I did not kidnap her.”

Lark’s brow furrows. I frown, too. He can’t lie any more than Lark can.

“If you didn’t…” I begin.

“It was some other fae,” Ophelia says. “A few of them, I mean. I’d just got out of the taxi and I figured I’d text Cecile then and there that I’d got back safe, so I was walking up towards the wards, and they grabbed me. Came out of nowhere.”

“How did you and Oisin come to be acquainted then?” Lark asks.

“The fae brought me here. Somewhere. They put me in… I don’t know. A cell? A dungeon?” She sighs. “I was scared, obviously, but mostly annoyed. Worried.”

“Worried?” I ask.

“I knew you’d all panic and, come on, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why they’d grab one of us. Either it’s because of the fae in our pack—in which case, why take me and not literally anyone else—or it’s because of Lark.”

“Because of—” I cut myself off, studying her face, and when she looks away, realisation hits me. “You knew about our soulbond.”

Ophelia presses her lips together in a tight line and nods.

“You—Why didn’t you tell me? You were the one telling me to use an app and—”