Page 47 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

Chapter Eleven

Sorcha woke in Aidan’s bed, carefully bundled in a blanket covered in shed wolf fur. She felt refreshed, strong. As if she had slept for a night and a day. A week. Her pillow smelled like Aidan, like amber and the forest and something ineffable that made her want to nuzzle in and take several deep breaths.

He sat at his desk, making notes in a journal. A candle danced behind lantern glass, gilding his hair, the line of his nose, the serious brow. A wolf inside a scholar. The light at the canvas suggested it was very late or very early. She did not remember coming back to the tent. How long had she been unconscious?

Had she swooned?

Mortifying. She did not swoon.

She sat up abruptly. The soft scratch of the quill on parchment paused. Adian glanced up.

She might not remember how she got here, but she remembered the curse well enough.

And the kiss.

Also, literally falling into Aidan’s arms and not staying awake long enough to enjoy it. Criminal.

“She put a sleep spell on me,” Sorcha muttered.

“Aye.”

“Whyever for?” She sat up further, incensed. “I thought we had a pact and all that.”

“So you could recover.”

“You didn’t sleep,” she accused.

“No.”

“Sleep spells are forbidden during festival days now.” Sleep magic was regulated by the Order with more force than they had previously shown after Briar’s sister’s curse had nearly put the entire island to sleep. Permanently.

“Freya doesn’t much care for the rules.” He sent her a knowing sidelong glance. “Like someone else I know.”

It was hard to argue with the truth.

Especially when she remembered something else.

“Are we…”

“Betrothed?” Aidan supplied calmly, as if they were discussing nothing of import. He set the quill down carefully, as if it were made of glass.

“Well, are we?”

“I’m afraid Freya will have already announced it.”

“I see.”

“I did try to warn you. But you can cry off. Later. No one would fault you for it.”

He still had not looked at her, not really. She shoved the mass of her tangled hair off her shoulder. “No, I assume the betrothal will help us in our efforts to stop the Cauldron.”

“Aye.”

“Well, there you go, then.” If he could be so blasted calm and logical about it, so could she.

“A broken engagement is not…conducive to a lady’s reputation,” he said hesitantly. She had the urge to get up and pull his hair just to get him to look at her.

“Aidan, I’m already a spinster of questionable manners,” she said. She hoped he could hear her rolling her eyes again. Loudly.