Page 163 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

She turned to me.

“That is what they expect,” I said. “North gives distance, but it gives them wind. Your scent will carry along the rise.”

Her eyes moved back to the map. “Then where?”

“Into bad air.”

Cormac smiled faintly. “Practical.”

Cassie gave him a look. “I’m going to need that translated.”

I leaned down, careful to keep space between my hand and her shoulder as I pointed to the broken ruins near the center. “Stone holds scent poorly. Hedges catch it. The dry creek breaks it. If you move along this wall, then cross here, you can make three trails before taking cover in the still pocket.”

“Like the one from training?”

“Close.”

She studied the map, absorbing faster than Ronan seemed to expect.

“What about the challenge wolves?” she asked. “Can they use the same scent tricks?”

“Yes,” I said. “But they do not know you. They will follow the easiest trail first because they will think you are human and frightened.”

“I will be human and frightened.”

“Yes,” I said. “But not easy.”

Her gaze lifted to mine and the bond warmed. Ronan saw it and looked away with visible effort.

Good. Let him be uncomfortable.

The day narrowed into preparation. Sava checked Cassie’s bandage twice, then a third time because Cassie said “it’s fine” in a tone that proved it was not. Lucien arranged a call with her father that lasted seven minutes and involved Cassie lying just enough to keep him from trying to storm the east wing. Aunt Linda shouted in the background that she had “found a candlestick with promise,” which made Cassie laugh until she had to hold the bandage.

I held myself away from her through all of it, not distant, just careful. When she crossed the room, I watched the way her foot landed. When her pain spiked, I knew before Sava did. When fear rose under her jokes, I let the bond answer with steadiness instead of rage. It took more control than violence ever had.

By late afternoon, the sky turned silver. The moon would rise before full dark.

Cassie stood at the balcony doors with her hands wrapped around a mug of tea she had not drunk. Her hair was tied back now. Her face had lost some color again, but her eyes were clear.

I came to stand beside her.

She looked out toward the darkening line of trees. “So this is the part where the heroine gives a brave speech.”

“You do not have to.”

“Good, because mine was mostly profanity.”

“That can be brave.”

She glanced at me. “You’re learning.”

“I have a good teacher.”

Her mouth softened, then steadied.

For a while, we watched the grounds below. Guards moved along the paths. Lanterns were being set near the old course, not enough to light it fully, only enough to mark boundaries and make the shadows feel intentional.

Cassie’s hand shifted at her side. I felt her wanting to reach before she did. She felt me notice, but neither of us moved for one breath. Then she slid her fingers into mine. The contact was small, hidden by the fall of the curtain, but the bond settled around it with such relief that my chest hurt.