The Gilded Wolves

“Well,” he said finally. “At least it wasn’t like Nisyros Island.”

“Are you serious?” croaked Enrique. He trudged after his friend to the door. “It’ll be ‘like dreaming,’ you said. As ‘easy as sleep’!”

“Nightmares are part of sleeping.”

“Is that a joke?” demanded Enrique. “You do realize your hand is mangled.”

“I am aware.”

“You almost got eaten by a bear.”

“Not a real one.”

“The dismemberment would’ve been real enough.”

Séverin only grinned. “See you in a bit,” he said, and slipped out the door.

“Oh … you’re still mad?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Would giving you a present make you less mad?”

Laila lifted her chin. “Depends on the present. But first, say it.”

Tristan shifted on his feet. “I am sorry.”

“For?”

“For putting Goliath on your dressing table.”

“Where does Goliath belong? And for that matter, where do all your pet insects and whatnot belong?”

Tristan looked wide-eyed. “Not in your room?”

“Close enough.”

A party invitation sounded like a poor consolation prize for getting knocked unconscious, but this was different