Wrong mental image.
She needed to do a better job of psyching herself up to deal with a shifter. Delaying what she had little time to execute would bite her in the butt if the spell wore off too soon.
Tell that to her nerves.
Exuberant shouts went up from the guards over some move in the game they played.
A positive sign. She needed them distracted and not paying attention even while the spell worked.
Her right-hand fingers ached from gripping the cloth she’d pulled the ends together to make a heavy sack while keeping her cloak closed to hide it.
She pulled the sack forward to sit between her legs and let her cloak fall around her like a tent. His wounds turned her stomach.
How could even a shifter’s body take so much abuse?
The poor tiger shifter had reeked of sadness. She’d smelled it from where she’d hidden in her secret spot behind one of the heavy drapes. They’d been installed to hang from the tall ceiling to the floor surrounding the elevated seating area for Krol.
He considered himself some sort of royalty.
A royal piece of crap. She grinned, then once more chastised herself for avoiding touching Bosse. Get moving.
She reached a trembling hand out to tap him on his shoulder.
Just short of touching him, he flinched. Of course, he was awake and knew someone was in his cell. She’d been foolish to think he’d slept through all this.
Snatching her hand back, she started to whisper what she had to tell him.
He ordered, “Get out.”
He hadn’t even rolled over to speak to her first. She’d seen him move in a battle as if he and his wolf had eyes in the back of their heads. Surly man, wolf, whatever. He thought she’d just go scampering away at his command.
She had a worse flaw than intermittent magic.
When someone dared to order her around, a stubborn streak showed up. It had been hard enough to keep stifled during the past four weeks she’d been here, but she’d expected to be given orders as a servant.
Not from a person with even less freedom than her.
Sweetening her sarcasm, she assured him, “I won’t hurt you.”
Had he snorted or chuckled? Was he laughing at her?
She narrowed her eyes, a wasted effort when he could not see her.
He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through tangled hair the color of peanut butter, then dropped it back to the dirt-covered metal floor. “Iam not the one in danger.” His words came out low and gruff. She almost detected the hint of an accent buried under his flat tone.
He spoke again. “Call the guard to release you. I need no healing.”
Leaning close, she whispered, though her words still came out sharp. “I didn’t go through allthatto get in here just for you to tell me to leave. Find some manners.”
He stilled, and then his head lifted.
When he twisted around to face her, his mop of pale brown hair covered his face except for one confused orb. A fascinating brown one that reminded her of dark whiskey.
“What did you say?”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. Could he not just wait to find out why she was here? Why had her dream chosen this man to help her?
He’d understand one thing for sure.
