Page 107 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Ronan nodded once to Lucien and Lucien took the folded letter from my hand.

Ian watched the paper leave me, and he quieted by degrees. My body missed the heat of his reaction before my mind could tell it to have some self-respect.

I looked at Ian. “Do not kill him.”

His jaw tightened.

“I mean it,” I said.

“I heard you.”

“Did the wolf hear me?”

His eyes held mine. “Yes.”

I looked away first.

“Good,” I said. “Then tell him I’m ignoring him.”

Lucien paused. “Tell Mr. Carrington?”

“No.” I leaned back in the chair, exhausted but suddenly clear in a way pain could not dull. “Tell him nothing. Let him wonder whether I read it.”

For the first time since I had met him, Lucien smiled. “An elegant cruelty.”

“It’s not cruelty,” I said. “It’s silence.”

And because Grant had never known what to do with a woman who stopped explaining herself, that would hurt him more than anything I could write.

Ronan’s phone rang. He answered, listened for three seconds, and his expression shut down.

“What?” Ian asked.

Ronan looked toward the hedge, then the distant line of the service road beyond it.

“They found Brenner.”

“Alive?” Ian asked.

Ronan’s eyes came to me once, then back to his brother. “Yes.”

For reasons I didn’t understand, that answer didn’t make anything feel better.

Ian’s voice changed. “Where?”

“North service road. Sava’s people have him.”

“Who found him?”

“Holloway patrol.”

Ian looked toward the hedge, every line of him tightening. “I need to see him.”

“Yes,” Ronan said. “You do.”

The answer surprised me. Apparently it surprised Ian too, because he didn’t move.

Ronan looked at me. “You go back inside.”