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DAGGERS AND ADILATS

Tate grabbed the iron knocker and pounded three times. The main doors creaked open, pulled from the outside by the guard giants, Stan and Bob. Rune barely came up to their knees. Their red kilts swished as they leaned back to pull with their weight.

Once the doors were open, the giants realized who was waiting on the other side, and their beady black eyes widened. Bob actually jumped back in terror. But Stan—at least, Rune was pretty sure it was Stan—froze, then forced a smile. The constipated grin stretched painfully from ear to ear. He leaned down, braced his hands on his knees, took a deep breath, as if he were steeling himself for the feat of a lifetime, and shouted, “Hello!”

Tate flinched at the sheer volume and scowled.

Rune didn’t know how to respond—not to the lead up or to the unexpected simplicity of what it yielded. Plus, the giant’s face loomed between her and a clean exit. Rune inched sideways, staring at Stan’s block teeth, which were approximately the size of her hand, as she passed through the doorway. His expectant expression didn’t fade.

“Um, hi?” Rune said.

Having finally been acknowledged, Stan swiveled his head to look at Grey and again shouted, “Hello!”

Grey handled it much more smoothly. He smiled. “Good morning, Stan.”

Stan nodded, more satisfied with Grey’s response than Rune’s, and stepped out of the way.

The three headed into the courtyard.

“What was that?” Rune asked, looking over her shoulder.

“I have no idea.” Tate’s lip curled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again.”

Clear of the giant’s shadows, sun splashed across Rune’s face. She closed her eyes to enjoy it. With that bright heat on her face and the crunch of gravel beneath her feet, she felt like she was walking through the old high school parking lot.

The council house doors clanged shut, and the memory shattered.

Behind them, Bob hissed in what was obviously supposed to be a whisper but was only slightly quieter than Stan’s yelling. “Why did you say hello?”

“Verida said if we aren’t nice”—Stan’s voice rose sharply—“they’ll eat us.”

“What!” Grey’s head snapped up.

“Oh, come on. That doesn’t even make sense.” Rune gestured toward the giants. “They’re four times the size of us.”

Having been reminded of his obvious faux pas, Bob clamped his hand over his mouth in horror. “Venators!” he yelled, waving frantically. “Venators! Hello!”

Rune giggled.

“Seriously? This isn’t funny.” Grey turned sharply to head back.

“We have things to do,” Tate said. “Leave it.”

“I’m not going to leave them thinking that we’re going to eat them if they forget to say hello.”

Stan and Bob were now both frantically waving.

“Look at them!” Grey said. “This is not OK.”

“You can’t fix everything,” Tate said. “You’re going to have to come to terms with this.”

“Rune?” Grey asked, looking for backup.

Stuck between Grey’s and Tate’s scowling faces, she shrugged weakly. “It’s not like we’re actually going to do it.”

The look of disgust that crossed Grey’s face made Rune question her own moral code. Guilt raked over her.

“Unbelievable,” Grey said. “Both of you. I’ll be right back.”

Tate crossed his arms, resigned to wait but not making the slightest effort to hide his annoyance.

Seeing Grey’s approach, Stan squeaked. He gathered himself as tightly as he could against the door and swung one arm, slugging Bob. “What did you do!”

“Nothing! I only said hello.” Bob whimpered and rubbed his arm. “Just hello!”

Rune was genuinely perplexed. “How in the world do those two keep anyone out of the castle?”

“Very effectively.” To her questioning look, Tate added, “You’d have to see it to believe it.”

“I think I’d like to.”

“No, you wouldn’t. At least not from this proximity.”

Rune was now more curious than ever. She watched the giants cowering in front of Grey and couldn’t fathom a single scenario in which they were threatening.

“Why would Verida tell them . . .” Rune trailed off. “Wait, where is Verida? I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

“Dimitri wasn’t stupid enough to believe you two were able to sneak past Verida undetected. He was furious.” Tate still watched Grey with mild annoyance. “Verida’s punishment was set. I haven’t seen her since.”

Rune swallowed. “Did he hurt her?”

“Certainly.” He glanced over at Rune. “How much or in what way, I don’t know.”

“Can’t we help her? It’s our fault that—”

“Verida knew exactly what she was doing and what the consequences would be. There will be much for you to feel guilty about before your life is over. Don’t add to it unnecessarily.” He paused. “Trust me, the weight will drown you.”

At the gate, Grey was motioning to himself and then to Rune, talking the whole while. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Stan and Bob exchanged a wary look. It wasn’t until Grey walked away that the giants finally unfolded themselves from the wall.

Grey kicked a rock. It skittered across the rough gravel. “They’re terrified of us!”

“Don’t waste your time.” Tate led them around the corner of the castle and headed for the stables. “Giants aren’t very bright.”

Grey’s blood boiled, and his ears rang. People picking on people, using people, torturing others for no other reason than that they could . . . “I don’t care how bright they are!”

Tate gave him a hard, sideways glance. Grey took a deep breath, trying to separate past pain from present events. “I can’t believe Verida did that. Why torture them?”

“Don’t be too angry with her. Verida has a good heart,” Tate said. “Just no patience for giants.”

“It doesn’t mean she has to torment them,” he muttered. But if Tate or Rune heard him, neither acknowledged it.

Two nights ago, they’d escaped the castle unseen by passing through a maze of tunnels used by servants, exiting near a pen of double-bearded goats. The grounds had appeared large even then, but coming at the stables from this direction, Grey could see how expansive they really were.

The first building they passed was painted yellow with red doors that hung open. The stable was impressively deep, holding not only horses and tack but a host of carriages large and small. Inside, a servant was making repairs to the heavily damaged carriage they’d used to get to the council house that first night.

They passed a few more outbuildings filled with horses, cows, goats, sheep, and supplies for tending them before coming to an open expanse. A long table had been set up, spread with both weaponry and food. On the opposite side of the table, target stands of varying heights had been arranged.

“Hallelujah!” Rune jogged to the buffet and snatched a pastry that was stuffed with jam and rolled into the shape of a horn. She took a bite. “Oh my . . .” Crumbs puffed out from between her lips. “Grey, you’ve got to try this.”

Rune picked up another horn and tossed it. Grey caught it and bit into it in one fluid motion. A perfect blend of delicate pastry and jam flooded Grey’s senses. He was either hungrier than he’d thought, or this was the best thing that had ever entered his mouth.

“Today we’re going to practice using new weapons and throwing with distractions.” Tate grabbed a knife, tested its weight in one hand, and threw it at the center target. It thwacked—the blade buried halfway to the hilt. He waved a hand over the table. “Choose.”

Rune sighed, brushing the crumbs off her shirt. “I assume this means I don’t get to finish eating.”

“I said training with distractions, didn’t I? Eat while you throw. Enemies can come at any time—even breakfast.”

Rune shot him a dirty look.

“Hard to believe, I know.” Tate motioned again. “Choose.”

Grey perused the options and landed on a flat throwing knife. Bright-blue cord was wrapped between the blade and handle, and it looked like it would be worn at the hip or in a boot. He slid the blade into one of the hard panel pockets sewn into his pants. It fit perfectly.

Rune snatched another pastry, eating as she scanned the table. “What are those?” She pointed to a selection of metal and wooden instruments that fell somewhere between darts and six-inch-long nails. They were slender and rounded on the shaft, like a nail, but had flat, pointed tips. Next to them was a leather carrying case and sets of both arm and leg bands covered with small black loops that looked to be the right size to hold the weapons.

“I was hoping you’d be drawn to those,” Tate said. “Those are adilats. They’re versatile and can be used as a close-quarters distraction or in a long-distance attack. They can be used on their own, or you can add poison to the tip. Many write them off as trick weaponry, but I’ve seen them wielded by experts. They’re deadly. And not widely used. Thus, unexpected by your enemies.”

Rune picked up a silver one and held it high, looking at it from one side and then the other. “I like it. I don’t know why, but I do.”

“Watch carefully.” Tate grabbed a wooden adilat and placed it in his slightly cupped hand so that the shaft lay across his palm and the tip extended just above the top of his pointer finger. He turned and, with a refined and subtle flick of the wrist, sent the weapon speeding toward the target. It sunk three inches deep with a thunk.

“Whoa.” Rune mimicked the hand position and threw. It wobbled as it flew through the air and dropped harmlessly to the ground well short of the target.

“It takes practice,” Tate said. “The adilat is among the most difficult weapons to master. Keep trying.”

Rune snatched another from the table, a determined look plastered on her face. Grey had seen that look before. She’d force that adilat to submit if it killed her. He smiled. Once they’d crossed through the gate, Rune had been a nervous wreck—not that he blamed her—but the self-confident, stubborn girl he’d known in high school was now making an appearance.

“Grey.” Tate grabbed an ankle knife holster from the table and tossed it to him. “The throwing knife is a valuable tool in your arsenal. I know you’re familiar with these. What I want you to work on is not the throw itself but the motion of retrieving the weapon from where it’s hidden and making a smooth transition into the throw, lethally hitting your target.”

“That means it can’t just bounce off,” Rune added.

Grey scowled. “I know what it means.” He crouched down to secure the holster around his ankle. “And if you’re going to be a smart-ass, try doing it after you hit the target.”

“Hey!” She shook the adilat at him. “I’d like to see you try and throw this thing.”

Grey held out a hand. “Gladly.”

“Both of you, shut up.” Tate gave them a warning look. When Rune turned back to her throwing, he continued, “In addition to weapons, your markings are also a tool—if you learn how to use them properly. Those markings are a gift unique to your species, and they will act as a warning system.”

“Like how I knew Dimitri was close because our markings went red.” Rune threw another adilat at the target. She hissed in disgust at the failed shot.

“No.” Tate said. “You did not know. You assumed. And assumptions are fatal. Those markings don’t tell you who or how many—just what. All you really knew was that a vampire, or vampires, were close. You must start memorizing which color belongs to which species and the subtle variations between them.” Tate pointed to Grey. “What are you doing? Don’t just stand there. Drop and roll, pull the knife on your way up. Go.”

“But werewolves—”

“I said go.”

Grey rolled his eyes but dropped, grabbing his knife on the way up. It got caught on the top lip of his boot, and his fingers slipped free.

“Again.”

Grey stood up and reset his stance. “Werewolves and vampires are both red. That’s not a very effective warning system.” He rolled again, managing to get the knife free this time but missing the target.

“No, werewolves are a deep red, almost maroon,” Tate said. “Vampires—”

“Are bright,” Rune interrupted. “Cherry red.” Her adilat missed again, and this time, she let loose a string of profanities.

“A little patience would do you good, Rune.”

“Again with that word.” Rune snatched another adilat and shook it in Tate’s direction. “You know what I think? Screw patience.”

“Lovely, Rune. No, Grey.” Tate grabbed a knife from the table and rolled forward, trench coat and all. He released the blade in one smooth motion, and it flew toward the target, hitting dead center. “Like that.”

Oh, of course. Why didn’t I think of that?

Tate walked downrange to retrieve the blade he’d thrown, still talking over his shoulder. “When you’re around the council, your markings must be black. There are other diplomatic situations where this will also be required. But when we are out, they will act as a weapon. I want you learning how to use them and what your colors mean. Those markings are also a tool against creatures that would try to deceive you.”

Rune threw another adilat, which veered sharply to the side.

“Tate!” Grey yelled.

Tate turned just in time. He stepped back. The adilat struck where his foot had been a moment earlier. He looked down to the piece of metal poking out of the ground and then up at Rune, his dark eyes cool beneath his brow. “Do not ever throw a weapon until the range is clear.”

Rune swallowed. “Sorry.”

Tate snatched up the adilat and strolled back. “There are things that will try to deceive you—fae, to name one. Knowing what you are dealing with is important.”

“What about shifters?” Grey asked. “Like Beltran.”

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Beltran doesn’t affect your markings. It’s unfortunate, given how dangerous he is.”

“What’s your deal with Beltran?” Rune asked. “He saved our lives.”

“This is not a commentary on him, just his species. You saw what he could do when dealing with Cashel’s pack. They lost that fight the minute they sent half the pack flying into the woods after a phantom.”

Still hungry, Grey took a thick-cut piece of white bread from the table and slathered it with butter. “Are there many shifters?”

“No,” Tate said. “At least, we don’t think so. I know of only two.”

“Hold on.” Rune’s arms were out, and she twisted them, inspecting both sides. Their markings were currently a pale green. “This is the giant’s color . . . I think. Which means you don’t affect our markings, Tate, and neither did Arwin. And neither did that, that, uh . . .” She waved her hand in the air, trying to remember something. “You know, that creepy little thing we ran into out in the woods.”

Tate and Grey both stared blankly.

“Oh, come on. You have to remember.”

“I don’t think ‘creepy thing’ is narrowing it down for either of us,” Grey said around a mouthful of bread. “I saw a lot of creepy things.” He picked up a knife and threw. It thwacked dead center.

“The . . . the . . . the thing!” Rune insisted, as if dropping the “creepy” adjective was somehow helpful. “Weird, gray skin, big eyes, bat ears.”

“Danchee.” Tate’s face darkened, and he gripped the dagger handle so hard his knuckles turned white.

Grey remembered now. Rune was right: “creepy little thing” should’ve been an adequate description.

“Yeah! That was his name. He started talking in that other voice, remember? Something about a family affair and—”

Tate deliberately dropped the dagger onto the table, hard. “The markings are part of the gene alterations done to your kind. Most things that don’t cause your markings to react were either unknown at that time—like the shifters, who had managed to hide themselves very well—or didn’t exist yet. The same scientists and wizards that altered the genes of the original Venators went on to experiment further, creating a series of mutants. Each has a special ability given to them by their creators—like Danchee’s ability to perfectly imitate any voice—and they don’t show up on Venator markings.”

Although he was listening, Grey’s suspicions rose. Tate had refused to talk about Danchee that night in the forest, and now he was avoiding it again. Whatever Danchee had been talking about, Grey was certain Tate had either been heavily involved or deeply impacted.

“Things like Danchee are considered to be abominations . . .” There was a hesitation, and Tate looked over their heads, squinting into the sun. “Much like myself.”

Rune’s mouth dropped. “Wait a minute. You’re a . . . a lab experiment?”

“No,” Grey said, saving Tate from voicing the answer he was loath to talk about. “He’s part Venator.”

Rune looked from Grey to Tate and back again. “Well, I’m completely confused.”

“Keep throwing, both of you,” Tate ordered. “I’m a Venshii, which is to say, half Venator. I have none of the abilities of my other half and only part of the abilities of a Venator.”

“What’s your other—?”

“Throw,” Tate barked at Rune. “All you need to know is that Venshii are hated for the actions of the full-blooded Venators and are continually punished for them. I don’t show up on your markings because of my Venator blood. Wizards don’t show up because they assisted in creating the markings and didn’t feel the need to add themselves.”

“But why—?” Rune stopped under Tate’s glare and snatched the last adilat from the table. “All right, I hear you. Throw.” She squared up to the target, muttering.

Grey dropped into a roll. On his way up, he grabbed the knife from the sheath on his thigh, then threw. It hit the target . . . barely, but it hit. He took it as a win for the day. “How do we turn the markings off?”

“We’re going to experiment.”

Rune’s adilat joined the litter of others, point down in the earth. She ground her teeth. “Basically, that translates into . . . you have no idea.”

Tate leveled a cold, hard stare. “Exactly.”

“Great.” She leaned back against the table, kicking one ankle over the other. “Just checking.”

“Rune,” Tate snarled. “You’re getting on my nerves today.”

“That’s cool, cause I’m not annoyed at all right now.” She raised an eyebrow and jabbed her finger at the failed-adilat graveyard.

Grey snickered, then covered it with a cough.

“Subtle, Grey.” Rune smirked, throwing him a sideways glance. “Real subtle.”

“Just taking lessons from you,” he said. “Any ideas on where to start?”

“Verida originally told me that you would have to learn how to turn your Venator side on,” Tate said. “You’ve both accomplished that. Turning your markings off should be the same concept. A mental exercise.”

“How would Verida have known that?” Grey asked.

“That is her story to tell, not mine.”

“Look, Tate,” Rune said. “I know you wanted us to work distracted, but I was almost eaten by a werewolf before I managed to turn on my inner Venator. I’m not going to get anywhere if I’m still trying to throw these nightmares.”

“Agreed.” Grey took one last throw with a knife. “We need to focus.”

“Very well.” Tate surveyed the range. “Focus. I’ll collect the sad mess of weaponry you two have strewn across the ground.”

“Hey!” Grey motioned to a target. “That one hit. Dead center.”

“Yes. And you were standing completely still with no distractions. Bravo.” Tate moved out, picking up the trail of knives and adilats. “Get to work. Grey, once you figure it out, you can help Rune.”

“Hey!” Rune shouted.

“Made a call based on history.”

“History,” she grumbled under her breath. “We’ll see about that.” Rune raised her voice and called over her shoulder. “You know, since we got here, the council has been talking about how you’re going to teach us to turn off these markings. Now we find out that you have no idea how. Anyone else enjoying the irony?”

An adilat thudded next to Rune’s boot.

She screeched and leapt to the side. “Tate!”

“As I said, you’re getting on my nerves. Now work.”

“You almost hit me!”

“My aim is excellent. Shall we see if I can get closer?”

“All right, all right.” Rune scooted a plate of sliced bread out of the way and pushed herself up to sit on the table. “Grumpy.”

Grey closed his eyes and tried to focus on turning the markings off. He had no idea where to start or what to think or even if he could. It felt like he was trying to flex his mental prowess in an attempt to make something levitate. He peeked several times to see if anything was happening, but his markings still shone a pale green.

Off, Grey thought. No more. Stop. Turn off. I command you to . . . I feel like an idiot. Um, please?

There was the sound of weaponry clunking about; goats; horses. Several annoyed sighs—some from Tate, some from Rune. He tried to ignore it all, searching for something—some switch.

Rune let out a crow of excitement. “Yes!”

Grey’s eyes popped open as she pulled her feet in and stood on the tabletop for a flailing celebratory dance.

“Check it!” She shoved out her arms. “There ain’t no colors on me!”

Grey pursed his lips, oddly annoyed that Rune had beat him to it. “Ain’t?” he repeated. “Check it?”

“Yes, sir-ee,” she gloated in a singsong voice. “You still be green, but there ain’t no colors on me. Ha!” She fist-pumped and jumped off the table, twirling before she landed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy,” Tate observed.

“That’s right! Because I proved you wrong, and I kicked Grey’s Venator butt!”

“Give me a break,” Grey said. “You’ve spent your entire life being better than me.”

“Noooo.” She waggled a finger. “Not as a Venator. And you know it.” She set her hands on her hips. “And that’s why you’re pissed.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

“No! I’m not—”

“Grey,” Tate interrupted. “It’s fairly obvious.”

“Fine! Yes. I’m a little annoyed.” Grey took a deep breath through his nose. “Just teach me how to do it.”

Rune cocked that brow again.

“Please.”

“Gladly.” She grinned. “Close your eyes. Now, imagine the markings. Have you got it?”

“Yes.”

“OK. Think of them like an . . . um, an alarm system that you would set in your house.”

“An alarm—?”

“Just do it!”

“OK. OK.”

“Once you’ve got that, I want you to imagine that there’s a switch, like on an alarm panel. Make sure you see it.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Good. Now, just switch it off.”

Grey concentrated on the imaginary switch in his mind.

“Well, well,” Tate said. “Good job.”

Grey looked his arms over. The tattoos were solid black. “How do we get them back on?”

Rune’s tattoos started flickering green again, and she grinned. “Same process.”

Grey’s took more effort, but eventually, they too were in full color.

“Good.” Tate nodded his approval. “If only you were that fast of a learner at everything.”

Rune threw her hands in the air. “There’s no pleasing you. I suppose you learn every weapon the moment you pick it up.”

“Mostly.” Tate shrugged. “Death is a good motivator.”

“Or maybe that’s the skill set you inherited,” Grey said. “Like Rune’s climbing.”

“Yeah,” Rune said. “It’s not like you get to take pride in something you didn’t have to work for.”

“Really?” Tate asked. “So you’re not proud of how much better you were than Grey just now?”

She grinned, rocking back on her heels. “Yeah, no. I’m totally proud of that.”

A fluctuation in color caught Grey’s attention. His markings now showed not only green but also a dark maroon. “How many werewolves are here?” Grey asked.

“Only one that I know of,” Tate said. “Unless Silen’s pack returned to report, but I don’t expect—”

A voice roared from around the side of the castle. “Where are they?”

“It’s Silen,” Tate said. “Turn off your markings. Now.”

Grey slowed his breathing to access the mental switch. It was faster this time, but his markings had barely changed as the wolf turned the corner. Silen approached with his hulking frame bent slightly forward, like a linebacker midgame.

Scurrying behind him on stubby legs was the gray-skinned, bat-eared creature from the woods, Danchee.

Tate took one sharp step toward the creature. One hand slid beneath the edge of his trench. Then he froze, rigid.

If Grey had never spent any time with Tate, he might have written off the brief rush of aggressiveness. But he was familiar with Tate’s body language—during a stare down with death himself, the man could almost be considered lackadaisical. So why did the sight of Danchee get him so worked up? Whatever the reason, Danchee knew. The moment he saw Tate, the creature’s ears drooped down his back, and those saucer-sized blue eyes of his got even larger.

Danchee stutter-stepped and looked back the way they’d come, wringing his thin hands in despair. Grey was sure he was going to flee. But Danchee made a different decision and hurried forward to keep pace with the furious werewolf.

“Weapons down,” Silen ordered.

Grey and Rune both held their hands up, indicating they were free of weapons.

Silen slammed his palms flat on the table. The knives and adilats jangled and bounced loudly. He leaned forward, closing the small bit of distance between himself and the Venators, and roared, “What did you do!”

The verbal assault jolted them both, but Rune reacted more violently. Her spine rolled forward, and her hands balled into fists so tight that corded muscles mapped her forearms. Grey didn’t have to see the expression on her face to know that the inner Venator had just reared its head. Silen noticed too. His shoulders tensed and pulled together like a wolf’s hackles rising.

Rune was going to need a moment, before she said or did something they would all regret. There was no choice but to step up.

Grey donned his new Grey the Venator robes—sewn with confidence and cockiness and trimmed with a heavy dash of indifference. “What did we do?” He repeated Cashel’s question and stepped closer to Rune, hoping to draw Silen’s attention. “We killed Cashel, as Dimitri requested. Or are you referring to something else?”

Grey’s new attitude caught Silen off guard. He tilted his head to the side and looked him up and down through narrowed, calculating eyes. “Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. “You killed Cashel. The beheading was a particularly strong statement. Well done.” Silen leaned farther across the table. Grey could smell the odor of meat on his breath and see the first signs of silver in his red mane of hair. “Right up to the point where you left Beorn alive.”

Luckily, Tashara had already warned Grey about this. He forced himself not to take an uncomfortable gulp or look away, but he had a bad feeling about where this conversation was heading.

“We weren’t on orders to kill Beorn,” Grey said. “Why would we overstep what Dimitri sent us to do?”

“Why indeed?” Silen offered a thin smile and slowly pulled back. “Dimitri assured us that Venators could act as the ultimate warriors for the council.” His gaze snapped abruptly to Rune. “Would you consider yourself a warrior?”

Grey’s brain yelled, Trap!

Rune answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

Silen straightened to his full height and tugged at the hem of his shirt so it sat crisply across his barrel chest. “Orders are given under the assumption that a warrior knows the reach of those orders.” His voice rose. “And any warrior would know that an heir is never to be left alive. You are weak, the both of you. Children who—”

Rune interrupted, her chin held high, as if she deserved to be on equal footing with Silen. After how she’d handled Dimitri, Grey wasn’t surprised.

“We are warriors. As evidenced by how quickly we were able to eliminate Cashel. Dimitri sent us out on what he believed to be a suicide mission.” At Silen’s subtly raised brow, she added, “We knew what it was. Not only did we go anyway, we eliminated a very dangerous werewolf and survived a dragon. We are anything but weak.” She paused for a single beat. “But we aren’t from here.”

“Exactly,” Grey said. “If you want us to understand the rules and customs of the wolves, you need to teach us.” Asking for a lesson from Silen felt like an admission of weakness, and he quickly amended, “Or I need books.”

“Books,” Silen repeated, wrapping his mouth around the syllable as if he’d never pronounced it before.

“I can teach myself, but I need material.”

“And,” Rune added, “we can take care of Beorn as easily as we took care of Cashel.”

Grey’s stomach rippled with a deep foreboding, and he wanted to grab Rune and shake her. He ached to say something, anything, that would take her words back. But he couldn’t undermine Rune in front of Silen.

Silen had the backing of the council. Rune and Grey had only each other. They needed to appear as a united front. But at the moment, he wanted to strangle her.

“Can you, now?” Silen chuckled, and the glint in his eye said this response was what he’d been hoping to elicit all along. “Then by all means, Venator, do so.”

Yes, Rune. Let’s go on another werewolf hunt. Because the last one went so well.

“Silen,” Tate said. “We have orders to train here until they are more prepared.”

“If Dimitri can set down orders for the Venators to eliminate Cashel—who is a wolf and therefore under my jurisdiction—then I will order the job finished. Kill Beorn.” Silen leaned in again, bathing them in his breath. “And all those who follow him.”

Grey’s stomach stopped flipping and sunk into his toes, where it congealed into a sick mass of dread.

Rune swallowed. “All of them?”

“All of them.” Silen held out one arm and motioned with two fingers. “Danchee, repeat Cass’s report,” he said. “Our warriors here will need to know where to start.”

Danchee stepped forward, ears still flat down his back. He opened his mouth, but what came out was not timid stuttering but a throaty male voice. “‘The remainder of Beorn’s pack has been elusive, but we’ve found several decimated villages. The houses have been burned to the ground, all occupants murdered or missing. We believe it’s the pack’s work. It appears they took hostages. I’ve sent three wolves ahead to intercept at known slave-trading locations. We did capture two pack members who appeared to be heading toward the Blues. Unfortunately, both decided to visit an early grave rather than betray their alpha.’”

Danchee coughed and cleared his throat, signifying the report was at an end. “That’s is all I’s has, Silen. Me’s should be going. Me’s supposed to be back tonight for a new report. Me’s wouldn’t want to be late, or—”

“Go.” Silen waved him away but then spun, jabbing a finger. “Stop. Don’t even think about tunneling until you’re off council land and back in the forest, you little miscreant.”

“Of course, sirs.” Danchee backed up, one foot carefully placed behind the other. “I’s would never be doing anything likes that. Me’s know how the council feels about their grounds.” He turned and waddled away as fast as his little legs could manage.

Tate took a quick step to the side, moving around Grey.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Silen snarled. “You were not dismissed.”

“There’s no time to waste.” Tate bowed his head in quick, obligatory respect. “If we are to go after Beorn, the Venators must have a couple days to prepare. The pack will not be caught off guard this time. I need to locate the proper texts so Rune and Grey can understand wolf abilities as well as your culture. There can be no mistakes.” He paused. “Unless you would like to educate them in the nuances of your species personally.”

Silen’s lip curled in disgust. “Go. Get what you need, but I expect this to be remedied, Tate. Am I clear?”

“Of course.”

Tate headed toward the castle, but Grey was positive he was lying. No way he was going for a book. Not in such a hurry. Tate was going after Danchee.

“I will teach you one thing about my people.” Silen picked up a throwing dagger and examined the tip, then slammed it point down into the table. “When a werewolf makes a promise, he fulfills it.”

“Understood,” Rune said. “Kill Beorn.”

“At all costs,” Silen emphasized. He jerked the blade from the wood and dropped it to the table. “But if one of you fails to return alive, my fellow council members will be most unhappy.”

Needing to judge Silen’s reaction, Grey asked, “But would you be unhappy?”

The werewolf stared him down, but Grey would not turn away. Silen’s shoulders finally relaxed, and his lip turned up at the corner—whether in amusement or respect, Grey couldn’t tell.

“If the mission is a success, I might be interested to see what else you can do.” Silen stalked away. “So don’t die,” he barked over his shoulder.

From the back, the girth of Silen’s shoulders was more apparent. The muscles flexed beneath his white shirt, and Grey couldn’t help but imagine what a nightmare that man would be in wolf form.

Rune waited until Silen turned the corner before muttering, “‘Don’t die.’ Why does everyone say that?” She lowered her voice further, imitating Silen. “‘Here, go on this deadly mission. Do what it takes, but don’t die.’” She huffed in aggravation. “Is that a thing here? Like ‘break a leg’ or ‘good luck’? ‘Don’t die.’”

Grey wasn’t really listening. He headed toward the side of the castle.

“Hey,” Rune called. “Where are you going?”

He stopped at the corner, not wanting to be questioned by Silen. He slowly peeked around just as Rune caught up.

“Grey, what are you doing?” She leaned over his back, trying to see around him.

“Cut it out!” he hissed, nudging her with an elbow. “I’m looking for Tate.”

“He said he was going for books.”

“No, he’s not.”

The giants pulled the doors open, and Silen marched through. With the werewolf inside and the doors swinging shut behind him, Grey stepped around the corner. “Come on.”

“Where? Why would Tate—?”

“He’s trying to catch Danchee.”

Rune looked completely confused.

“Come on, didn’t you see the way they looked at each other? If Silen hadn’t been there, I think Tate would’ve broken its neck. And Danchee knew it. The thing was terrified.”

They jogged across the front courtyard. The giants waved with fearful enthusiasm.

“I think you have admirers.” Rune laughed.

“If only all my admirers were worried I was going to kill and eat them.” Grey plastered on a smile to put the giants’ nerves at ease and waved back.

“All? You have admirers?”

She was kidding. The sarcasm was not subtle. But when a wound was raw, sarcasm bit. “Nobody crushes on the freak. You of all people ought to know that.”

Her feet stuttered in the gravel, but he would not honor that by turning to check if he’d hurt her feelings.

“Grey—”

“Where did Danchee go?” He slowed, looking at the long path that led down the mountain. “He can’t move very fast unless he tunnels.”

“Maybe he went inside instead?”

“I don’t think so.” Grey spun in a circle, scanning the property. “Silen told Danchee to leave, and then he followed Tate inside. Even if Silen didn’t see Danchee, he could’ve smelled him in the castle . . . At least, I think he could’ve smelled him.”

“I’ll tell you this, if I knew Tate was chasing me, you can bet I’d find a different way off this mountain. That man is scary.”

She had a point. Danchee knew he was in trouble. He wasn’t going to go skipping down the path, waiting to get caught. Grey squinted into the sun, thinking. “If you were trying to escape the wrath of Tate, which way would you choose?”

“Easy. I’d climb down.” Rune said. “Not that it helps our current problem. Climbing wouldn’t be your first choice.”

“No.” He turned in another circle, this time scanning the open skyline around the council house. “But it would be my only choice. It’s either off a cliff or down the main path, and this path doesn’t have any tree cover or an alternate escape route for, what, half a mile?”

“But can Danchee climb? His arms look like a monkey’s, but that’s it.”

“Damn it. You’re right. With those squatty back legs . . .” Grey trailed off.

“What?”

“Those squatty legs make him an excellent tunneler.”

“Yes, we’ve established that. But you saw that trail of dirt he left in the forest. It was huge. There’s nothing like that here.”

“But what if”—Grey grinned—“Danchee tunneled vertically?”

“What?” Rune shook her head. “No way. Not on that cliff we went down. It’s solid rock.”

“But what about the other two sides? Are they rock? Because this side isn’t.” Grey motioned down the path they stood in front of.

Grey and Rune ran toward the eastern canyon wall. Once they rounded the corner of the council house, the distance between the side of the cliff and the walls of the council house shrunk dramatically. What had been fifty feet was now rough and jagged. In some areas, the cliff face was no more than ten feet from the thick stone walls.

Rune leaned to look over the edge. “Some areas are stable enough to climb.” She kicked at the lip, and dirt pinged down the side. “But other sections look like they’d come off in your hands. They’ve got some major erosion problems happening here.”

“Sounds perfect for Danchee.” Grey strode ahead, looking around a curve in the council house’s wall, which blocked the view to most of the eastern side. But Tate was nowhere in sight. “Maybe they’re on the backside.”

“Or maybe they already went over,” Rune pointed out.

“There aren’t any dirt mounds,” Grey said.

“With dirt like this, I wouldn’t start from the top either.” Rune strolled along right on the edge, one foot in front of the other. “No need. Go over just a little, and tunnel straight in. Hide my trail.”

“You’re going to fall,” Grey said.

“Don’t be stupid. My balance is pretty fantastic. Besides, I can’t see over the edge hugging a stone wall.”

Grey scowled and took a step away from the council house.

“I’m just saying, if we’re going to look for someone, we should probably actually look.” Rune glanced up at him. “What do you think Tate will do if he catches Danchee?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cause it looked like he was going to kill . . . Tate!” Rune dropped to her hands and knees, yelling over the edge. “Are you OK?”

“Tate?” Grey ran, sliding to his knees next to Rune.

There was a small ledge—maybe eight feet below the lip—with Danchee’s signature pile of dirt, and hanging from the edge was Tate. The dirt he clung to with his left hand crumbled, and Tate swung to the side by one arm. He twisted back, slamming his hand onto the loose dirt, scrambling to find a hold.

“We’re coming!” Rune called. “Hold on.” She stood up and undid her belt. “Grey, hold my feet. You’re going to have to help us both back up.”

She wrapped the end of her belt around her wrist and wiggled out over the edge. Grey wrapped his arms around her ankles. The very edge of the lip crumbled, and Rune squeaked as she dropped several inches before stabilizing.

“Are you all right?” Grey called.

“Yeah, fine. Little lower.”

Grey inched closer to the edge.

“Tate, take the end,” Rune called.

Grey could tell the moment Tate grabbed the end of the belt. He grunted, trying to hold the weight of them both. “Ready?”

“Yeah, pull us up.”

“Easy for you to say.” Grey dug his heels in, pushing against them and wiggling his butt from one side to the other as he slowly scooted back. Once Rune was over the top, she pulled her knees up and added her muscle to help pull. When Tate finally made it to flat ground, she flopped flat, breathing hard.

Tate got to his feet. He was covered in a fine dust that had turned his black clothes chalky. He stared out in the direction Danchee must’ve fled. “Of all the stupid ways to nearly die, this must win.”

“I’m sure there are more stupid ways,” Rune said through heavy breaths. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Why didn’t you call to us?” Grey asked. “You must’ve heard us talking.” When Tate didn’t respond, he got to his feet and brushed off his pants. “Unbelievable. You would rather die than ask for help.”

“It’s called pride,” Tate said darkly.

“It’s called stupidity,” Rune huffed. “Speaking of stupid ways to die—” Still flat on her back, she raised one arm in a mock greeting. “‘Hi, I’m Tate, and I would rather fall to my death than accept help from two teenagers.’”

Tate shot her a glare.

“Nope.” She shook her head, her ponytail swishing back and forth against the ground. “Not apologizing.”

“What are you two doing over here anyway?”

“Looking for you,” Grey answered honestly. “And Danchee.”

“The little beast is gone.”

“What does Danchee know?” Grey stepped next to Tate. “It’s obviously important to you.”

“It doesn’t matt—”

“Yes, it does,” Rune sat up. “You’re freakishly calm while being attacked by werewolves, but that wrinkled thing makes you lose your mind. In the woods, when Danchee talked about a family affair, I thought you were going to rip his head off with your bare hands.”

Tate’s hands fisted.

“See! You still want to. Which is why we found you dangling off a cliff.”

“Talk to us,” Grey pleaded. “Maybe we can help.”

“No. It doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, the hell it doesn’t!” Rune jumped to her feet. “Near as I can tell, we’re a team. What do you think, Grey? Are we a team?”

“Yeah.” Grey crossed his arms. “I’d say so.”

“A team supports one another, and they don’t keep secrets that could get one, or all, of them killed. What happens next time you see him? What if we’re in the middle of a battle, and Danchee pops up? Are you going to drop us and run?” She came up on the other side of Tate and leaned around just enough to force him to look at her. “We need to know what’s going on. And frankly, I think we’ve earned it.”

Tate sighed so deeply it might have originated in his toes. “Fine. The library. Come. We’ll talk there.”