Page 192 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

His eyes met mine.

“Evelyn is inside,” he said.

“You took her without me.”

“I needed answers.”

“You thought I would kill her.”

“I thought you might make it difficult to hear her speak.”

Cormac murmured, “That means yes.”

I looked at the door. “What has she said?”

Ronan’s face changed. It was small. Anyone else would have missed it. I had spent my life reading him in rooms where a twitch could mean war. Whatever waited behind that door was bad enough that he didn’t want to say it twice.

“You need to hear it from her,” he said.

My stomach went cold.

Ronan opened the door.

The room inside had stone walls, one high narrow window, and a table bolted to the floor. Silver had been worked into the cuffs around Evelyn’s wrists. The metal had blistered her skin where it touched. She sat very straight despite it, hair loose from its pins, eyes too bright, mouth curved like pain had given her something to enjoy.

She smiled when she saw me.

“There he is,” she said. “The tragic groom.”

I stepped over the silver line. It scraped across my senses, old and sour, but didn’t slow me.

Evelyn’s smile widened. “I wondered when they would let you in.”

I stopped on the opposite side of the table. “Who opened the hunt course?”

“Straight to business. How disappointing.”

“Answer.”

She tilted her head. The cuffs shifted. Silver hissed against raw skin. She flinched and covered it with a breathy laugh. “Three of my wolves are dead. Does your pack offer condolences, or are we past manners?”

“Those were not challengers,” Ronan said from behind me. “They were soldiers.”

Evelyn didn’t speak.

Ronan’s voice sharpened. “Where is Silas?”

“My Alpha does not report his movements to me.”

“No,” Ronan said. “He leaves you behind to burn when his movements become inconvenient.”

There, the first real crack. Evelyn’s eyes flashed toward him, then away.

I saw it. Cormac saw it. Ronan had aimed for it.

“He abandoned you,” Ronan said.

“Careful.”