Page 98 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

“Why not?”

“It’s not safe. And you won’t find what you’re looking for that way, will you?”

Sorcha was not sure what to expect as she followed a crow into the woods behind the Hall.

But it wasn’t finding Aidan tied to a tree.

She halted, scanning the area for anyone else. She did not think Tavish would have tied his Alpha to a tree, nor let her wander in alone if he sensed danger. She whistled, and the sparrow who answered assured her that they were alone. If one did not count the beetle that the sparrow was having a difficult time chasing out of her nest. No paper birds moved through the forest. Sorcha’s witch knot tingled, but not in a way that was concerning.

But the fact remained: Aidan was tied to a tree.

He did not seem injured in any way, though the tendons of his neck were pronounced. The muscles in his arms strained when she rushed toward him, his tattoos moving like rivers. “Who did this to you?” she demanded, outraged.

“I did,” he replied. “Sorcha, don’t come any closer.”

She halted again, this time out of confusion. Certainly not because she had any intention of following that ridiculous command. “Whyever not?”

“It’s not safe,” he ground out. His voice sounded different, rougher. And the air crackled, the way it did before a storm. Like it knew something she did not. When the breeze rustled the leaves and tugged at her hair, Aidan’s nostrils flared. “Sorcha, go.”

She folded her arms and did not go. “Certainly not. If I’m not safe, then you’re not safe either.”

“You’re not safe from me,” he growled.

He was pushing against the ropes and she did not think he even realized he was doing it. His eyes glittered gold, sharp, predatory.

Sorcha was not frightened. Not for one moment.

She was intrigued.

Because this was not moon madness. This was something else.

“Aidan, I am always safe with you.” She said it with certainty. Even a touch of disdain for his worry.

He growled again, very softly, teeth flashing. “Safe from me. But what about my wolf?”

Here was a side of Aidan she had never seen before. She had wondered about the pull between the well-mannered curator and the gray wolf who had severed the Achilles tendon of an ogre to save her. Who had marked her throat with his teeth in a cobblestoned alley. Who wore spectacles to hide the golden sheen of his eyes. Who had taken down a mad, murdering wolf, whatever the consequences.

Who looked at her now as if he wanted to devour her.

And as if that shamed him.

Scared him.

Something softened in her chest just as something else heated. “Aidan—”

“Sorcha, please.”

She stepped closer, despite the frantic plea. The ropes went taut. They dug into his forearms, scraped against his warm skin. She knew he was warm. He was always warm. “And this is your solution? To have yourself lashed to a tree?”

“Yes.”

“To make yourself vulnerable in this manner when the Collector is out there taking wolves?” Idiot. Beautiful, honorable idiot.

“I don’t matter. My wolf…” He inhaled deeply. “Sorcha, go.”

“What if I had tied myself to a tree in the middle of nowhere and hadn’t told you?”

He paled. “Don’t.”