That must mean he’s a killer, she thought. He’s ruthless. That’s all.
She heard the door open, then two sets of footsteps crossing the room.
“Roll over, Jenna,” Karn said brusquely, “so I can unlock your hands.”
That surprised her enough that she rolled onto her back to look up at him. He reached across and unlocked the manacles from her wrists, allowing them to clang back against the wall. He stood staring down at her for a long moment, as if he wanted to say something, then left again, closing the door behind him.
Meanwhile, the wolf pulled up a stool next to her bed and set a bag on the floor by his feet, making himself at home. “Lieutenant Karn is going to bring some hot water and soap so I can clean out your wound.”
She saw no point in objecting, knowing it would do no good.
“Is it all right if I call you Jenna?” he asked.
“If I can call you Wolf,” she said.
He scowled, gritting his teeth. “Could you please call me Adam?”
“All right,” she said. “I will try and think of you as a wolf called Adam.”
“So, Jenna,” Adam Wolf said, like he just had to try it out. “What exactly happened to you?”
“Why do you care?”
He seemed stuck for a moment. “You’re a person,” he said finally.
“Well, this person wants you to go away.”
“I can’t do that,” he said. He paused, and when she didn’t have a comeback, leaned forward again. “Tell me about the dagger. It seems to be magecraft. Where did you get it?”
“Tell me about your collar,” she said, pretending to look up at the ceiling, but watching him out of the corner of her eye. “That’s magecraft, too. Does the king have a leash for you as well?”
“It wasn’t my idea,” the healer muttered, scowling.
“So we have a bond, you and I, both being leashed by the king, and now I’ll reveal all my secrets. Is that the idea?”
He shook his head, his jaw tightening as anger rose from him like mist. The wolf was like a tapestry—the surface he presented was calm, tightly woven, but underlain by dark threads of violence. “I don’t need to know all your secrets,” he said. “Just the ones that will help me do my job.”
“For a healer,” she said, still pushing, “you have a very dark soul.”
He flinched back, as if he’d been caught in a lie, and rubbed the back of his neck. “One of my teachers once told me that healers stand astride the line between life and death. Maybe that’s why.” He paused, and when she didn’t respond, said, “Why are you the king’s prisoner?”
“They seem to think I blew up some stuff. And set fire to some stuff. And maybe gave away some secrets.” She didn’t mean to admit to anything unless she was forced to.
“Why did you stab yourself with your own dagger?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Adam’s lips twitched, and he almost smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It looked good on him. “Why is it so important to them to keep you alive?”
“They don’t want me to die before they torture me into naming some names. Then they’ll execute me. Which is why healing me is a waste . . . of everyone’s time.” She stole a look at him. From the stubborn look on his face, she knew he wasn’t going to cooperate.
“Thank you for answering my questions,” he said politely. “Now. I’m going to examine you. Don’t worry,” he said, when she shrank back. “This won’t hurt. It’s not . . . complicated.” His eyes met hers, catching and holding. With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached out and took both her hands, his fingers blazing hot against her frozen skin, his thumbs planted on the pulse points of her wrists.
She tried to pull free, but his grip was too strong. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself against whatever magery he would use against her.