Page 124 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Sava stood near the windows with her arms crossed. “I approved the soup.”

“I’m choosing to believe the cake has medicinal value.”

“It does not.”

“Morale is medical.”

“She has a point,” Ian said.

Sava looked at him but he didn’t look away.

After a second, she sighed. “Half the cake.”

“See?” I said. “Teamwork.”

“Do not make me regret tolerating either of you.”

Ian sat in the chair beside the bed, careful as always. Not close enough to trap. Close enough that the bite stayed quiet. The chair had become his place.

That bothered me more than it should have. A prison room was not supposed to develop furniture with emotional significance.

I picked up the spoon with my good hand. My fingers trembled once. Ian saw it, but he didn’t move to help. He waited.

Another point.

I hated the ledger. I hated that there was a ledger. I hated that he kept earning points in it.

“So,” I said, “tell me about the murder jog.”

Ian’s eyes lifted.

Sava muttered, “That is not the technical name.”

“It feels spiritually accurate.”

“It is a mate hunt,” Ian said.

I swallowed soup that tasted much better than I wanted it to. “That sounds worse.”

“It is old law.”

“Most terrible things are.”

“Yes.”

“What happens?” I asked.

Ian leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, hands loose where I could see them. “The challenged mate is taken to marked ground at moonrise. The wolf is held at the starting boundary until the first call. The mate is given time to run, hide, or choose a path.”

“The challenged mate being me.”

“Yes.”

“And the wolf being you.”

“Yes.”

“And by run, we are all pretending I do not currently need assistance crossing a room.”