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"I'm reading poetry," Asterion said, relaxing into his seat.
Conall barked out a laugh. "Well, never mind then, your taste in poetry is maudlin at best."
I found myself stepping slowly closer. It was Conall, probably, the vibrancy of him making me crave what I was afraid to take. Or it was Asterion's velvety gaze watching me as he smoothed a large hand around his massive jaw.
"You read the poetry for me," I said.
Asterion ducked his head. "You can ask for anything you like, and I'll be sure you receive it. But I thought it might…be worth a little."
Conall observed us, growing quiet in his seat, still too, dangerously watchful.
"How did you know what I was?" I asked Asterion, now at the edge of his desk, pinned between their two stares.
"Your mother was kind to me once," Asterion said. "I see…I see her touch in you. I knew you as soon as I saw you in that house. I swore to myself I would find a way to set you free."
"Am I free?" I asked.
"Yes," Asterion said, brow furrowing and jaw shifting. His ears looked soft. His bullish features were gentled by his human mother's blood, eyes more keen and aware, face less elongated, but yes, I supposed he was beastly. Even in his human disguise, he was huge and powerful. However, I didn't understand Isabel's objection.
"Because you did drug me to bring me here," I pointed out.
Behind me, Conall chuckled. Asterion's head ducked, sharply tipped horns tilted in my direction. "I did. You were…"
"Dying," I said, nodding, strangely relieved when his gaze lifted to mine again.
"In truth, I would…not want you to leave," Asterion said softly, and the words seemed to wrap around me like the velvet bedding. "Birsha needs one of your kind in his houses. As long as you are out of his reach, and others are safe, he will not be able to rebuild here. But youarefree."
"Even to return to him?" I asked.
Conall growled at my back, and my spine prickled. Asterion's eyes widened until there was a thin ring of white around the dark. "Do you want—?"
I stopped him, needing to hear the answer first. "Please tell me the truth."
I didn't want to return to Birsha, but I wanted to know the terms of my rescue. Was I a tool to be withheld from an enemy? Or was Ifree?
"Asterion," Conall warned.
"If it is your desire to return to Birsha…I will not prevent it," Asterion said, the corners of his broad mouth turning down.
I released a rush of breath, stumbling back, finding the second chair and falling into it.
"You don't want to go back," Conall said, studying me.
"Never," I pressed out.
Both men sighed, Asterion sinking into his giant throne of a seat, Conall rising up out of his. I glanced at him and blinked at the sight of a shaggy red tail swishing out the back of his coat tails. I'd never seen a werewolf who kept any features of his other self, but I'd heard of one, a muttered curse in Birsha's dark parlors.
The Red Wolf.
The bane of some of the were clans, ones who sought to rule themselves outside of the laws that kept monsters safe from human discovery.
Conall returned, two glasses in one hand, one in the other. He passed one to Asterion and one to me.
"The poetry? Does it help?" he asked, sliding back into his seat, stretching out long legs, the end of his tail draped over the arm of the chair.
It's like being offered a single grain of salt, I thought.
But I'd just been reassured of my absolute free will in this house, and unlike Isabel, I would not return that blessing with an insult.
