Page 86 of The Witch’s Daughter

But I didn’t dig right in.

“What about you?” I tested the weight of my fork, trying to get a read on this warlock. His mysterious air was deepening as he sank against his chair, taking measured sips of wine from the gold goblet.

“What about me?” He arched a brow.

“How was your day?” I asked. “Productive?”

The small smile on his face screamed that he had me where he wanted, and that’s when I realized he was used to women falling all over him.

“Very productive.” That’s all he said, like withholding information gave him power.

It was working. I squirmed a little in my seat.

Badass witch, remember?

Right. I gave her a mental high-five.

I picked up my wine goblet and leaned back against my chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Well?”

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “What else would you like to know?”

“I was wondering if you did anything noteworthy or out of the ordinary today.” I set down the wine and picked up my utensils, trying to figure out how to ask about Jaxon without letting him know I was worried.

“Not yet, but it’ll happen.” A dark mood descended on him like the snuff of a candle, and he turned his attention to his dinner.

Frowning, I took a bite of meat and chewed.

When I looked up, he was watching me. “How’s the lamb?”

“Good.” I swallowed. “How are the war efforts coming along?”

“You aren’t in a position to need to know such things.” Vincent put back on his charming smile.

I tried not to grind my teeth. First my pack, now the evil warlock. But the joke was on him, because I was going to find out everything I needed to know anyway.

“Tell me about you, then.” I blinked demurely. “Where did you grow up?”

The way he relaxed told me I was right in suspecting that talking about himself would be his favorite topic. “I grew up in what they call the fringes, on the outskirts of the city of Morala.”

That was way down in the southeast of the country if I remembered my geography right, but knowing that didn’t fit the image I was trying to portray. I knew what the fringes were too—where the humans who didn’t quite fit into the purists’ society lived in poverty outside the walls.

I needed to play this right to get him to spill his secrets to me. “You grew up with humans. That must’ve been awful.”

“No more than growing up as a witch in a wolf pack would’ve been.” He laughed at his own joke.

That’s not funny.

I hid my frown. If pain or a traumatic past wasn’t driving his motivations, then what was?

I tried again, leaning forward to show a little cleavage. “When did you decide to build an army?”

“Such a curious wolf. Let’s eat. I want you to enjoy your dinner.” His tone abruptly changed again, making me jump a bit as he lifted his fork, cutting off our conversation. “Don’t worry your pretty head about anything else.”

*

It was late by the time I left Vincent’s tent and my skin was crawling. He hadn’t touched me, but I still wanted to scrub the ick from my body. I’d only been playing sweet and naive. Yet he treated me like I was truly dumb. And I hadn’t come closer to finding anything else I could use. He made me feel stupid. Powerless.

You know who doesn’t treat you like that?