I’d have to be faster than he was. I darted toward him. He swiped a paw at me. I dodged backward, narrowly missing the blow. I dashed forward again and sank my teeth into the fur onhis leg. Before I could draw blood, he swung me away, flinging me into a wall.
Pain slammed into my back. I hardly took note of it. I scrambled up and rushed at him again. If I gave him any amount of time unchallenged, he would transform into a human and grab his wand. Then I’d be finished.
Even as I charged toward him, I kept track of the position of both our wands. I would do best to push him farther away from his. I lunged for his right arm, his wand arm. With the wolf’s massive jaws, if I got a good hold, I could break his bones.
He hit me in the mouth and snapped at my neck. His teeth grazed against my fur but did little damage before I pulled away and dived at him again. This went on for several minutes: the two of us trading blows.
Fighting a bear was easier than fighting Ronan. A bear was dangerous, was a beast to be defeated. And as the wolf, I could give way to my animal instincts and let them protect me.
He charged. I dodged and found myself close to his side. Before he could turn on me again, my teeth dug into his shoulder. I tasted blood. He howled, spun, and slammed me into the parapet.
My head rang and the breath pushed from my lungs. He freed himself from my grip. With a swing of his paw, he sent me flying into a group of barrels. Another flash of pain.The barrel I’d hit toppled into the others and lay tilted like a fainter caught by those behind him.
Get up, I told myself. My limbs were slow to obey. I felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Ronan changed into a human and staggered toward his wand. His robe and shirt were ripped at his shoulder and blood trickled down his skin.
He was moving too slowly—a failing of the human form. I managed to get to my feet and spring at him.
It had been a mistake for him to change into a human, an overconfidence that was common in wizards. He went down under my weight and hit the floor. His head snapped back at the impact and he let out an “Ooof!”
I ought to rip his neck open before he changed into some other beast. His throat was exposed, as vulnerable as a child’s.
My life was at stake. The mission could still be successful. I had no other choice.
I plunged at him, mouth open, jaw snapping, but at the last moment, I couldn’t bite him. Not Ronan. I couldn’t take his life even if it meant losing mine. And certainly, it would mean losing mine. Instead of his skin, my teeth sank into his robe and tunic. When I reared back, they ripped away with the ease of flower petals. His chest was bare, unprotected, still vulnerable.
And it was scarred. Three jagged pink welts ran across his heart. I recognized those scars. I’d seen them often enough. They were my scars. The ones I’d had after Wolfson’s beast attacked me.
I don’t remember thinking the words to transform into a human, but suddenly I was. It was as though my body knew I could no longer be a wolf. I knelt beside Ronan, touched his scarred chest, and bit back a sob.
He could’ve easily killed me then, either as a bear or by using some other incantation. I hadn’t the power to think of any counter spells—to think of anything but what those scars meant.
Whatever incantation he’d discovered or created, it had required he take the scars onto his own body, and he’d placed them over his heart.
I ran my fingers across the familiar ridges and bumps. “You didn’t cure the wound. You took it from me. I searched for that spell—one to cure wounds completely. I never found it.”
Ronan put his hand over mine, not to push my hand away, but to hold it, to hold onto me. “Where did you look?” His voice still had an edge. He wanted the name of my accomplice.
Keeping quiet on the matter might preserve my life longer, might provide me with another attempt to escape, but the fight had gone out of me. I couldn’t hurt Ronan further, and that meant the mission had failed. I was through with all of it. I was at his mercy.
My gaze went to his left shoulder to see how deeply it was injured. A row of puncture wounds lined each side of his shoulder, small tears that were busy bleeding. Magic would be able to knit them together. I touched one, murmured the healing incantation, and felt the wound disappear underneath my hand. Some of my strength went with it, and I’d already expended quite a bit tonight.
“Marcella, who taught you?”
My fingers, now coated red with blood, moved to the next wound. “When you named wizards who could transform into plants, you left one off the list.”
“One who’s kept his abilities a secret?”
“Of course not. Has a wizard ever been modest about his power?” I uttered the incantation a second time and winced as some more of my strength vanished with the wound.
Ronan pulled my hand away, keeping it tight in his grasp. “I’ll tend to those later. Tell me who the wizard is.” He sat up on one elbow, gritting his teeth at the pain the motion caused.
I curled my legs underneath me. “Of course, you must learn the name. Lesson number one of wizardry: A mage must know who his enemies are. Very well, the name you seek is your own. You taught me.”
His grip on my hand tightened, and his expression grew hard, as though he thought I was trying to blackmail him. “Don’t protect your teacher, Marcella. He could have done this infernalwork himself, but instead, he sent you to face danger and die on his behalf. He’s a coward. What sort of man treats a woman so?”
“You did.”