Page 43 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

“And you smell like…a unicorn. And a Black Shuck?”

Sorcha winced. “Yes, I imagine I do.” Was that what Aidan smelled on her? The ladies he was used to must smell like roses and lilies.

Not the point, Sorcha, she reminded herself sternly. She was never going to smell of anything but stables and monsters and bread. No sense fussing over it now.

“Hmm.” Freya reached up and sent one of the bells twirling. It touched the next, sending them into each other. The sound of a hundred tiny bells rose around them. “Wolves have very good hearing,” she explained. “But not everything is for their ears.” She pointed at Aidan. There was a large moonstone ring on her finger. “Explain.”

Aidan did not bristle at the command. “She stole the Bisclavret tooth from Winterwell,” he said.

“I can see that.”

Sorcha rolled her eyes at Aidan. “I already said I’d give it back.”

“You can trust her,” he said to Freya. “She is no friend to the Cauldron.”

Sorcha straightened. “Is this about the Cauldron?”

“The Collector has an interest in the wolves,” Freya said, voice hard as iron nails. “He cloaks the Cauldron from us but steals our young for his games.”

Sorcha thought of Simon and Orla and the others she had found chained. “Yes.”

“We cannot track the Cauldron when it should be easy for us.”

Aidan had found it. Had found her.

“And so we set a trap for him,” Freya continued.

“Oh, good.”

Aidan glanced down at her. “And then you stole it.”

Sorcha winced. “Oops.”

Aidan’s mouth twitched, but she might have imagined it. “I put a tracking spell on the tooth, but Freya cursed it.”

A true curse cast by someone as powerful as Freya would not be broken by salt or a hundred iron nails. Blast.

“But why should I remove the curse?” Freya asked. “She meddled. There are consequences.”

Well, that was not heartening. Perhaps Granny knew of a way to remove the curse. Or the Iron Witches? Or Sorcha could just ask Pippa. She would have a book on the subject, surely. Or a hundred.

“She is not a wolf.” Freya sounded…bored. “And therefore not my concern.”

“And as she is not a wolf, she should also therefore not suffer the consequences of a wolf,” Aidan pointed out. “The curse will only amplify. Every wolf will smell it on her and be distracted from our true goal. And she might not be a wolf, but she is…mine. I marked her.”

That Sorcha felt a fluttering heat in her core at his words and his implacable tone was not helpful. “And I was abducted,” she pointed out. “Brought here against my will. By force. We could call it even.”

Freya sniffed, but she did not toss Sorcha out of the woods. That was something. Progress—maybe? Sorcha could not afford to wrestle with a curse. Maybe not even for the length of time it took to get home and consult with Granny.

The Red Cloak had too many secrets. And curses were too clever.

“She gave Simon Whelan sanctuary from his father,” Aidan said. Did he know what else she had done? He must be wondering how she knew Orla was safe. How she knew Orla at all.

Freya’s attention sharpened. “Did she?” She tilted her head. “And what else?”

Sorcha frowned. Aidan shook his head at her imperceptibly. A warning.

“I can help you find the Collector,” Sorcha said. “If you help me stop the Cauldron altogether.”