Page 162 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“Daren Holloway. Micah Holloway. Tomas Greer.”

“Greer?” I asked.

“He is council neutral.”

“He is Malrec’s dinner guest twice a month.”

Ronan’s mouth tightened. “He is the least compromised option they would accept.”

“He is compromised.”

“Yes.”

Cassie set the coffee down. “Comforting.”

Ronan looked at her. “The terms are this. You enter the course first from the south gate. You have fifteen minutes before Ian is released from the west gate. The challenge wolves are released from the east gate ten minutes after Ian.”

“So I get a head start from everyone.”

“Yes.”

“And Ian gets a head start from the wolves trying to kill me.”

“Yes.”

She nodded slowly. “That is almost thoughtful, in a completely unhinged way.”

“They cannot kill you before Ian has reasonable chance to find you,” Ronan said.

Cassie stared at him.

Sava muttered, “Ronan.”

“What?” he asked.

“Listen to yourself occasionally.”

Ronan looked annoyed but said nothing.

Cormac arrived before noon with a map, three old-law citations, and a warning that Malrec was already arguing the hunt course had been softened too much for a human.

Cassie sat in a chair near the windows, dressed again in her own clothes because Sava had decided morale had medical value after all. She wore dark leggings, a loose shirt, and shoes she could run in, though running remained a generous word for what her body could safely manage.

Ian stood behind her chair, not touching, while Ronan spread the map over the low table.

“The south gate opens here,” Ronan said, pointing to the lower edge. “You take the inner lane first. Do not go toward the ravine. Do not cross the old wall. If you reach the creek bed, stay to the dry stones and avoid the moss. It will slip under your feet.”

Cassie leaned over the map. “Where are they coming from?”

Ronan pointed. “East.”

“And Ian?”

“West.”

“So I should go north first.”

“No,” I said.