Page 128 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“Evelyn?”

“She asked to witness from the east terrace.”

“No.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “You do not decide that.”

“If she is involved, she uses the hunt.”

“That is why she will not be on the ground.”

“She should not be there at all.”

“She challenged the bond before council. Old law gives her witness rights.”

Ian’s hands curled but he stayed quiet.

Fifteen minutes later, I had eaten half the soup, all the bread, most of the fruit, and exactly half the cake under Sava’s supervision.

Then the tray was taken away, and training began.

Training, apparently, meant being wheeled into a private corridor beneath the east wing where the floor was stone, the walls were plain, and the air smelled less like flowers and more like salt, old wood, and wolf.

I hated that I knew the last part.

Three doors stood along the corridor. One at the far left, one at the center, one at the far right. Each was black. Each had a small brass plate with no writing on it.

I looked at the doors, then at Ronan. “You built a werewolf game show.”

“No.”

“Feels like one.”

“We need to know how well you can sense him at distance.”

“Fine. First prize better not be death.”

“No death today,” Sava said.

“Comforting qualifier.”

Ian’s jaw moved once. I was almost certain that was his version of not smiling.

Ronan pointed toward the doors. “Ian will go behind one. You will identify where he is without seeing him.”

“And this helps the hunt how?”

“Since the bond gives you directional awareness, you will know if he is coming toward you, if he has passed you, or if something blocks him.”

“Couldn’t that make the hunt less valid?”

Ronan’s face remained calm. “Not if the council does not know.”

I stared at him and he stared back.

“You cheat,” I said.

“I adapt.”